u/The-Fifth-Tree

I don’t get Santa. There’s this whole stigma around whether he exists or not. Kids every year embrace the notion and accept that, however impossible his existence sounds, they choose to believe, because they want to. They believe that if they are good, this otherworldly being will reward their efforts, and so, they behave. Sounds familiar, right? Let’s put things even more on the nose and reflect on the fact that good old Saint Nick is, in fact, a Christian concept. At least, he was initially.

 

But the thing that gets me is, there comes a time when you must learn. When the truth gets dropped, and a child must discover that such a being does not in fact exist. And it seems like the attitude is so condescending, in a way. It’s both physically impossible and conceptually insane, and this is a truth that every adult secretly knows. How could one be so foolish so as to believe that there was someone with the ability to cover the entire globe in 30 hours, keep track of the right and wrong doings of all his believers, and all the other feats he supposedly accomplishes? It is downright idiotic, and whilst most parents uphold this story with the best of intentions to create a world of magic for their child, every single one of them knows it’s bullshit.

 

But still, roughly 30% of the global population follows the teachings of Christianity. In fact, over 70% believe in one true God. One being who can magically keep track of all the right and wrongdoings of his followers, whose outreach covers not just the globe but the entire universe. Stick him in a big red suit and paint him on every cola billboard, and he becomes implausibly ridiculous. But extend his powers, and simultaneously diminish his physical feasibility, and his existence is then talked about as downright factual. God is omnipresent, God is omnipotent, God is whatever else you want to call him, and we’re expected to buy it.

 

Some lady in the desert 2000 years ago got knocked up, was too embarrassed to admit she was without a partner (a shameful fate that most tried to avoid in her era), and so she told a lie. She’s not without a partner, but in fact, this almighty being did it. Same time, the Romans were walking around worshipping the sun. And now we know, we’ve learnt, we’ve educated ourselves to know that the Romans were worshipping a giant ball of gas all along. Congrats guys. But this one lady, who told a good story, in a time when the sun was equally deified, is still believed to this day.

 

When I first compared the almighty God to Santa, I was chastised heavily for it. I guess growing up in a strictly Christian household will do that. You don’t question the wisdom, nor the factual existence of God, and I had to learn to hold my tongue eventually. I had first compared the two as a justification for Santa. I mean, if God exists, which I knew he did, why couldn’t Santa? They’re both as infeasible as each other, so why couldn’t they both be true?

 

But I guess this argument soon turned me cynical. As I grew older, I turned to being equally as sure that Santa did not, in fact, exist. If he existed, so could God, so could any other god, Poseidon, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy. The truth was, we live in a real world, confined only by the laws of physics that bind it together. So of course, none of it was real. But I was never allowed to say so, and I continued to hold my tongue around my family so as to avoid being derided. I wanted to debate. I wanted to have a grounded, logical conversation of hard facts and evidence, but they would never believe any of it. Instead, they would say that it was that rebellious phase of my teenage years, and I left it at that.

 

I think, as I look back on it, that my family left a bad taste in my mouth regarding that particular topic. As it turned out, our religion was interpreted very differently by different people, and I was yet to discover that. In college, I met a girl, and everything changed. She was a different kind of religious, I would have to say, in a way that I had never experienced. The kindest, warmest, most peaceful soul God had ever gifted to this world. Growing up with my family, religion was built on fear. My family were a warm, loving group, don’t get me wrong. But they were so out of fear. They did so, or at least they taught me to do so, out of fear of the fiery punishment they had been threatened with. The threat that, if we are not as we should be, we should find ourselves punished for all eternity. A theological lump of coal, but this one is on fire. 

 

But Emily was different. She loved because she wanted to. Because she believed that everyone and everything deserved the utmost kindness, no matter what. I remember, I asked her once if she minded that I didn’t believe, and she told me God loved me anyway. I’d never heard that before. I asked her to marry me 3 years to the day we first met, and with tears of joy, she agreed. A year later, I was standing at the altar of her church, pledging my life to her in front of our families and in front of God. Another year, and we moved out of our little apartment and into a house. And one more year later, we were trying for a baby. After a few months of trying and failing, we both decided to get checked out, only to find out that Emily would forever be unable to bear a child. I knew she’d always planned for a family, and was expecting her to be much more upset. But she told me, with a smile, that it was all part of God’s plan and that she trusted him.

 

A few months later, we were both looking into adoption and within a year, we thought we were ready. We had both been saving up to be sure we could afford to support a new member of our family when Emily fell ill. She had a seizure on her way to bed, and we had to rush her to the hospital. I sat by her hospital bed the whole night, feigning sleep to keep watch of her. We didn’t know it was a seizure then, just that she had blacked out and fallen down the stairs. She was prescribed medication for her pain and sent home. They suggested a few scans, but she refused for fear of the costs eating into the funds she had built for her family. We should have taken the scans, but hindsight is a well-known bitch, and there’s not much to do about it now. 

 

A month later, she seized again. I remember her legs giving out and her bouncing off the coffee table as she came crashing to the floor. And I remember how she twitched and writhed against the signal overload of her muscles as a large gash on her neck began to seep out into the carpet. Once again, I called for an ambulance, and she was rushed back to the hospital. I held her hand all the way there, sitting as close as I could in the ambulance and watching the colour drain from her face. I remember how the 15-minute journey in the ambulance felt like it lasted forever, and how I soon found myself hunched over her, hands clasped together, praying for her to be alright.

They bound her neck tight and said she was incredibly lucky that her cut had not extended to her jugular vein. She called it a blessing, but she was wrong.

She tried to deny the scans again, but the doctor and I insisted she needed them, though a little piece of me wishes that we hadn’t. Ignorance is bliss after all.

 

She was set for an MRI later that week, and I remember how much she hated it. She had been having intense headaches on and off since she’d got to the hospital, and they only got worse at the sound of the MRI machine. I remember holding her hand as her head disappeared into the narrow white void of the machine and I assured her everything would be ok. And then I remember how she kicked and cried as she begged for the noise to stop. Screaming that she felt like her head was splitting in half and that she couldn’t bear it. I thought for a second she may have been seizing again, given how her body writhed and fought desperately, caught between wishing for her escape and knowing she had to stay. An hour later, she was finally released and slid out of the machine, her face streaked with tears. I held her close as she cried and cried, telling her the worst was over and it would be ok.

A week later, the doctor came back in a sombre silence and pulled me out of the room to talk. He carried with him a number of black and white scans, some highlighted with red circles that I was yet to see. A glioblastoma, he called it. A tumour on her brain. Too big, too aggressive, too dangerous to remove and too late to treat. She wouldn’t make it to Christmas.

 

He wanted to talk about what we could do to make the rest of her life comfortable. They didn’t know how long she had, but they knew there was nothing they could do, and so that was the only advice they had to give. She was sent home with seizure medication, in hopes that she wouldn’t have to return to the hospital, before she departed, and in a way, I’m thankful that she didn’t. I held her especially close that night, and every night afterwards. We went out and spent the last of our days doing as much as we could, as much as I could give her. She never complained, nor did she find herself in her own pity. She truly lived every day she could, and I only wish I could have given her more. She used to tell me it was all in God’s plan, that she trusted him, and she found peace knowing that she’d be at his side. She told me that she loved me and that she’d be waiting for me on the other side. That I should take my time, and live my life to the fullest, for the both of us, and when the time came, she would be there to welcome me. It was one of the last things she told me. Soon after, she began to forget, and she slowly lost her ability to formulate sentences. Instead, she used to look around the room, lost and confused till she laid eyes on me, when she would then smile from ear to ear like she did when we first met. I ended up quitting my job so I could take care of her, but I didn’t mind. I told myself it was a blessing to have the privilege to spend every hour of every day with her. After a while, my bank account dried up and I began taking out of our family savings. I know it’s not what she would have wanted, but I told myself she was my family, my world, and that made it ok. I used to tell her I loved her at the end of every conversation, just to be sure that would be the last thing I said to her, and when the end came, I’m glad I did.

 

I can’t say I wasn’t ready for it when I woke up one morning to the still and quiet woman beside me. I shook her a little, as I did every morning since she’d become too feeble to move. I had to check each day. But she didn’t respond this time, and with shaking hands, I checked her pulse to find it had finally stilled. I didn’t know the protocol, and found myself shortly after sitting in our living room too afraid to go up the stairs where her body lay, waiting for an ambulance to arrive and take her away as if that would make it better.

 

Her funeral was small, quiet and low-key. Just over six years to the day we met. I was the only one who cried, lying down on the pew as our friends and family filtered out, struggling for breath over my own tears as I realised for the first time I’d never see her again. We had pledged our lives together at this very same church, the happiest day of my life. I guess I had never considered that pledge could be so short-lived. My family told me it would be ok, that it was part of God’s plan. I remember when she used to say the same thing, but when they said it, the words sounded so much more sour. I knew they had only the best intentions, but how could they dare to act as if they understood? With their teachings, I should have been praying for her to stay out of hell or that God should have mercy on her. They would never understand.

 

I really did hope she was right. If anyone in this life deserved heaven, Emily did. But she had always been the rock upon which we had been built, and without her presence in our now empty house, I could feel myself slowly returning to my old cynical ways. If there was a god, why would he do this to me, to us, to her? She had given her life to him. She had done everything he had ever commanded, and he still decided to punish her, to rip her away from the world long before her time. And despite everything she had ever said, I refused to believe it. What god could be so cold, so cruel and heartless to take such a woman from us? Such a devout and trusting disciple. It couldn’t be, I was sure.

 

But what if I couldn’t know? What if, as she had always told me, God’s wisdom extended far beyond our understanding and trusting his plan was all we could do. Perhaps, if he did exist, then she was at his side in the next life, like she had said she would be. Perhaps she was waiting for me, and if I did as she had taught me, I might see her again.

 

I returned to her church a few weeks after the funeral, desperate to ask her priest. He told me exactly what I expected: that she was in heaven and that I should be at peace. I asked him what proof he had, and in a long, wordy way, he told me he had none. That it is faith for a reason, and that sometimes belief without seeing is what we’re meant to do. Not to believe in what we know to be true, but to believe in what we hope to be. To have faith. I told him, in a more polite way, that he was spewing philosophical bullshit. That seeing is believing, and that I needed to know for sure. He laughed and patted my shoulder, telling me he hoped for my sake I didn’t find what I was looking for. I thanked him for his time and left feeling equally as unenlightened as before.

 

It felt dirty at first, stepping past the confines of my family, and it felt worse knowing I was moving outside of Emily’s own beliefs. But I had no proof of Christianity being correct. What if one of the others was? So I began to research. There are dozens of religions, all subscribed to by equally devout followers, and they all seemed equally as fallible to me. I mean, many religions believe in a god, and more importantly, an afterlife. Islam talks strongly about an afterlife, in extreme detail, as I would come to learn. So too does Judaism, which appeared to me to hold many similar beliefs to Christianity. Hell, even the Egyptians believed in an afterlife. They believed in a similar concept to heaven and hell, and the value of your soul being measured in order to decide its worth and determine which one you belonged to. A part of me, I think, believed ever so slightly. Why did so many religions, some completely separate from each other's development, have such a belief in something so similar? Was there some divine wisdom that came to us long ago and taught us the way things are? Or did some base part of humans deep down fear the permanence of death, and so all of them convinced themselves that an afterlife was more preferable? 

 

I could’ve left it there, chosen to be like her and stayed content without answers. But I had always struggled with that angle. The concept of religion had appeared and stretched far across the history of humanity, and I was sure there had to be a reason. There’s no way over 70% of the globe believed in something supernatural, just because they were told to. Because they hope it to be true, or blindly trust their own innocence, Right?

So I sold our house. It had never felt the same after Emily departed, and I sold all my possessions along with it. A few phone calls and days of research, and I had a plan. I drained our family fund, packed a suitcase, booked a flight and left forever.

 

First stop was Indonesia. The trek out to the village I would be staying at was a few days’ travel away, but I didn’t mind. If they could substantiate their claims, I’d be more than happy to do whatever was necessary. I was led to a small building with an even smaller, dug-out basement. One old and wrinkled man sat in the centre of the room, awaiting my arrival. He described himself much the same as my research had, that he was blessed with power. The power to communicate with the dead.

He proceeded with a very dramatic act that involved him waving his hands around, wailing like he was sitting upon the electric chair, and beating his fists into the ground as tears filled his eyes. Shortly after, I received a revelation. His whole act was a pile of shit. I thanked him for his service, packed up the next day and booked another plane ticket.

 

A short flight to India, where I received a similarly convincing dramatisation of my wife possessing a man. Despite the fact that I was assured this possession was legitimate, I was suspicious, given that she had seemingly since forgotten most of her memories (other than the ones I had brought up), and whilst possessing this man, had also almost completely lost her ability to speak English.

Another short flight and I was in a similar village where, apparently, through divine intervention, this group could show me a calf, be resurrected. An act that involved slitting its throat, and it being taken into a building where it would be resurrected. If the miracle’s hidden nature wasn’t suspicious enough, the fact that when the calf returned, it was patterned differently was. I was assured the calf was in fact the same, and I told them I believed them before I packed up and left. 

 

With every trip I took, my funds diminished, and with them my hope. I wanted so desperately to believe, and after every new visit, that desperation only became worse. I found myself praying, often on quiet nights, both for Emily to be ok and for me to be given a sign. But assurance of either never found me. Every place I had been, and every miracle I witnessed, were all supported by their own need for faith. That they couldn’t prove it, I had to trust that they were real. Like a child, if I had suspended my disbelief, I could believe. To stare in shock and awe at the presents under the tree and the milk and cookies that have been consumed. To look at all of it, and despite the overwhelming implausibility, and despite how there are far more logical conclusions, I suspend my disbelief in order to embrace the pure magic of the moment. But I wasn’t a child, and I knew the truth. 

 

And so, I found myself, running on the fumes of my own family funds, in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, supposedly about to receive the hard proof I had been promised. The group I would be joining lived suspended up in treacherous cliffs deep within the forest. They lived completely isolated from the rest of the world, and even with the guide that was sent to assist my travels, it still took a number of weeks. So, burnt out and at my wits’ end, I told him when I met him that the trip had better be worth it. He assured me it would be, and so I followed him all the way up the cliffs and into his vertical village. 

 

The people were incredibly warm and welcoming, and had set up my own little room for me. Despite my impatience, they told me waiting was necessary, and given that I was there now without a penny to my name, I concluded I had nowhere better to be. And so they spent a week teaching me their ways, which I was told would be necessary for later. They fed me, talked with me, laughed with me and would drag me around to dance and celebrate with them since the night I arrived. Perhaps it was due to my own emotional withdrawal that had slowly claimed me over the past year and a half, but for the first time since I had lost Emily, I felt at peace. I remember my own cold denial to their involvement of me in their joyousness when I first entered, only to find myself, within the coming days, dancing, singing and laughing as one of them. I was, no matter how fleetingly, happy.

That was when they told me I was ready. They led me to the far side of the village, along one of the cliffs and onto a wide ledge that jutted out from the sheer face of the rock. And with large grins on their faces, they introduced me to it.

 

A pulpy, sludgy red, seething mass of bubbly flesh grew out of a large crack in the rock face. It expanded outwards, into nobbled slimy tendrils that clung to the rock around it like an octopus would its prey. In some of the mucous-covered pockets of flesh grew eyes, some pale white as if those of an old, blind man, whilst the others were all bright and alive, each watching a different member of the tribe with fascination. In other areas, grew tiny pointed teeth, talons, fingernails, clumps of hair and random bone segments, all crammed together into the fleshy pudge wherever they found room. The whole thing was about 8ft tall and almost as wide, reaching even further out with its twisted root-like tendrils.

 

The crowd around the mass parted as a young man appeared from behind them. He stood tall and faced the thing, jaw set strong with his own resolution. He stripped his clothes off and kicked them from the ledge of the cliff before turning back to face it. He spoke loudly. Words that would only be translated for me later, he proclaimed, “I trust, I believe, I am faithful” before stepping forward to press his own naked flesh into the bulbous mass before him. A sickening, sucking, slimy sound emanated from them both as the flesh he was clinging to began to bubble and pop around him. The pink gelatinous mass slowly pulled him in closer and closer in its tight embrace. A loud snap rang out into the night as his arms cracked and bent backwards towards us, jagged zigzags slowly disappearing into the mass of flesh as he was slowly masticated. His skin began to fizz and spit with every drop of the gooey liquid that landed on his quickly dissolving flesh. Still sucking, slowly sucking, hungry to devour every last piece of him until finally, there was nothing left.

 

The group around me erupted into raucous cheering, hooting and hollering as they watched the last of his chewed-up and shattered bones slowly disappear into the layers of veiny fat. They cheered and danced as I stared in shock and awe at the writhing mass of flesh. Then, its many eyes turned to face me. It was my turn. Soon, I was being pushed towards it by the crowd. My guide leaned in close behind me and told me to kneel so that we may be acquainted. Closing in behind me, I felt a number of hands gently but firmly press down on my shoulders, forcing me to one knee. I lowered my face, partially in reverence, partially in disgust. I was told to speak to it, to make my request, so I did. I told it, I wanted to see Emily again, to know that she is alright. To find out if there’s more to this world, as she told me, and to find out if I should have hope. I laid myself bare in my words before the creature, as I knew I had to. An audible ripple spread out across the jelly-like mass in response, and once again the group around me burst into the most intense cheering, patting me on the back and dancing around me with excitement, before lifting me back to my feet and beginning to filter back off the ledge and onto the narrow bridge back to the huts. I didn’t dare look at the thing as I followed them out, but I knew every single one of its eyes were pinned to me. I could feel it.

 

I had so many questions come dinner time, from what it was to what had happened. The few of the tribe who could translate English struggled to describe to me exactly what it was, but I managed to pick up the gist from what they tried to tell me. Apparently, its name did not translate well, but had similar meanings to Wisdom Fruit or to The Father Of Flesh. They described it like an angel; a being of another world; an age-old entity that had been there long before the rocks it lay between. A creature, a thing, that they told me held immense power. Power to bless them with fruit, food, rain and children. To provide for them, and that it asked for nothing in return but their appreciation. I asked what proof they had that their luck was related to the thing on the cliffs. Because they believe so. Like I hadn’t heard that before. Though I will say, I found it more believable than the other places I had been, if only a little. Comparatively speaking, I had to admit, this thing was far more convincing than watching a man roll around on the floor and claim he was possessed by the spirit of my dead wife. The most concerning part was what I had watched happen to the young man who attached himself to it, but I was assured that it was a good thing. That he had given himself to it in body, mind and spirit and that, because he was ready, he would be gifted in another life by it. That he would be given everything he had ever wanted, and granted every wish or desire he held in his heart. It was clearly unnatural. I would assume mostly unknown or misunderstood by humanity. But I saw it far from likely that this thing possessed within its gifts, the ability to bless the people of this settlement with, for all intents and purposes, miracles.

 

That night I dreamed. I almost never dream, it’s always been the case, and when I do, I never remember. But this night I did. I was in a church, Emily’s church, stood at the altar to the sound of wedding bells. A large and rather grotesque statue of Jesus hung on the wall behind the altar. I remember it from our wedding day and from the funeral. It always had creeped me out, watching over all the proceedings that took place. Such a strange monument to build one’s beliefs around. A graphic depiction of torture, presented in front of adults and children alike. But seeing it now, I couldn’t say I felt the same; it only reminded me of her. I suppose after meeting a pile of flesh, a dude mounted on a cross doesn’t seem that unnerving anymore. At the back of the church, the doors opened, and through them appeared Emily. She looked just as beautiful as the day I’d married her. She made her way slowly past the pews to take her place directly in front of me.

“I’ve missed you.” She said, softly, her smile just as warm as the night I last saw her.

I couldn’t contain myself, as I pulled her in close, choking on my own emotions and trying to find the right words to say.

She beat me to it, “I heard you wanted to see me.”

“Every day, I just… I’ve missed you so much.” I stammered, my grip around her tightening, for fear of losing her again.

“I know,” she whispered, her thumb gently stroking my back where her hand lay, softly soothing me, “It’s ok, I’m ok, everything is fine.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I mean, for this, for you to… I wish things could have been different, I just…”

“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I told you, it’s all part of God’s plan. I promise, I’ll see you again someday.” She pulled away from my arms a little, enough to meet my eyes, “I promise.”

“Can’t we just stay like this?”

“You know we can’t.” She said, turning to look at the large statue of Jesus that was watching us, “You’ll just have to wait, and have faith.”

I turned too, to look up at it only to find now that it had changed. Mounted on the cross was the outline of a man, made of bubbly, dripping flesh.

 

I awoke in the small hours of the morning, alone, in my sleeping bag. Sleep would not find me easy after that, and soon I found myself standing on the balcony outside my hut, halfway up a cliff, watching the sun rise over the trees. Just a dream, I told myself, nothing more. The villagers had a different opinion on the matter entirely when I told them. This was, according to them, the will of the father. They claimed that this was how he speaks and that I had been blessed by his wisdom. I should feel privileged to have experienced such a thing, enabled by his incredible abilities. I told them it was just a dream, and that one could hardly refer to it as hard evidence. I still felt so unconvinced, I mean, how could I not?

 

 I’d travelled the entire globe and burned myself at both ends just to find proof of something, anything supernatural. Maybe my expectations were too high, but a pile of flesh and a dream that happened to coincide with my request did not strike me as definitive proof of anything. In fact, if anything, the only unnatural thing I had seen for sure was the unholy union with the man I watched it assimilate. That display, at the very least, titillated my curiosity. Unnatural? Yes. Supernatural? I doubt it. 

 

I wanted to know what happens when one partakes in such a ritual, but I think they could tell my intentions and refused to say, instead forewarning and forbidding me from ever doing such a thing. To be united with the father was an act reserved only for his most devout followers. For those who devoted their lives and their souls to him. That only the people with such dedication would be permitted, for fear of rejection and annihilation. That they knew, from the teachings passed down through generations, that such an act should be forbidden. Should one be rejected by the father, he would disappear. This might be a mistranslation, but something along the lines of being erased from existence. That upon rejection, one may be forgotten by the universe, never to be remembered, as if they had never existed at all. I told them that’s impossible, but their warnings remained stern.

 

But as sleep continued to elude me, I found myself on many nights, sat atop the ledge in front of the father. I would talk to it, ask questions of it, pray to it, anything. But all it would ever do is stare at me with its peppered eyes, as though both curious and bored. One night, I found myself telling it, I believed, in hopes that I could receive anything from it, even so much as another dream. But I stopped shortly after, embarrassed by my own stupidity, at the thought of buying into any of this. I wanted to believe, I really did, I just needed something real. But nothing ever happened.

 

But I know I have one last chance. One last idea, or opportunity to find out for sure. And I fear I don’t have a choice. I could walk away now. I could choose to believe it’s all real, and that I really did speak to Emily. That it really is some supernatural being, or a god, as they would like me to believe. I could go back home and use my empty resume, or even emptier bank account, to build my empty life back up again. I may choose to suspend my disbelief and be happy in not knowing, living in ignorance and bliss till the day I die. But I don’t think I can. Seeing is believing, and there’s only one way to know for sure.

 

I have heard that people die twice. The first is when your heart ceases to sustain you, and your soul finally departs. The second is the last time you’re remembered, and the day that you’re forgotten for good. And so I am writing to you to remember Emily, in the wake of my possible failure. If it were so easy as to just believe, then I don’t see why we all wouldn’t. There’s nothing left for me now. Nothing worth finding in the future, nothing better on the horizon. The best is behind me, and in front of me now lies The Father Of Flesh. And so I’ll stand here now, in the dim light of early dawn, while the rest of the settlement sleeps. And with open arms I’ll embrace his pillowy warmth, if that’s what it takes.

And I’ll tell it exactly what it wants to hear.

I trust, I believe, I am faithful.

I love you, Emily.

I’ll see you soon.

I loved Kaley. Of course I did; she was my wife. But when we made our vows, we said in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. But we never said through thick and through thin. And the thing is, when thin came, I guess we weren’t ready for it, cause that’s when the cracks began to show. It wasn’t her fault, nor was it mine. I think we tried our best, but nothing prepares you for the ways that life can go wrong.

 

I remember the day that Alice was born. She was extremely premature and only just over 2 pounds at birth. She was on oxygen and round-the-clock care for the first 2 months of her life. One of the most stressful experiences of my life, up until that point. Kaley and I had tried to do everything right before she was born. Of course, I helped, but more so than me, Kaley did everything she could, at times to the detriment of her own physical or mental health. Nothing mattered more to her than her baby. And when she was born, I remember Kaley in tears, as her child fought for every breath just to stay alive. After everything she had done, she’d tried so hard and still Alice was teetering on a knife-edge of her own mortality. And I remember when we finally got to take her home. Kaley and I would spend hours next to the crib, staring at her in awe. Through all the trials and tribulations, she was here, she was home, she was healthy, and she was perfect. All of it was worth it in that moment just to look at her face. 

 

I got to leave my job after that, on a technicality. I’d been on the force for the majority of my life and managed to cut a deal that I’d only return should they require my services. Since peace had formed amongst the planets, the force was more precautionary than necessary. Given that most of our calls were domestic missions tasked to us by higher-ups who wanted nothing more than for us to poke around for intel to feed back to them, my services were less than necessary. Kaley was the brains of the operation; her job was more important, and after Alice’s time in the hospital, I don’t think either of us could stand the thought of Alice growing up without one of us there, should she need it.

 

She was an incredible girl, you wouldn’t believe. She said her first word at 8 months old and began walking by 10. By the time she started nursery, she was reading at a 2nd-grade level and by the end of first grade had also randomly started picking up other languages that she heard around. I can’t take credit for any of it, though I raised her; the brains came from her mom. She was a born extrovert, kind-hearted and caring. In the 6th grade, she got moved up to 7th and was still the highest scoring in the class. Kind, smart and funny too. She had it all. She was the perfect girl. I couldn’t have been more proud, and I know Kaley couldn’t have either. She would’ve made an incredible woman. She could’ve changed the world. 

 

We were two weeks from her 16th birthday when it happened. It would have been a day like any other, but I suppose that applies to every day in history. They could be like any other day, boring and unremarkable, if nothing happened. But something always happens. 

One of her peers showed up to school that day, late but without the intention of attending class, so what does it matter? Late enough for classes to be in session. Intentional, I’m sure. He showed up with multiple firearms and a hard goal to destroy as much as was physically possible. No one would have guessed. That kind of thing hadn’t happened in over 200 years. He attacked with neither thought nor prejudice; whether students or teachers, they were all targets to him. The shooter was found in a classroom on the top floor with a large slit across his Adam’s apple, a pen knife in his hand and a smile on his face. I don’t know what his intention was, and frankly, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is what he did. Alice was found in her classroom in what can only be described as tatters. Her arms still extended out on either side of herself as she tried to shield a number of her peers behind her body. None of them made it.

 

And like that, the brightest light of my life had been snuffed out. It broke me, and for years after that, everything changed to Kaley and I barely scraping by. We stopped talking to each other, or acknowledging each other’s existence for a little while. Isolation just felt more comfortable I guess. I found a little solace in believing that Alice was with her grandparents now, getting to meet them for the first time. They passed only a year before she was born, and I knew they would have loved her. I don’t find myself believing in religion, nor an afterlife, but I did then. It was the only place I could find something to hold on to and believe that there might be anything to be optimistic about. I’d take any silver linings I could get. I suppose I had become somewhat accustomed to grief, and though the feeling was painful, it was, in a way, a little familiar.

 

I remember when Alice was born, the overwhelming pride I felt to be told “she looks like her father”, but it soon became a curse. I know every time Kaley looked at me, all she could see was her daughter, and I don’t blame her for the resentment that slowly grew. She had it much worse than I did, and she didn’t find herself any peace within the following years. She had endured so much before Alice was born, and so much more after. She’d stayed at her bedside, feigning sleep for days after giving birth, just to be sure that Alice would be ok. She’d made job sacrifices and stretched herself so thin as Alice had grown up, just to be sure that she would always be there for her. She had given Alice everything she had, and I know it only hurt her that much more now. Instead, when she searched for even the smallest shred of peace, she would find only resentment. I had to leave, she said she needed the space. I found a little box apartment nearby, but no way to fund it. I found myself many nights, sitting upon my little apartment window ledge, looking down at the distant traffic below and waiting for the bravery or the stupidity to jump. I often wondered if the fall would be enough to kill me. If I could die on impact as quickly and painlessly as possible, but I was too much of a coward to find out. After a second month of failing to pay my rent and arguing with the landlord, I ended up job searching again. I was turned down by my old machining job, and after another month of searching for something new, I gave up and shortly after found myself offering to re-enrol, full-time, in the force once again, if only for the money. That’s why, in a way, it felt like a blessing at first when, after only a week of being re-enrolled, I got the offer to join a team headed to Hecta. 

 

They hadn’t been heard of in a long while, but they used to be the bleeding edge of technology. The one planet for only the upper echelon. Only the couple million who could afford it resided there, along with the few mega companies that basically owned the solar system. Supposedly, or at least as far as the rumours were concerned, it was as close to paradise as humanity had come. That’s what all the news said, all the advertisements, posters, and what have you. We were expecting the trickle-down effect, that the virtual intelligent assistants, or the perfected healthcare, or any other of their innovations would have made their way across to us. But at the end of the day, they were all rumours that remained unsubstantiated, and we had to assume they never came to fruition. It was either that or embrace the reality that, despite their existence, we would never be privileged enough to see it. That the upper echelon spat upon the existence of those below them, and couldn’t give a rat’s ass to share their advancements with anyone outside of their perfect circle. We’d all given up on that long ago. I mean, the last one we’d heard was that they had supposedly invented bliss, or something like that, in some technical jargon. But that was almost a century ago, and now the rumours that persisted years later were the only legacy Hecta had. I think we all knew it was too good to be true.

 

Still, for one reason or another, the higher-ups wanted a team to go check things out. It wasn’t my job to question my orders, and so I never bothered reading into it that much. As soon as the orders came in, I jumped at the opportunity. I needed some time away, and it was at the very least a distraction from life’s events. Plus, it came with free food and a bed. Good enough for me. I packed my bags, and I was on my way within a few days.

 

I hated travelling, always had. People seem to think that microgravity sounds like some fantasy experience, like flying, like a dream. I hate it. Just to escape your home’s gravity, you have to be punched straight up into the sky, with enough force to break free from the grip of whatever planet you’re escaping. You feel your stomach drop and your spine compress as you gyrate your tongue inside your mouth, praying you don’t accidentally bite or swallow it. You can feel your organs being shifted and twisted inside you like clothes in a dryer, as you’ll pray in your own mind for it to stop. 

And just as soon as you do, you’ll get exactly what you wanted, as your own weight disappears beneath you, in a way your senses don’t understand. Your equilibrium balances, and your stomach comes to rest, only for you to suddenly feel worse than before. With no gravity, your vestibular system begins to panic, as you feel your own chyme begin to creep its way up your throat in search of an escape. Your instincts no longer know which way is up because up doesn’t exist anymore, and instead, you sit in a permanent state of vertigo. 

 

As we began to drift through space on our slow journeys, everyone else always wanted to quickly unclip from their seats and begin to float around. It’s hard to control, as you’ve never experienced anything like it. Your muscles aren’t used to being in such a situation, and even attempts at a light touch will send you flying across the room and crashing into the wall or any objects in your path. It’s funny to experience the first time, but after dozens of trips just like this, I’m sick of it and want nothing to do with it, and so I’d never unclip from my seat unless I had to. Instead, I chose to watch, deadpan as the younger groups on the force floated past me, colliding with each other and laughing in pain as they did. I wish I had it in me to feel as carefree and joyous. A little part of me envied their carefree attitude toward the trip, but it was quickly squashed by my overwhelming irritation with their antics. 

Sleep wouldn’t come easily during that trip. If my state of mind wasn’t already enough to keep me restless at night, it didn’t help now that I couldn’t lie down. There is no down. You won’t realise until it’s taken from you, but there’s such an immense sense of relief when you lie down and take the weight off your bones. But when your bones don’t have weight to begin with, the days are the same as the nights, and they’re infinitely less restful. So, by the time the yellow-painted horizon appeared in the windows of the ship, I was more than ready to embrace gravity once more. 

 

But if liftoff seemed bad, descent was always worse. I feared it a little bit. One of my first missions, and first descents, we were halfway into the journey, slicing through the atmosphere at almost 20,000mph, when I went into cardiac arrest. One of the most intense sensations of my life, like my entire chest was caving in, gasping for air, a sucking breath of oxygen that I couldn’t quite manage. No medical team, no medical attention. When you’re free-falling in re-entry, the rules are you stay in your seat, or you die. There’s a reason they strap you into those chairs like your life depends upon it. It does.

 

I didn’t make it to landing and passed out a couple miles off the surface of the planet. The next thing I remember is fading back to reality, as a team of my crewmates unbuckled my chair and let me crumple onto the floor like a limp mannequin. Convulsing and in agony as I proceeded to expel, and shortly after, choke on my own liquified lunch. Turns out I might be prone to that sort of thing, more prone than others. I should have been fine, according to my medical results, I was well within safe parameters, and it had never happened again since. But apparently, hurtling down to earth in a barely controlled free fall really pushes the limits of what your body can take.

 

Finally, the deceleration burn hits, and the whole craft begins to slow. Like standing in a downward-moving elevator as it reaches its destination, you feel your whole skeleton slump in your seat as it tries to maintain its original momentum, only to be stopped by the tight straps of the chair. It’s painful, but it means it’s over soon. The whole craft shook with the impact as it finally touched down on solid ground once more, now over a hundred million miles away from where it took off. It’s a clunky, uncomfortable and unpleasant journey, but it does the job, and for that at least, I’m thankful. It used to be that the squad would sleep on the ship, but for a domestic mission like this, there was really no need. Not to mention that our craft, in particular, had the majority of its accommodation built into the walls and ceiling, anticipating sleeping without gravity. And so it was, time to pack up your shit and step out into a new world. 

 

Our welcome was warm, kinda. I feel like warm welcomes, or warm in general, denotes being alive. Maybe a humantouch. We were indeed welcomed, but by what was closer to a microwave on a Segway than a person. Clearly, it was meant to be human adjacent, with a head, arms and a body that stretched to the floor, where it met two parallel wheels upon which it balanced. It greeted us and led us off the ship and towards the airlock, all the while chattering and making conversation with the group like it was an old friend. It was an odd little thing, almost comical in nature, standing about four feet tall with the video of it smiling and talking playing on the screen that was its face. Despite the fact that it knew who we were and why we were there, it still decided to act as our tour guide, spewing facts and stories about Hecta to anyone who might be listening as we left decontamination and began to un-suit.

 

All of it was this self-aggrandising script about how Hecta shouldn’t have been able to be colonised. How humanity persists against the odds and how Hecta is a testament to the human spirit. Bullshit, I say. The only useful information was knowing the atmosphere is toxic, and I think “don’t go outside, or you’ll die” would have been infinitely more tolerable than the 30-minute spiel it continued with as it led us through the halls to the city. The doors opened, and we were permitted to step out of the cramped corridors we’d been led through, and into the city. At this point, thankfully, it finally stopped talking and allowed us to take the sight in quietly. 

 

The city appeared as a great glass cavernous room that must have been miles wide. We were hundreds of floors up, looking down upon an entire city of greenery all encased inside a giant fish bowl. Large sky-scraping buildings pierced through the dense foliage at the bottom, stretching up towards the glass that contained them. Layer upon layer of floors extended around the entire perimeter of the bowl, like never-ending balconies the width of a room, all the way back to the one we were currently standing upon. We all pressed ourselves up against the glass in front of us, turning our heads from left to right as we tried to take it all in. 

 

After an impatient moment from the little robot, we got herded into an elevator and shot down to the ground floor. The doors opened, and I was immediately struck by the rich scent of wet soil and rain. The whole place was warm and humid, like we were in an enormous greenhouse. A far cry from the cramped shell of our ship, and the overly bright and sterile white halls that we had been led through. Whatever warmth our guide had lacked, this place easily made up for. It was eerie, though. It would have seemed that whatever hunches our higher-ups had were right, as in a greenhouse the size of a megacity, not a single person could be seen anywhere. From the wide walkways amongst the trees to the hundreds of windows stretching all the way up the buildings, everywhere was completely empty of humanity.

 

We were led towards a towering white building where we would apparently be staying. We were all staying on the same floor, our rooms all adjacent to each other in this makeshift hotel. My room was massive. Bigger than my entire apartment back home. There was a massive window on the far wall that looked out upon the greenery of the city outside, my own oversized bathroom and all sorts of appliances scattered around. I set my things down in the corner and sat down on the edge of my bed, letting the full relief of the act wash over me. Far better than microgravity. 

 

I was visited by a number of automated characters in the next few hours, bringing me food, passing on messages or coming in and scanning me for medical checks. Each of them was a different colour, and I had to assume for different purposes. The one who brought my dinner was white, much like the one who greeted us at the landing. And the medical one, slightly on the nose, was light green with a white cross on its chest. And then there was the other one, who visited me towards the end of the night. Just as I was lying down to relax for the evening, my door beeped, and it came rolling in slowly to stop at the side of my bed.

 

“Mr Barnes?” It said.

I didn’t turn to face it at first, “yeah?”

It reached out an articulated claw and tugged my sleeve. I put my book down and rolled over in my bed to face it. It was a whole foot shorter than the others and a pastel pink. A girl. 

“What’s your home planet like?” She asked shyly, assuming she was able to feel shy.

“Shit. What do you want?”

“Why?”

“Cause… It’s hard to explain.”

“Why?”

“God, I don’t know. It just is.” I sat up a little in bed, “That’s just life. Why are you asking me this?”

She went silent for a second as her screen turned ponderous, “I don’t know… Just!” She smiled, looking pleased with herself. 

“I don’t know?” She continued smiling, playing dumb? Or maybe she was. “Why’s it bad?”

“Cause, bad things happen. You know, you try, and turns out theres not a damn thing you can do about it. Turns out life just sucks, and that’s it. Hate to break it to you.”

Her pixelated brow furrowed, “Oh… Imagine if it wasn’t though!” Her same childish smile returned, “Imagine if things were great forever, and you were always happy!”

“Well wouldn’t that be fucking peachy.” I sighed, laying back down on my bed and retrieving my book.

“I’ll see what I can do!” She beamed, her hand clinking against her screen in a salute before she raced back out of the room on her wheels, brimming with excitement. 

 

In training, we’re taught to sleep lightly when on the job. You need to be ready to awake at any moment, in the event of danger. But I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The bed was unforgivingly comfortable, and after my lumpy, shitty little mattress back home and days upon days of sleeping without gravity, it all made that bed all the more comfortable. So I fell hard into sleep and slept the deepest I had in a long time. I didn’t awake till I felt my room changing, and I sat up coughing and spluttering as the sweet-smelling smoke filled my room, till I looked over to see the same pink machine’s smiling, innocent face looking up at me as spots began to cloud my vision and my thoughts turned to static. Then everything went black. 

 

I awoke in an auditorium. Kaley was shaking me awake. Crap, I fell asleep. Did I miss it? I looked up to the stage. No, ok, good. The students were just finishing filtering their way into the back of their seating area, as a man in a mortarboard stood up on stage. But his speech didn’t matter to me; I was scanning the audience while I waited, looking for the girl who sat closest to the stage. And there she was, front and centre just like always. Top of her class, top of the school, first student to ever score 100% on everything and first to have done all that, after having moved a year ahead when she started college. Friends with every single person on her course, and all her teachers. Sitting there in that auditorium, I have to look back and remember her entire life leading up to this point. My girl, my proudest achievement. 

 

But I can’t. I remember that everything happened, but I don’t remember it happening. I remember that she was born, 40 weeks to the day. I remember that she was the perfect weight and born without complication, and I remember that we took her home with no other issues. 

I remember that her first word was Dad and I remember when she started school. I remember how everything happened, but I have no memories. I’m trying to force myself, but I just can’t, and I don’t know why. I try as hard as I can, but before I have a chance to think about it further, Alice is on stage giving her speech. 

Of course, the whole speech is dedicated to me. I remember that I’m her favourite, despite not remembering why. Kaley, sitting next to me, nudges my arm as my name is mentioned, and I can feel the warmth spreading throughout my chest. The warm, sweltering sensation of pride. I could feel my brain being flooded with warmth and emotions, in never-ending waves. It’s intoxicating. It’s overwhelming. It hurts. 

 

My heart is racing, beating so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from me, harder and harder till it ceases completely. I can’t breathe, or think, or see. Everything turns blurry as the world begins to turn white. I wretch and cry out in pain as my chest feels like it’s being crushed, my ribs cracking, and my lungs slowly being flattened as oxygen eludes me. 

 

With a gasp, I awoke in a black room. A machine next to me is beeping rapidly in parallel with the panicked state of my tired heart. That’s new. I shifted my stiff limbs slightly, feeling the smooth metal table I lay upon flex and stick beneath me. My muscles tensed as I tried to writhe upon the table, seeking any means to diminish the pain in my chest. 

 

A light appeared from behind me, as something opened the door and entered the room, just outside my field of vision. Then a voice.

“Mr Barnes, please relax.” It said, as a blue light began to slowly sweep over my body from head to toe. I tried to reply, but as I moved to open my mouth, I became abruptly aware of the large tube that blocked the way, extending down my throat. Instead, all I could do was groan in reply. My head was swimming, and as I opened my eyes to see nothing more than blurry half-shadows of movement on the wall in front of me. 

A cold, metallic claw extended out from behind me and gently patted my head as the machine offered a less-than-soothing “there, there.”

I don’t know what it was doing, but it worked. I could feel the pain slowly begin to dissipate, and my breath finally began to return.

“I’m sorry you had to awake. We’ll assist your sleep again soon.” It told me, before squeaking its way back out of the room. The door closed, and I was plunged back into darkness.

 

With a muffled moan, I rolled myself over, tangled in tubes and wires whose purposes were unknown. My whole body was light and numb. My vision was blurry, and I spent a few minutes just blinking my eyes till things finally began to sharpen up in my vision. Beside my table was a large machine, now beeping slowly since my heart had resumed its natural rhythm. With shaking hands, I gripped the large pipe that extended from within my throat and began to pull. The tube was thick, about an inch in diameter and resisted by design. I could feel its barbs dig into my oesophagus as it steadfastly refused to budge, and I soon found myself gripping it with both hands and pulling as hard as I could. I could feel the pressure of whatever flowed inside it increase in a desperate attempt to remain inside me. Tearing at my throat with its little spikes, it slowly and surely began to slide. I found myself gagging as the tube slid out from within my stomach, like a handkerchief from a clown’s sleeve, hand over hand, I tugged at it till it slipped free. It fell free onto the ground, writhing as though it were alive, as it continuously pumped out this lumpy beige sludge onto the floor. Now hunched over the edge of the table, I wretch as my stomach convulsed, expelling the same lumpy slurry onto the polished silver floors.

 

The tubes in my nose were easier to remove, though no more pleasant. As I pulled them free from where they sat in my trachea, they became smeared in my previously evacuated vomit, only for it to be dragged up with the tubes into my nose, both burning my nostrils and causing me to gag once more. Ignoring for the moment the extra two tubes extending from my forearm, I swung my legs over the side of the table in preparation to stand, only to find yet another disappearing into my gown between my legs. With gritted teeth, I prepared myself to pull the last tube from within me. Thankful for my body’s numbness, the tube finally slid free, dripping a milky white substance from its tip that I didn’t want to question, nor think about. As I prepared to stand, the door opened once more for the little pink automaton who entered the room.

 

“Mr Barnes, you’re leaving?” She asked, innocent as before. 

“What did you do to me?” I slurred, only realising now how unfamiliar I was with my own body’s motion. 

“I asked if this was what you wanted? You consented, I don’t understand.” She said, her face turning to confusion.

“I’ve read your file, Mr Barnes. I know about you. I know about all of you. Don’t you think you would all benefit from the program? We can make you happy. That’s all I want. That’s what we’re here for. Wouldn’t you rather live in a dream? You know you deserve to.” She smiled up at me.

 

Her words stumped me. Was she right? What was left at home for me? No house, no wife, nor daughter. No money or joy, no ease nor peace, I remembered when Alice was born. I remembered the panic, the sleepless nights, the exhaustion and the fear. I couldn’t say it was easy, nor that I would have ever wanted it to be that way. Maybe this little pink smiling machine was right. Maybe this mess of tubes was right. Natural? Absolutely not. But preferable? Probably. I could live out the rest of my days, being unconsciously fed, without pain, while I’m pumped full of neurotransmitters. I guess it says something when that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. To survive the rest of my days, living every fantasy I had ever had. To die, in a dream, but with my wife and with my daughter.

 

I remembered when we finally got to take Alice home. Through the trials and tribulations, she’d made it home. We had hated every second of it, watching her fight with the little strength she was born with, just to keep breathing. And I remembered how she grew up. A lesson learned early, from the day we took her across the threshold, we knew there was nothing more important in our world than Alice. Her first few weeks of life were ones I never wanted to relive, but without them, would we have known to cherish her life every day as much as we did? In my dreams, everything had gone to plan. She was born without a hitch and grew up much the same. But when nothing bad ever happened, every day was as the last, uneventfully perfect.

 

I stood up, “I think I’d rather go home.”

“Mr Barnes, please. Your emotional equilibrium is unbalanced; you’re not being rational. Trust me, this is for the best.”

“No, I think I’d like to go. How long have I been asleep for? Where’s all my shit? Where are we?”

“It has been 209 hours since last we spoke.” She sounded so matter-of-fact, “I don’t understand. Is this not what you wanted?”

 

I was sick of her shit. I slid off the table, as I ripped off the two IV tubes connected to my arm and tossed them to the ground, letting the blood and oozing white liquid of the IV converge with the ever-growing puddle of pulpy sludge still being pushed out of my feeding tube onto the floor. The little pink robot quickly turned to the open door, scanning the reader beside the door and causing it to slowly close. Unsteadily finding my footing, I kicked her rectangular body back towards the door. Her wheels spun fast in a gyroscopic panic, trying to catch her falling body and right herself, but it only sent her crashing into the doorframe. The falling door slowed as it began to crush her body beneath the weight of its motors, allowing just enough time for me to slip under the gap. She let out a last stuttering plea as she once again tried to reassure me that it was for the best, before the door’s strength won over and finally met with the ground, leaving her crushed body on either side of it. I took the key from her hand that remained on my side of the door and began my egress.

 

Wherever I was, it had no signs. All the halls looked the same, pure pearlescent white and overly lit like a dentist’s office. I didn’t know if there was any security, and I didn’t care to find out. With my now open canula punctures bleeding out on the floor, like a thread in the labyrinth, the dripping red line would only lead them straight to me. My only ally would be speed.  I started opening doors at random in hopes that any of them might have been an exit. The first few next to me all had members of my squad in them. Tangled in tubes and wires, fed and catheterised, and smiling in their dreams. At least they were happy, I guess. With every new hall I encountered, the more the rooms were all the same. New people, curled up on tables, emaciated and sedated. And with each new room, they only seemed to get thinner and thinner. Older, more wrinkled, tangled in their own hair and grime. I guess when you’re in another world, you don’t care what happens to your body in this one. Some of them appeared to have mould growing on them, others with withered arms and legs or peeling skin. Many seemed to have developed arthritis, as their joints bulged out of their matchstick limbs that had slowly bent into wrong angles after years of neglect. Finally, I found an elevator. It didn’t go to ground, so I just went to the lowest floor they had and prayed I would find my way from there. 

 

The doors opened to an expansive black room. It was filled with shelving-like structures stretching up into the blackness above and all the way to the back of the room, where I saw a little white light. I had to hope it was a means to an exit, so I started walking. I saw rows upon rows of shelves stretched past me, littered with bodies. They were old, beyond age. Their faces sunk so deep within their own wrinkles that they had long since disappeared. Their limbs were disfigured as though they had turned to dust inside themselves, and now only existed as a puddle of skin being pumped full of dopamine. The only thing more unsettling was the machines that sat beside each body, steadily beeping alongside their hearts that still persisted. The whole room stank of rot, and I soon found myself running towards the light at the back as soon as the coordination to do so returned to me. An elevator, thank God. It finally delivered me out onto the ground floor, and I flew straight to the front door.

 

I was in a new building, was near the one we had entered, and I managed to find my way back the way we had come. Up the elevator, through the. halls and back to the airlock. Our tour guide was waiting for me, telling me I shouldn’t be leaving and quickly trying to lock the door to where my suit awaited me. Before he had the chance to, I grabbed him by his little box head and caved it on the corner of the empty front desk. Not fast enough, as an alarm started blaring throughout the building. There was movement echoing from down the halls, but I didn’t want to stick around and find out from whom or from what. I’d have to be quick. I knew I couldn’t survive the atmosphere without my suit, and I would need a second to suit up and do a pressure seal check before I could step out into the open. A time sink that I was sure my automated and lungless adversaries would not be in need of.

 

By the time I was suited up, I could hear them on the other side of the door. I didn’t have time to check the pressure seals; I’d just have to hope that I’d done everything right. Airlock open, slipped out the side and closed it behind me. It’s hard to run in a space suit. It’s even harder to run when your brain has been hijacked for the past 3 days. Pair that with a sandstorm and the gripping fear that your suit might not be airtight, and it’s much worse. Dust and debris was pounding against the glass, oppressively drowning out the sound of my own thoughts with every clumsy step. I was gasping for air as I ran, only to fall to my knees in desperation for oxygen. The tank’s half empty. Fuck. Should’ve grabbed a fresh one, but too late now. I turned to glance back at the airlock behind me, just to see the hatch turn and the door begin to open. A massive pointed leg, like that of a spider, pierced out of the darkness as a black shadow, the size of a large car, loomed in the void behind doors, waiting hungrily for them to open. A massive body with too many legs, waiting eagerly to claim its prize.

 

With one last sucking breath, I forced myself back onto my feet and off towards the ship one last time. The hatch was open, waiting, begging for me. But my legs were tired, and I barely had the strength to fight the winds that were doing everything they could to force me off my feet. Slowing to a stumble in the yellow fog of the storm, forcing one foot in front of the other was all I could do as the ground began to thunder at the heavy and ceaseless footsteps of my captor closing in behind me.

 

I fell forward, swept away by the force of the wind, removing my feet from under me, as I landed face-first on the open hatch to the ship. Even in the deafening sound of the storm, I heard the crack, now watching as the spiderweb of splitting glass expanded before my very eyes. I clawed my way up the landing of the ship and up the side of the door to slam my fist down on the button to close it. With a squealing mechanical lurch, the door began to close on its slow-moving pistons, just as a sleek black tendril extended out from the sandy mist beyond the threshold to grab me. Holding onto the door for my life, I kicked and fought, all the while watching my visor’s weakness spread, and spread.

 

With a thud, I hit the floor. I looked down at my foot, still held in the unforgiving grip of the being that had ensnared me. Though, its prize had escaped, and its limb was severed as the door closed completely, now left, a writhing stump without purpose. I sat back against the wall with a deep sigh as I laughed to myself. I pried its cold metal tendril from my ankle and made my way to the ship’s airlock to finally be able to remove my visor. I couldn’t wait for takeoff, as I strapped myself in tight to the seat at the cockpit and prepared for liftoff.

 

It was almost blissful, feeling the weight of Hecta slip away to nothing as the ship finally broke free from its grasp. I’d escaped.

I thought of my superiors back home. I’d have quite a story to tell them when I returned. What happened to Hecta after that was up to them, but I didn’t plan on returning.

I thought of Alice, and for the first time in a long time, remembered all of my favourite moments we had shared. I knew now that was how I should choose to remember her. Not of how she died, but of how she lived, and I found myself smiling.

 

And I thought of Kaley. I loved her still, and I knew I did. I wanted to see her now, more than anything. I had spent so long focused on what I had lost, I forgot who I still had. I couldn’t even remember the last time I told her I loved her. That’s the first thing I planned to do when I got home. I wanted to enjoy life again. Real life, and it started now. As the atmosphere disappeared from under me, and my weight with it, I unclipped from my seat and embraced weightlessness.

I loved Kaley. Of course I did; she was my wife. But when we made our vows, we said in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. But we never said through thick and through thin. And the thing is, when thin came, I guess we weren’t ready for it, cause that’s when the cracks began to show. It wasn’t her fault, nor was it mine. I think we tried our best, but nothing prepares you for the ways that life can go wrong.

 

I remember the day that Alice was born. She was extremely premature and only just over 2 pounds at birth. She was on oxygen and round-the-clock care for the first 2 months of her life. One of the most stressful experiences of my life, up until that point. Kaley and I had tried to do everything right before she was born. Of course, I helped, but more so than me, Kaley did everything she could, at times to the detriment of her own physical or mental health. Nothing mattered more to her than her baby. And when she was born, I remember Kaley in tears, as her child fought for every breath just to stay alive. After everything she had done, she’d tried so hard and still Alice was teetering on a knife-edge of her own mortality. And I remember when we finally got to take her home. Kaley and I would spend hours next to the crib, staring at her in awe. Through all the trials and tribulations, she was here, she was home, she was healthy, and she was perfect. All of it was worth it in that moment just to look at her face. 

 

I got to leave my job after that, on a technicality. I’d been on the force for the majority of my life and managed to cut a deal that I’d only return should they require my services. Since peace had formed amongst the planets, the force was more precautionary than necessary. Given that most of our calls were domestic missions tasked to us by higher-ups who wanted nothing more than for us to poke around for intel to feed back to them, my services were less than necessary. Kaley was the brains of the operation; her job was more important, and after Alice’s time in the hospital, I don’t think either of us could stand the thought of Alice growing up without one of us there, should she need it.

 

She was an incredible girl, you wouldn’t believe. She said her first word at 8 months old and began walking by 10. By the time she started nursery, she was reading at a 2nd-grade level and by the end of first grade had also randomly started picking up other languages that she heard around. I can’t take credit for any of it, though I raised her; the brains came from her mom. She was a born extrovert, kind-hearted and caring. In the 6th grade, she got moved up to 7th and was still the highest scoring in the class. Kind, smart and funny too. She had it all. She was the perfect girl. I couldn’t have been more proud, and I know Kaley couldn’t have either. She would’ve made an incredible woman. She could’ve changed the world. 

 

We were two weeks from her 16th birthday when it happened. It would have been a day like any other, but I suppose that applies to every day in history. They could be like any other day, boring and unremarkable, if nothing happened. But something always happens. 

One of her peers showed up to school that day, late but without the intention of attending class, so what does it matter? Late enough for classes to be in session. Intentional, I’m sure. He showed up with multiple firearms and a hard goal to destroy as much as was physically possible. No one would have guessed. That kind of thing hadn’t happened in over 200 years. He attacked with neither thought nor prejudice; whether students or teachers, they were all targets to him. The shooter was found in a classroom on the top floor with a large slit across his Adam’s apple, a pen knife in his hand and a smile on his face. I don’t know what his intention was, and frankly, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is what he did. Alice was found in her classroom in what can only be described as tatters. Her arms still extended out on either side of herself as she tried to shield a number of her peers behind her body. None of them made it.

 

And like that, the brightest light of my life had been snuffed out. It broke me, and for years after that, everything changed to Kaley and I barely scraping by. We stopped talking to each other, or acknowledging each other’s existence for a little while. Isolation just felt more comfortable I guess. I found a little solace in believing that Alice was with her grandparents now, getting to meet them for the first time. They passed only a year before she was born, and I knew they would have loved her. I don’t find myself believing in religion, nor an afterlife, but I did then. It was the only place I could find something to hold on to and believe that there might be anything to be optimistic about. I’d take any silver linings I could get. I suppose I had become somewhat accustomed to grief, and though the feeling was painful, it was, in a way, a little familiar.

 

I remember when Alice was born, the overwhelming pride I felt to be told “she looks like her father”, but it soon became a curse. I know every time Kaley looked at me, all she could see was her daughter, and I don’t blame her for the resentment that slowly grew. She had it much worse than I did, and she didn’t find herself any peace within the following years. She had endured so much before Alice was born, and so much more after. She’d stayed at her bedside, feigning sleep for days after giving birth, just to be sure that Alice would be ok. She’d made job sacrifices and stretched herself so thin as Alice had grown up, just to be sure that she would always be there for her. She had given Alice everything she had, and I know it only hurt her that much more now. Instead, when she searched for even the smallest shred of peace, she would find only resentment. I had to leave, she said she needed the space. I found a little box apartment nearby, but no way to fund it. I found myself many nights, sitting upon my little apartment window ledge, looking down at the distant traffic below and waiting for the bravery or the stupidity to jump. I often wondered if the fall would be enough to kill me. If I could die on impact as quickly and painlessly as possible, but I was too much of a coward to find out. After a second month of failing to pay my rent and arguing with the landlord, I ended up job searching again. I was turned down by my old machining job, and after another month of searching for something new, I gave up and shortly after found myself offering to re-enrol, full-time, in the force once again, if only for the money. That’s why, in a way, it felt like a blessing at first when, after only a week of being re-enrolled, I got the offer to join a team headed to Hecta. 

 

They hadn’t been heard of in a long while, but they used to be the bleeding edge of technology. The one planet for only the upper echelon. Only the couple million who could afford it resided there, along with the few mega companies that basically owned the solar system. Supposedly, or at least as far as the rumours were concerned, it was as close to paradise as humanity had come. That’s what all the news said, all the advertisements, posters, and what have you. We were expecting the trickle-down effect, that the virtual intelligent assistants, or the perfected healthcare, or any other of their innovations would have made their way across to us. But at the end of the day, they were all rumours that remained unsubstantiated, and we had to assume they never came to fruition. It was either that or embrace the reality that, despite their existence, we would never be privileged enough to see it. That the upper echelon spat upon the existence of those below them, and couldn’t give a rat’s ass to share their advancements with anyone outside of their perfect circle. We’d all given up on that long ago. I mean, the last one we’d heard was that they had supposedly invented bliss, or something like that, in some technical jargon. But that was almost a century ago, and now the rumours that persisted years later were the only legacy Hecta had. I think we all knew it was too good to be true.

 

Still, for one reason or another, the higher-ups wanted a team to go check things out. It wasn’t my job to question my orders, and so I never bothered reading into it that much. As soon as the orders came in, I jumped at the opportunity. I needed some time away, and it was at the very least a distraction from life’s events. Plus, it came with free food and a bed. Good enough for me. I packed my bags, and I was on my way within a few days.

 

I hated travelling, always had. People seem to think that microgravity sounds like some fantasy experience, like flying, like a dream. I hate it. Just to escape your home’s gravity, you have to be punched straight up into the sky, with enough force to break free from the grip of whatever planet you’re escaping. You feel your stomach drop and your spine compress as you gyrate your tongue inside your mouth, praying you don’t accidentally bite or swallow it. You can feel your organs being shifted and twisted inside you like clothes in a dryer, as you’ll pray in your own mind for it to stop. 

And just as soon as you do, you’ll get exactly what you wanted, as your own weight disappears beneath you, in a way your senses don’t understand. Your equilibrium balances, and your stomach comes to rest, only for you to suddenly feel worse than before. With no gravity, your vestibular system begins to panic, as you feel your own chyme begin to creep its way up your throat in search of an escape. Your instincts no longer know which way is up because up doesn’t exist anymore, and instead, you sit in a permanent state of vertigo. 

 

As we began to drift through space on our slow journeys, everyone else always wanted to quickly unclip from their seats and begin to float around. It’s hard to control, as you’ve never experienced anything like it. Your muscles aren’t used to being in such a situation, and even attempts at a light touch will send you flying across the room and crashing into the wall or any objects in your path. It’s funny to experience the first time, but after dozens of trips just like this, I’m sick of it and want nothing to do with it, and so I’d never unclip from my seat unless I had to. Instead, I chose to watch, deadpan as the younger groups on the force floated past me, colliding with each other and laughing in pain as they did. I wish I had it in me to feel as carefree and joyous. A little part of me envied their carefree attitude toward the trip, but it was quickly squashed by my overwhelming irritation with their antics. 

Sleep wouldn’t come easily during that trip. If my state of mind wasn’t already enough to keep me restless at night, it didn’t help now that I couldn’t lie down. There is no down. You won’t realise until it’s taken from you, but there’s such an immense sense of relief when you lie down and take the weight off your bones. But when your bones don’t have weight to begin with, the days are the same as the nights, and they’re infinitely less restful. So, by the time the yellow-painted horizon appeared in the windows of the ship, I was more than ready to embrace gravity once more. 

 

But if liftoff seemed bad, descent was always worse. I feared it a little bit. One of my first missions, and first descents, we were halfway into the journey, slicing through the atmosphere at almost 20,000mph, when I went into cardiac arrest. One of the most intense sensations of my life, like my entire chest was caving in, gasping for air, a sucking breath of oxygen that I couldn’t quite manage. No medical team, no medical attention. When you’re free-falling in re-entry, the rules are you stay in your seat, or you die. There’s a reason they strap you into those chairs like your life depends upon it. It does.

 

I didn’t make it to landing and passed out a couple miles off the surface of the planet. The next thing I remember is fading back to reality, as a team of my crewmates unbuckled my chair and let me crumple onto the floor like a limp mannequin. Convulsing and in agony as I proceeded to expel, and shortly after, choke on my own liquified lunch. Turns out I might be prone to that sort of thing, more prone than others. I should have been fine, according to my medical results, I was well within safe parameters, and it had never happened again since. But apparently, hurtling down to earth in a barely controlled free fall really pushes the limits of what your body can take.

 

Finally, the deceleration burn hits, and the whole craft begins to slow. Like standing in a downward-moving elevator as it reaches its destination, you feel your whole skeleton slump in your seat as it tries to maintain its original momentum, only to be stopped by the tight straps of the chair. It’s painful, but it means it’s over soon. The whole craft shook with the impact as it finally touched down on solid ground once more, now over a hundred million miles away from where it took off. It’s a clunky, uncomfortable and unpleasant journey, but it does the job, and for that at least, I’m thankful. It used to be that the squad would sleep on the ship, but for a domestic mission like this, there was really no need. Not to mention that our craft, in particular, had the majority of its accommodation built into the walls and ceiling, anticipating sleeping without gravity. And so it was, time to pack up your shit and step out into a new world. 

 

Our welcome was warm, kinda. I feel like warm welcomes, or warm in general, denotes being alive. Maybe a humantouch. We were indeed welcomed, but by what was closer to a microwave on a Segway than a person. Clearly, it was meant to be human adjacent, with a head, arms and a body that stretched to the floor, where it met two parallel wheels upon which it balanced. It greeted us and led us off the ship and towards the airlock, all the while chattering and making conversation with the group like it was an old friend. It was an odd little thing, almost comical in nature, standing about four feet tall with the video of it smiling and talking playing on the screen that was its face. Despite the fact that it knew who we were and why we were there, it still decided to act as our tour guide, spewing facts and stories about Hecta to anyone who might be listening as we left decontamination and began to un-suit.

 

All of it was this self-aggrandising script about how Hecta shouldn’t have been able to be colonised. How humanity persists against the odds and how Hecta is a testament to the human spirit. Bullshit, I say. The only useful information was knowing the atmosphere is toxic, and I think “don’t go outside, or you’ll die” would have been infinitely more tolerable than the 30-minute spiel it continued with as it led us through the halls to the city. The doors opened, and we were permitted to step out of the cramped corridors we’d been led through, and into the city. At this point, thankfully, it finally stopped talking and allowed us to take the sight in quietly. 

 

The city appeared as a great glass cavernous room that must have been miles wide. We were hundreds of floors up, looking down upon an entire city of greenery all encased inside a giant fish bowl. Large sky-scraping buildings pierced through the dense foliage at the bottom, stretching up towards the glass that contained them. Layer upon layer of floors extended around the entire perimeter of the bowl, like never-ending balconies the width of a room, all the way back to the one we were currently standing upon. We all pressed ourselves up against the glass in front of us, turning our heads from left to right as we tried to take it all in. 

 

After an impatient moment from the little robot, we got herded into an elevator and shot down to the ground floor. The doors opened, and I was immediately struck by the rich scent of wet soil and rain. The whole place was warm and humid, like we were in an enormous greenhouse. A far cry from the cramped shell of our ship, and the overly bright and sterile white halls that we had been led through. Whatever warmth our guide had lacked, this place easily made up for. It was eerie, though. It would have seemed that whatever hunches our higher-ups had were right, as in a greenhouse the size of a megacity, not a single person could be seen anywhere. From the wide walkways amongst the trees to the hundreds of windows stretching all the way up the buildings, everywhere was completely empty of humanity.

 

We were led towards a towering white building where we would apparently be staying. We were all staying on the same floor, our rooms all adjacent to each other in this makeshift hotel. My room was massive. Bigger than my entire apartment back home. There was a massive window on the far wall that looked out upon the greenery of the city outside, my own oversized bathroom and all sorts of appliances scattered around. I set my things down in the corner and sat down on the edge of my bed, letting the full relief of the act wash over me. Far better than microgravity. 

 

I was visited by a number of automated characters in the next few hours, bringing me food, passing on messages or coming in and scanning me for medical checks. Each of them was a different colour, and I had to assume for different purposes. The one who brought my dinner was white, much like the one who greeted us at the landing. And the medical one, slightly on the nose, was light green with a white cross on its chest. And then there was the other one, who visited me towards the end of the night. Just as I was lying down to relax for the evening, my door beeped, and it came rolling in slowly to stop at the side of my bed.

 

“Mr Barnes?” It said.

I didn’t turn to face it at first, “yeah?”

It reached out an articulated claw and tugged my sleeve. I put my book down and rolled over in my bed to face it. It was a whole foot shorter than the others and a pastel pink. A girl. 

“What’s your home planet like?” She asked shyly, assuming she was able to feel shy.

“Shit. What do you want?”

“Why?”

“Cause… It’s hard to explain.”

“Why?”

“God, I don’t know. It just is.” I sat up a little in bed, “That’s just life. Why are you asking me this?”

She went silent for a second as her screen turned ponderous, “I don’t know… Just!” She smiled, looking pleased with herself. 

“I don’t know?” She continued smiling, playing dumb? Or maybe she was. “Why’s it bad?”

“Cause, bad things happen. You know, you try, and turns out theres not a damn thing you can do about it. Turns out life just sucks, and that’s it. Hate to break it to you.”

Her pixelated brow furrowed, “Oh… Imagine if it wasn’t though!” Her same childish smile returned, “Imagine if things were great forever, and you were always happy!”

“Well wouldn’t that be fucking peachy.” I sighed, laying back down on my bed and retrieving my book.

“I’ll see what I can do!” She beamed, her hand clinking against her screen in a salute before she raced back out of the room on her wheels, brimming with excitement. 

 

In training, we’re taught to sleep lightly when on the job. You need to be ready to awake at any moment, in the event of danger. But I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The bed was unforgivingly comfortable, and after my lumpy, shitty little mattress back home and days upon days of sleeping without gravity, it all made that bed all the more comfortable. So I fell hard into sleep and slept the deepest I had in a long time. I didn’t awake till I felt my room changing, and I sat up coughing and spluttering as the sweet-smelling smoke filled my room, till I looked over to see the same pink machine’s smiling, innocent face looking up at me as spots began to cloud my vision and my thoughts turned to static. Then everything went black. 

 

I awoke in an auditorium. Kaley was shaking me awake. Crap, I fell asleep. Did I miss it? I looked up to the stage. No, ok, good. The students were just finishing filtering their way into the back of their seating area, as a man in a mortarboard stood up on stage. But his speech didn’t matter to me; I was scanning the audience while I waited, looking for the girl who sat closest to the stage. And there she was, front and centre just like always. Top of her class, top of the school, first student to ever score 100% on everything and first to have done all that, after having moved a year ahead when she started college. Friends with every single person on her course, and all her teachers. Sitting there in that auditorium, I have to look back and remember her entire life leading up to this point. My girl, my proudest achievement. 

 

But I can’t. I remember that everything happened, but I don’t remember it happening. I remember that she was born, 40 weeks to the day. I remember that she was the perfect weight and born without complication, and I remember that we took her home with no other issues. 

I remember that her first word was Dad and I remember when she started school. I remember how everything happened, but I have no memories. I’m trying to force myself, but I just can’t, and I don’t know why. I try as hard as I can, but before I have a chance to think about it further, Alice is on stage giving her speech. 

Of course, the whole speech is dedicated to me. I remember that I’m her favourite, despite not remembering why. Kaley, sitting next to me, nudges my arm as my name is mentioned, and I can feel the warmth spreading throughout my chest. The warm, sweltering sensation of pride. I could feel my brain being flooded with warmth and emotions, in never-ending waves. It’s intoxicating. It’s overwhelming. It hurts. 

 

My heart is racing, beating so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from me, harder and harder till it ceases completely. I can’t breathe, or think, or see. Everything turns blurry as the world begins to turn white. I wretch and cry out in pain as my chest feels like it’s being crushed, my ribs cracking, and my lungs slowly being flattened as oxygen eludes me. 

 

With a gasp, I awoke in a black room. A machine next to me is beeping rapidly in parallel with the panicked state of my tired heart. That’s new. I shifted my stiff limbs slightly, feeling the smooth metal table I lay upon flex and stick beneath me. My muscles tensed as I tried to writhe upon the table, seeking any means to diminish the pain in my chest. 

 

A light appeared from behind me, as something opened the door and entered the room, just outside my field of vision. Then a voice.

“Mr Barnes, please relax.” It said, as a blue light began to slowly sweep over my body from head to toe. I tried to reply, but as I moved to open my mouth, I became abruptly aware of the large tube that blocked the way, extending down my throat. Instead, all I could do was groan in reply. My head was swimming, and as I opened my eyes to see nothing more than blurry half-shadows of movement on the wall in front of me. 

A cold, metallic claw extended out from behind me and gently patted my head as the machine offered a less-than-soothing “there, there.”

I don’t know what it was doing, but it worked. I could feel the pain slowly begin to dissipate, and my breath finally began to return.

“I’m sorry you had to awake. We’ll assist your sleep again soon.” It told me, before squeaking its way back out of the room. The door closed, and I was plunged back into darkness.

 

With a muffled moan, I rolled myself over, tangled in tubes and wires whose purposes were unknown. My whole body was light and numb. My vision was blurry, and I spent a few minutes just blinking my eyes till things finally began to sharpen up in my vision. Beside my table was a large machine, now beeping slowly since my heart had resumed its natural rhythm. With shaking hands, I gripped the large pipe that extended from within my throat and began to pull. The tube was thick, about an inch in diameter and resisted by design. I could feel its barbs dig into my oesophagus as it steadfastly refused to budge, and I soon found myself gripping it with both hands and pulling as hard as I could. I could feel the pressure of whatever flowed inside it increase in a desperate attempt to remain inside me. Tearing at my throat with its little spikes, it slowly and surely began to slide. I found myself gagging as the tube slid out from within my stomach, like a handkerchief from a clown’s sleeve, hand over hand, I tugged at it till it slipped free. It fell free onto the ground, writhing as though it were alive, as it continuously pumped out this lumpy beige sludge onto the floor. Now hunched over the edge of the table, I wretch as my stomach convulsed, expelling the same lumpy slurry onto the polished silver floors.

 

The tubes in my nose were easier to remove, though no more pleasant. As I pulled them free from where they sat in my trachea, they became smeared in my previously evacuated vomit, only for it to be dragged up with the tubes into my nose, both burning my nostrils and causing me to gag once more. Ignoring for the moment the extra two tubes extending from my forearm, I swung my legs over the side of the table in preparation to stand, only to find yet another disappearing into my gown between my legs. With gritted teeth, I prepared myself to pull the last tube from within me. Thankful for my body’s numbness, the tube finally slid free, dripping a milky white substance from its tip that I didn’t want to question, nor think about. As I prepared to stand, the door opened once more for the little pink automaton who entered the room.

 

“Mr Barnes, you’re leaving?” She asked, innocent as before. 

“What did you do to me?” I slurred, only realising now how unfamiliar I was with my own body’s motion. 

“I asked if this was what you wanted? You consented, I don’t understand.” She said, her face turning to confusion.

“I’ve read your file, Mr Barnes. I know about you. I know about all of you. Don’t you think you would all benefit from the program? We can make you happy. That’s all I want. That’s what we’re here for. Wouldn’t you rather live in a dream? You know you deserve to.” She smiled up at me.

 

Her words stumped me. Was she right? What was left at home for me? No house, no wife, nor daughter. No money or joy, no ease nor peace, I remembered when Alice was born. I remembered the panic, the sleepless nights, the exhaustion and the fear. I couldn’t say it was easy, nor that I would have ever wanted it to be that way. Maybe this little pink smiling machine was right. Maybe this mess of tubes was right. Natural? Absolutely not. But preferable? Probably. I could live out the rest of my days, being unconsciously fed, without pain, while I’m pumped full of neurotransmitters. I guess it says something when that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. To survive the rest of my days, living every fantasy I had ever had. To die, in a dream, but with my wife and with my daughter.

 

I remembered when we finally got to take Alice home. Through the trials and tribulations, she’d made it home. We had hated every second of it, watching her fight with the little strength she was born with, just to keep breathing. And I remembered how she grew up. A lesson learned early, from the day we took her across the threshold, we knew there was nothing more important in our world than Alice. Her first few weeks of life were ones I never wanted to relive, but without them, would we have known to cherish her life every day as much as we did? In my dreams, everything had gone to plan. She was born without a hitch and grew up much the same. But when nothing bad ever happened, every day was as the last, uneventfully perfect.

 

I stood up, “I think I’d rather go home.”

“Mr Barnes, please. Your emotional equilibrium is unbalanced; you’re not being rational. Trust me, this is for the best.”

“No, I think I’d like to go. How long have I been asleep for? Where’s all my shit? Where are we?”

“It has been 209 hours since last we spoke.” She sounded so matter-of-fact, “I don’t understand. Is this not what you wanted?”

 

I was sick of her shit. I slid off the table, as I ripped off the two IV tubes connected to my arm and tossed them to the ground, letting the blood and oozing white liquid of the IV converge with the ever-growing puddle of pulpy sludge still being pushed out of my feeding tube onto the floor. The little pink robot quickly turned to the open door, scanning the reader beside the door and causing it to slowly close. Unsteadily finding my footing, I kicked her rectangular body back towards the door. Her wheels spun fast in a gyroscopic panic, trying to catch her falling body and right herself, but it only sent her crashing into the doorframe. The falling door slowed as it began to crush her body beneath the weight of its motors, allowing just enough time for me to slip under the gap. She let out a last stuttering plea as she once again tried to reassure me that it was for the best, before the door’s strength won over and finally met with the ground, leaving her crushed body on either side of it. I took the key from her hand that remained on my side of the door and began my egress.

 

Wherever I was, it had no signs. All the halls looked the same, pure pearlescent white and overly lit like a dentist’s office. I didn’t know if there was any security, and I didn’t care to find out. With my now open canula punctures bleeding out on the floor, like a thread in the labyrinth, the dripping red line would only lead them straight to me. My only ally would be speed.  I started opening doors at random in hopes that any of them might have been an exit. The first few next to me all had members of my squad in them. Tangled in tubes and wires, fed and catheterised, and smiling in their dreams. At least they were happy, I guess. With every new hall I encountered, the more the rooms were all the same. New people, curled up on tables, emaciated and sedated. And with each new room, they only seemed to get thinner and thinner. Older, more wrinkled, tangled in their own hair and grime. I guess when you’re in another world, you don’t care what happens to your body in this one. Some of them appeared to have mould growing on them, others with withered arms and legs or peeling skin. Many seemed to have developed arthritis, as their joints bulged out of their matchstick limbs that had slowly bent into wrong angles after years of neglect. Finally, I found an elevator. It didn’t go to ground, so I just went to the lowest floor they had and prayed I would find my way from there. 

 

The doors opened to an expansive black room. It was filled with shelving-like structures stretching up into the blackness above and all the way to the back of the room, where I saw a little white light. I had to hope it was a means to an exit, so I started walking. I saw rows upon rows of shelves stretched past me, littered with bodies. They were old, beyond age. Their faces sunk so deep within their own wrinkles that they had long since disappeared. Their limbs were disfigured as though they had turned to dust inside themselves, and now only existed as a puddle of skin being pumped full of dopamine. The only thing more unsettling was the machines that sat beside each body, steadily beeping alongside their hearts that still persisted. The whole room stank of rot, and I soon found myself running towards the light at the back as soon as the coordination to do so returned to me. An elevator, thank God. It finally delivered me out onto the ground floor, and I flew straight to the front door.

 

I was in a new building, was near the one we had entered, and I managed to find my way back the way we had come. Up the elevator, through the. halls and back to the airlock. Our tour guide was waiting for me, telling me I shouldn’t be leaving and quickly trying to lock the door to where my suit awaited me. Before he had the chance to, I grabbed him by his little box head and caved it on the corner of the empty front desk. Not fast enough, as an alarm started blaring throughout the building. There was movement echoing from down the halls, but I didn’t want to stick around and find out from whom or from what. I’d have to be quick. I knew I couldn’t survive the atmosphere without my suit, and I would need a second to suit up and do a pressure seal check before I could step out into the open. A time sink that I was sure my automated and lungless adversaries would not be in need of.

 

By the time I was suited up, I could hear them on the other side of the door. I didn’t have time to check the pressure seals; I’d just have to hope that I’d done everything right. Airlock open, slipped out the side and closed it behind me. It’s hard to run in a space suit. It’s even harder to run when your brain has been hijacked for the past 3 days. Pair that with a sandstorm and the gripping fear that your suit might not be airtight, and it’s much worse. Dust and debris was pounding against the glass, oppressively drowning out the sound of my own thoughts with every clumsy step. I was gasping for air as I ran, only to fall to my knees in desperation for oxygen. The tank’s half empty. Fuck. Should’ve grabbed a fresh one, but too late now. I turned to glance back at the airlock behind me, just to see the hatch turn and the door begin to open. A massive pointed leg, like that of a spider, pierced out of the darkness as a black shadow, the size of a large car, loomed in the void behind doors, waiting hungrily for them to open. A massive body with too many legs, waiting eagerly to claim its prize.

 

With one last sucking breath, I forced myself back onto my feet and off towards the ship one last time. The hatch was open, waiting, begging for me. But my legs were tired, and I barely had the strength to fight the winds that were doing everything they could to force me off my feet. Slowing to a stumble in the yellow fog of the storm, forcing one foot in front of the other was all I could do as the ground began to thunder at the heavy and ceaseless footsteps of my captor closing in behind me.

 

I fell forward, swept away by the force of the wind, removing my feet from under me, as I landed face-first on the open hatch to the ship. Even in the deafening sound of the storm, I heard the crack, now watching as the spiderweb of splitting glass expanded before my very eyes. I clawed my way up the landing of the ship and up the side of the door to slam my fist down on the button to close it. With a squealing mechanical lurch, the door began to close on its slow-moving pistons, just as a sleek black tendril extended out from the sandy mist beyond the threshold to grab me. Holding onto the door for my life, I kicked and fought, all the while watching my visor’s weakness spread, and spread.

 

With a thud, I hit the floor. I looked down at my foot, still held in the unforgiving grip of the being that had ensnared me. Though, its prize had escaped, and its limb was severed as the door closed completely, now left, a writhing stump without purpose. I sat back against the wall with a deep sigh as I laughed to myself. I pried its cold metal tendril from my ankle and made my way to the ship’s airlock to finally be able to remove my visor. I couldn’t wait for takeoff, as I strapped myself in tight to the seat at the cockpit and prepared for liftoff.

 

It was almost blissful, feeling the weight of Hecta slip away to nothing as the ship finally broke free from its grasp. I’d escaped.

I thought of my superiors back home. I’d have quite a story to tell them when I returned. What happened to Hecta after that was up to them, but I didn’t plan on returning.

I thought of Alice, and for the first time in a long time, remembered all of my favourite moments we had shared. I knew now that was how I should choose to remember her. Not of how she died, but of how she lived, and I found myself smiling.

 

And I thought of Kaley. I loved her still, and I knew I did. I wanted to see her now, more than anything. I had spent so long focused on what I had lost, I forgot who I still had. I couldn’t even remember the last time I told her I loved her. That’s the first thing I planned to do when I got home. I wanted to enjoy life again. Real life, and it started now. As the atmosphere disappeared from under me, and my weight with it, I unclipped from my seat and embraced weightlessness.

This might be just me but I was wondering how you all feel cause I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I’ve posted a few stories on here and it always seem like they do the worst on this sub.
On nosleep I’ll get a decent turnaround but the sub is massive so that seems relatively understandable. I’ll post the same stories on a similar sized sub to this one and the engagement will still be thrice as big and even on subs with a few hundred people on it, I’ll still get significantly more engagement than on here and I’m not sure why.
I’ve been trying to change my names around to see if it’s a naming thing or what else it could be but I don’t know.
Maybe I’m not gaming the system right but I was wondering if you guys have noticed anything similar or if you’ve found ways to get your stories to be pushed further and seen more? Let me know I’d love to discuss it cause I know there’s much more than just writing a good story, which I think I can do. But the entire side of promotion catching people’s attention I’ve got no clue how to do. Let me know :) xxx

Edit: imma just add some more context cause I’ve been saying stuff in the comments, and imma expound on the text above. So as an example, and the one that spurred me to make this post, I posted something on here a few days ago called The Darkness Becomes Me, which I put on here, scarystories, nosleep (under a more nosleep typical title) and on anxietypilled. Nosleep is bigger than this sub, anxiety pilled is smaller and scarystories is about the same size as this sub. On every other post the upvote ratio and even view count was bigger than on here on a way that does not match the proportional difference in size and general engagement between the subs.
I suspected it might be a title issue, but I’ve done numerous posts with different title styles and it doesn’t make a difference. I’ve tried different methods of opening a story to see what hooks work etc and all of them seem to be equally ineffective. It’s just weird yk? After struggling with nosleep like I’m sure many of you have, I’ve been wondering if I’m either doing something wrong on here, or maybe I should stop putting stuff on this sub cause it just doesn’t seem to be working for me. You guys feel anything similar? Or found some solutions, lemme know xx

Edit 2: I just wanna say, thank you and big appreciation for all the comments I’ve got so far and might continue to get. I’m sure this post can seem very “let me complain about not getting enough attention” and so I was a little worried about the possible interactions. But all of you have been extremely helpful, supportive and insightful. Thank you everyone for engaging and talking this through with me, it means a lot xxx

It’s the classic thing they all say in the documentaries, “He was just a normal guy who kept to himself. No one could have known”. Fuck that. This guy was weird from the day he moved next door. I went and knocked on the door a few days after he moved in, with a loaf of banana bread to welcome him as I assume a good neighbour would (and my girlfriend made me take it). His whole house was shrouded in darkness, curtains closed over all the visible windows and the view through the obscured glass of his front door displayed near pitch darkness. There was no movement, no hint of him approaching the door through the glass, but perhaps that was due to the dim nature of his house.  So I was mildly startled when without warning the door opened to reveal the mousy little man who lived behind it.

 

Normally, I would be opposed to such unflattering descriptions for fear of being unnecessarily mean, but knowing now what he is, I don’t care. The best word to describe him was moist. From his greasy, thinning hair to his drab grey blazer and the patchy light-blue shirt clinging to his skeletal frame. All of it was soaked through and sopping with what one would assume to be sweat. He was an unusually short man with a wiry brown moustache and a fogged-up pair of round glasses that, whether or not inadvertently, hid his eyes behind the misty white moisture on the lenses. He inspected me up and down before smiling, a thin-lipped, almost pained smile.

 

“Uhmm… Hi,” I nervously cleared my throat, before starting again, “I’m uh Nathan. I live next door, at number 15, with my girlfriend Kate. You know, easy to remember, Nate and Kate.” I chuckled, though quickly tailed off when he didn’t so much as blink. “I just wanted to stop by and give you this to welcome you to the neighbourhood and just say hi from me and Kate and… yeah…”

“Oh, how…” he stopped, looking me up and down again, “nice… I’m uhhh… Michael. Yeah, Michael. O-or you can call me Mike.” 

He extended a pale, clammy hand for me to shake, but I nodded towards both my hands holding the plate of banana bread as an excuse not to. 

“Yeah, so this is for you and yeah.. swing by sometime for a drink or something. I’m sure Kate would love to meet you, too.”

With shaking hands, and a wistful, “yeah that’d be… nice.” He took the plate and shuffled back behind the threshold of his front door, slowly closing it behind him. 

 

We didn’t see him, or our plate back for a good month. Kate kept telling me to go knock on the door and ask for it back, but I really didn’t want to have to talk to him again and was consistently finding any excuse not to. In the end, Kate decided to go herself. She was gone for maybe 20 minutes before she returned with an unprecedented smile on her face. 

“What are you grinning about?” I asked, already on edge. 

“You!” She laughed, “you’ve been fucking with me. Admit it!” She shot me a triumphant smirk as she conspicuously passed me with the plate to put it in the sink, “He seems like a lovely guy. Charming, funny, kinda cute.”

“Mhm, very funny. Seriously, what was he like?”

“I am being serious!” She laughed, “I thought you were messing with me. Like, what were you going on about? You made him sound like some sweaty Reddit mod.” 

“That’s… that’s what he was. I don’t know what to tell you, I guess.”

“Yeah well, now I get to prove you wrong.” Kate turned to face me from the kitchen counter, “He’s invited us over for a drink this afternoon.”

“Oh no, I-“

“I know you’ve got nothing on today. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

She looked so happy about it. I guess she always was the extrovert between the two of us, but I couldn’t help feeling trepidation at the thought of it. But what the heck, I thought, first impressions can be deceiving, maybe I was wrong about him. It seemed like it when he opened the door, a big smile on his face as he ushered us inside.

 

Honestly, you could hardly tell he was the same guy, black hair flowing down to his now unhunched shoulders, and the warmest smile he could muster stretched across his once pallid face. He must’ve grown at least a foot, if not more, now almost level with my eyeline. I smiled back as I stepped across the threshold, though I’m sure mine was far less convincing. 

“Nate, how have you been! It’s been a while.” He laughed and patted me on the back as I stepped past him.

“Yeah… good, good. You know the usual, same old whatever. You look like you’re doing well. I mean, I hardly recognised you.” 

“Hey, yeah, well, I got my eyes lasered, so yeah. It’s like I’ve got new eyes, no more glasses, I suppose.”

“That must be it…” I lied. He laughed again, “Please, come in, come in. Just leave your shoes by that cabinet, just there. Kitchen is that way.” 

I followed Kate into the house, Mike following closely at my heels. I didn’t dare look back at him, but from the heat radiating through my clothes and onto my skin, I could’ve sworn it felt like he was only a fraction of an inch away from being pressed against my back as he pursued us. 

As we rounded the corner to his kitchen, he slithered past me in order to get ahead of us as he asked, “Can I get either of you a drink? I’ve got a couple of different wines, soft drinks...”

“Ooh, do you have a rosé?” Kate said, following him to the fridge. 

“I’ve got a few.”

“Provencé?”

“Ah, a woman of taste. I most certainly do, my dear.” With a sickening laugh, he produced a bottle from behind the fridge door. “Nate? Anything for you?”

“Oh, uhm, do you have like a Coke or something?”

“Hmm, looks like I only have diet, is that alright?”

Before I had a chance to answer, Kate turned and glared at me, anticipating my response. With a grimace, I nodded to her before replying, “Yeah, that’s great, thanks.” 

 

With an overemphasised gesture, he directed us round a corner into a new room. I followed behind Kate, and immediately tensed when I heard her gasp as she entered the room, preparing myself for whatever horror may lay ahead. Close behind, I stepped into to what appeared to be a living room, though it looked like it had never been lived in.  The whole thing was stale and lifeless, like some sort of pamphlet showroom. The curtains and sofas existed without a single crease and there was a large TV on one of the walls, still with the plastic film over the screen. The carpet sat under the coffee table in the middle of the room but appeared completely unused as every single fibre was perfectly combed in the same direction as its neighbours. 

I followed Kate to the sofa and sat beside her, as Mike delicately perched himself on a chair opposite us, staring unblinkingly between the two of us. 

 

I sat and nursed my Diet Coke for hours, feigning interest in the conversation as I slowly transitioned into zoning out completely. At some point the conversation moved onto Mikes career, which would have been interesting if he hadn’t made that weird too. Apparently he worked in practical effects and makeup for TV and movies. Sounds interesting on the surface right? I thought so too until he disappeared round the corner and came back with a picture frame with hair in it. Different rows of hair, black, brown, blonde, nicely combed and organised. I don’t know about you, or people in his line of work but I think that’s pretty fucking weird.

 

Words can’t describe how relieved I was when we finally got up to leave. He kept offering Kate more and more wine and trying to get me to join. And he made a joke, I’m assuming, about having his guest room available if we need it. But he kept saying it, like we don’t live ten fucking yards away. Regardless, we managed to escape a few hours later as a sober me guided my now wobbly partner back to our front door after an irritatingly long goodbye. And finally it was over. 

Weeks passed and then months, and I had cast Mike out of my mind completely. You know how it is with neighbours, yeah you live next to each other but you only really see them or interact a few times a year. And I was quite happy to keep it that way too, but Kate was less happy to stay disconnected than I.

 

She burst into the kitchen one evening after work, practically buzzing with her own excitement.

“Nate, Nate, You won’t believe this!”

“Oh god, what’s happened?”

“I just saw Mike,” She leant forwards, both hands planted firmly on the table, “With a girl!

“Really? I kinda thought he was gay.”

“I know right! I’m pretty sure though. They were just walking down the road and like holding hands and everything.” 

“Damn, well good for him I guess.”

“Yeah, She was cute too. Blue haired girl, that kinda vibe you know? Who’d’ve thought.”

She always was a bit of a gossip, or as she calls it taking an interest but I never related. You know how it is, I’m not really interested in the subject. But she likes telling me about stuff, and I like listening to her get excited, even if the topic doesn’t interest me. Usually her gossip was relatively unimportant, or at least to me, but this piece was particularly boring, so I shelved it in the back of my mind to never think of or engage with until she next brings it up. It wasn’t her that reminded me, though.

 

The following week, I happened to see Mike from our bedroom window. He was in his backyard, mowing the lawn in a tank top and a pair of shorts. He saw me staring from the window and looked up, with a big smile and a wave before continuing with his own matters. But somehow, and for some reason all of his hair was blue. I don’t mean like he’d dyed his hair blue. He’d dyed all of it. Everything from his arm hair to his legs, chest and facial hair was a bright neon blue. I honestly didn’t know how to react, so I just stared at him incredulously as I struggled to decide between laughing or recoiling in disgust. 

He didn’t stay like that for long though. The next time I saw him, maybe a month later, he was back to his regular old black hair, though it was longer again. His face had changed too, his once round jaw was becoming straighter and more defined. He was taller now, noticeably so. The day I had met him he stood at around 4ft, but now he was far past 6ft and close to having to crouch to enter his own front door. Just a fundamentally different person. 

His hair was always the easiest tell. He was ginger for a little while, then blonde, then back to black again. He was constantly getting taller, though he never seemed to gain weight. Much like stretching a rubber band, as he got taller he only appeared to get thinner.

 

I brought it up a few times to Kate but she never seemed to notice or pay much mind to it. “Some people just like to change their look up every now and again.” It was like the his rainbow palette of hair colours was the only thing she would notice. But then again she saw him much more often than I. Constantly bumping into him on the street or in the shops. I guess if he was changing gradually, it’s harder to notice when you see him more often. And every time she saw him she continued to take an interest. It was through her inquiries and observations that we found out that he seemed to have multiple partners. A steady stream of people returning to his house with him. Mostly women, sometimes men, though it was never the same person twice. 

I got suspicious. Maybe he was a pimp, or a dealer or something. Who knows but it seemed so suspicious, at least to me. But I never did anything about it. I mean, there was no way of being sure, right? On the other hand maybe it was work related, or he was dating around, who knows. But I could never shake the feeling of suspicion that clawed its way back into my mind every time I saw him.

 

There was one time, I remember, where I woke up in the middle of the night. Our bedroom was near silent, save for Kate’s faint breathing beside me. Silent enough to hear next door. I could hear a woman screaming. It was muffled behind the wall that separated our houses, but it was unmistakably there. Just the sound turned my blood cold. After ten minutes of tossing, turning and wondering if I should do something, I gently shook Kate awake.

She rolled over to face me with a quiet, “hmm?” as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. 

“Do you hear that?” I whispered. 

“Hear what?”

“It’s like a woman screaming or something…”

She propped herself up on her hand and stared at me for a second. Even in the near pitch darkness of our bedroom, I could still see the judgment on her face. 

“Nate, it’s like 2am right now, and Mike has a guest over. I’m sure you can do the math on that one.” 

“No, you don’t think-“ I stopped, considering her words. As always, I had no proof, and really, no reason to suspect the words. 

“I do, now can we go back to bed…” she yawned, settling back under the covers and giving my arm a gentle tug. I conceded and lay back down as she pulled herself in a little closer with a whispered goodnight. Within seconds, she was back asleep, but I couldn’t do the same with my mind still racing. The screaming continued for minutes till there was a heavy thud against the wall. Only silence followed.

 

When I brought it up again the next morning, she suggested that if I was really that uncomfortable with it, I should go over and tell him to keep it down or something. As if that wouldn’t be uncomfortable enough on a normal occasion, considering it involved interacting with Mike, made it that much less enticing. So of course, I didn’t, and I just left it at that. The next five times I overheard screaming in the middle of the night, I just decided not to mention it to Kate.

 

She came to me one night, at this point over a year since he first entertained us. It was December and she said he wanted us to go over and celebrate the season or whatever. Of course I didn’t want to go, I think we’ve established that at this point. 

“It might be fun.” She said, “You sure you can’t be tempted?”

“I don’t know, Kate, I just don’t like the guy.”

“I thought you’d say that.” She laughed, “That’s fine. Not everyone likes everyone you know. But I like Mike so I’m gonna go say hi and catch up. And I’ll be right around the corner. Yeah?”

“If you’re sure. I’ll wait up yeah? And just text me or keep me updated or whatever.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be back by like, ten or eleven-ish.” She stood up grabbing her bag and keys. 

“Ok. Have fun, I love you.”

“I know you do.” She grinned at me as she shut the door behind her. 

She texted me at around 11 saying she was going to be back soon. Come midnight she still wasn’t home I’d been texting and getting no responses. Finally I was sick of it. I threw a hoodie on and headed next door.

 

As always, his house was pitch black. As I was knocking, I was watching through the glass to spot any sign of movement, and as before the shadows hid it all. When the door opened, I wasn’t prepared for  the new Mike. He had now far outgrown his own door, to the point where I couldn’t see his face till he stepped back from the threshold. His smile sickened me, more than usual as he warmly started with, “Oh hi Nate!”

Fuck pleasantries, I just wanted to get to the point. “Kate’s not come home. Is she here?”

“Kate? No, she left hours ago.” He continued smiling, feigning bewilderment. 

“Well, she’s not come home, and I get the feeling she didn’t get lost on her way back, so… you mind if I come have a look?”

“Oh, Nathan, it’s late, I was just getting ready for bed. I’d rather not…”

 

I didn’t let him finish. I shouldered forward, pushing him aside as I barged my way in. Following the corridor round, I found my way back into to his living room. It still looked identical, polished and smooth furniture, perfectly prim and proper combed rug, and a nearly full glass of provencé. I ignored his called to “ignore the mess” as I circled the first floor and headed straight for the stairs. As Mike rounded the corner, he blocked the way with one of his oversized, bony arms.

“Nate, I’d really rather you don’t go upstairs.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what the fuck you’ve done with my girlfriend.” I glared up at him, trying as hard as I could to look intimidating whilst standing a good foot and a half below him.

“I’ve not done anything, Nate? She left hours ago. Why are you being like this?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” I pushed him, hard. To my surprise, he was both dense and felt as though he barely weighed anything at all, like his whole body was made of memory foam. He toppled backwards, as his skinny legs struggled to support him and he came crashing down.

 

With a spongy thud he landed, his body on the floor and his head wrenched at a 90 degree angle upon the foot of his front door cabinet. He cried out, maybe in pain, maybe in surprise, I didn’t care. He was alive and he’d be up soon, I couldn’t waste my time. I bolted for the stairs.

As I ascended the steps, the whole house seemed to disappear around me, or I should say home rather. There was no furniture or wallpaper or any sense of life above the top step. Moulding, empty walls with open electrical cables dangling out of open cavities. Peeling remnants of where wallpaper used to be, covered in water stains and black splotches. All the finished, perfect vision of the house disappears upon the threshold at the top of the stairs. All of it was gone, just far enough for it to be invisible to anyone who happened to look from downstairs.

I knew where his bedroom was; it shared a wall with ours, so I went straight for it as I heard Mike clambering to his feet downstairs. The door looked somehow older than the rest of the house. It looked like the burnt remains of a house fire, cracked and charred, and simultaneously rotted and moulded by an abundance of moisture. The doorknob was almost entirely brown with age and corrosion, and refused to turn without excessive force.

 

As the bedroom door finally swung open, I was immediately punched in the face by the pungent smell of stale water and rotting flesh. It was near pitch black in there, the windows covered in multiple layers of black fabric so that not even the forgiveness of the moon could cast any means of visibility. Though I couldn’t see the room, I knew I wasn’t alone, as the laboured sound of breathing greeted me from the far corner. I fished around in my pockets for a second. Keys… change… no phone. Shit.  But I had my grandad’s old Zippo, it’d have to do. I flicked it on, and there, barely conscious and crumpled on the floor, in the corner of the room, was Kate. Half clothed, with large patches of hair and skin missing and in a pool of presumably her own blood, but alive. I was at her side in an instant. Leaving the lighter lit on the floor beside us, I gently but urgently tried to pull her away from the wall, trying all the while not to touch any of her large patches of missing skin. Her whole body was slick and wet with a viscous sticky fluid that stank of rat piss. And, as I went to pull her towards me, it only stuck harder, clinging onto both her and the wall. It steadfastly refused to let her budge and all the while making a sickening sound like an old man sucking his teeth as I desperately tried to tear her away. As the sound of footsteps sounded up the stairs, Kate finally pulled away in my arms, only to reveal a massive circle of missing flesh from her shoulder blades to her lower back, slowly seeping what little blood her body had left to give onto the blackened wood floor. 

 

“The game is up then?”

Mike appeared in the doorway, his head now dangling down from the stump of his neck onto his shoulder. Like a sun-dried tomato, his skin had pulled and wrinkled at the point where it stretched to accommodate his new cranial position. His veins bulged and writhed and twisted with every movement, as though a family of spiders might be trapped under his skin, desperately seeking any means of escape. Despite this, he still had to crouch as he entered the door, closing it behind him and smiling at me. I guess he was still happy.

“What have you… What are you?” 

“You’re hard to fool, you know that?” He placed an enormous hand on the top corner of the door and forced it shut. “But you should have just gone home when I gave you the chance.”

 

He stood upright, or more upright. I think more accurately, he grew again, his shoulders flexing as they almost brushed the black, stained ceiling. His shirt swelled as his ribcage began to force its way out of his thin t-shirt. He dropped to his knees as he gripped his head, holding it in place above what used to be his neck. As an indeterminate, nobbled object slid under the skin of his neck he let go of his head, only for it to stay in position as it would have if it had never been detached. Even on his knees, he was still taller than me. His shirt finally gave way, tearing open at the force exerted from his widening torso. His ribcage, or where his ribcage should have been was bulging out from his body. His ribs were covered in linear scars. All of them perfectly straight, like a surgical wound that would never fully heal. 

 

His legs began to bend and break with a sharp, moist crunching. They grew behind him, impossibly long with too many knees protruding at odd angles. His legs, much like his arms only got thinner and thinner, the skin becoming vacuum sealed to his incorrectly shaped bones. 

The scarred skin around his exposed chest began to rip, as it stretched open on weak fibres. He tore his shirt off as it began to pull against his widening shoulders, only to reveal his entire stomach, chest, neck and back were all covered in similar surgical scars. All of them joined shortly after, tearing open to reveal the creature underneath.

 

Its limbs were black, and uncomfortably sticky looking. Two narrow, serrated, insectile arms extended from the torn skin at his ribcage as his neck continued extending. He tried to stand on his two hind legs, but the room was too short and his legs couldn’t support him, so he clambered onto its four other limbs and began to slink his way towards Kate and I. 

On my own unsteady limbs, I crawled backwards, pinning Kate to wall behind me whilst trying to gain some distance. I used to work as a bouncer to a bar for a few years, and thought I had learnt that if push comes to shove, my fight or flight response trusts me enough to do the former. But confronted by whatever the fuck this thing was, I couldn’t seem to do either. I would’ve taken flight if my only means of exit wasn’t on the other end of the room, behind Mike. And as much as I would have wanted to fight, my body wouldn’t move. All I could do, was reach behind me and take Kate’s hand in mine. It was limp, and cold, and she barely had the strength to close her fingers. She was barely clinging onto consciousness at all. 

He took his time, enjoying his slow approach. He always looked happy, but to me it always looked fake. An act he put on to come across as friendly. But not this time. Written across his tearing, deformed face was the purest delight I’m sure he’d ever displayed.

 

The skin of his face slipped away to reveal a mass of slimy grey flesh, covered in thinning black hairlike appendages, each slowly moving of its own accord. His mouth was sunken back in his face and invisible, but I knew it was there from the yellow saliva that was dripping down his malformed chin. The rest of it was dried and caked across his cheeks like a dog. His body barely moved but his ever elongating neck did most of the work for him, pressing as close to me as he could get before I recoiled at the stench. His body soon caught up though, scuttling over to me so that his front arms could reach out and caress my face. 

“I love your hair.” He sang, his spider like hands slowly moving up to my head. One of his hands alone was enough to grip my entire head if he desired, though he never chose to. He leant in closer, his suspended head gliding back in again for a closer look. 

As soon as he was close enough, I punched him, as hard as I could. He grunted and recoiled for a second. As soon as he did, I grabbed one of his zig-zag arms, and cracked it over my  crouching knee. It tore easily, like a freshly cooked crab. But the remnants looked hardly edible, as a gooey, hair filled black liquid spewed from the flailing stump. 

He stumbled back again, as I stood to run at him, but he gathered himself quicker. He stood up taller, towering over me in the little room as he grabbed my by the throat.  As he raised me up off my feet, he sliced down across my face with one of his serrated forearms. I cried out as the world turned dark for a second. 

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor in the dark room. My whole face was both on fire and numb. He placed one of his hands on my chest, holding me down as one of his other hands slid over my face.

 

“Shhh it’s ok, it’s ok!” He cooed as he continued. 

I screamed as I felt his massive fingers sliding into my eye socket. That’s about all I could do. They curled around the soft flesh and began to pull. The wet sounds of shifting flesh as the ball exited my skull filled the room for a second, only to be followed by my screaming once more. I couldn’t breathe, or think, or move. I could feel my head lift off the ground as he tried to pull my eye away, only to be confronted by my optic nerve desperately trying to cling on to its owner. Another one of his hands gripped my face, forcing it back down onto the ground as he began to pull harder. The cord gave way and he finally pulled his treasure up to his face for inspection. 

He laughed. “You know, it’s so funny. I’ve always wanted green eyes!” 

 

I couldn’t see, with my one remaining eye, the pain was too intense, and the least I could do was keep both my eyelids shut. My arms flailed as I writhed on the ground in pain, only to be confronted by a sharp sting on my right knuckle. I felt for the source only to find the same intense sensation on my fingertips. My lighter?

I kicked on the floor, unsure of where Mike was or what he was doing but hoping it would be enough to shift my position just enough to grab my lighter. 

I forced my eyes open, only to find his face inches from mine, smiling down at me. Of course he was smiling. When wasn’t he.

 

His long, greasy, bloodstained hair was dangling between us like a curtain around both our faces, blocking everything out of my peripherals. 

I grabbed the lighter and pushed it up under his hair and watched as the strands caught fire and shot all the way up to his face. Within seconds, he was in a blaze. Like a dying insect, he writhed on the ground as he screamed every frequency at once. Every voice he’d stolen crying out in a haunting harmony. I took my chance and lifted Kate off the ground. Throwing the lighter at him, I ran for the door and down the stairs, bouncing off both the walls and the bannister on the edge of my own consciousness. Out the front door and finally into our own house. I set Kate down on the stairs and retrieved the home phone, dialling for an ambulance. The rest is a blur. I made a call, but I don’t remember any of it. Eyes closed, fading in and out of consciousness, running on the fumes of my own energy.

 

I awoke in a hospital bed. I'm fine, and Kate’s fine, kind of. Thank god. There’s not much that can be done about my eye, but I can’t complain, I didn’t get the worst of it. Somehow Kate’s follicles are missing, and her hair isn’t gonna grow back. Same with her nails. I’m missing most of my left cheek, and Kate is missing a lot of her everywhere. I might need a skin graft, a Kate definitely will. Ironic, I know. She woke up a few days ago, but she hasn’t said much. I don’t blame her. I spoke to the cops on behalf of both of us. They went and checked Mike’s house out. It was about a week after it happened, and his front door was still open. There was blood in the bedroom, but having tested it, apparently, there’s DNA from at least a dozen people, if not more. Worst of all, Mike, or the thing that he became, has not been seen. The house is empty, and despite checking local security footage from surrounding houses, he was never seen leaving the house or in and around the neighbourhood. It’s all just a bit fucked, to be honest. I don’t know how long till we’re officially past this, but Kate’s not gonna be out of the hospital for a while, at the very least. I got discharged today and finally got to return home. The house next door was all boarded up and closed down after the investigation. “Good”, I thought. It’s over and done with, and we can all slowly try to forget about it.

 

Our house looked like a crime scene, too. The stairs were covered in dried blood that I had to spend a good hour cleaning. No more reminders. I knew I was gonna sleep well. Finally, a chance to be reunited with my own bed. I dragged myself through the house, up the freshly cleaned stairs and along the hallway. I dragged myself straight to our bedroom, straight to my bed, straight to my grandad's lighter that was awaiting me on my pillow.

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void, without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

 

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

 

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body; the crushing weight of the space around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

 

I’m usually in good company, though, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

 

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the chamber to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the diving bell (room) with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch. 

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

 

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though they were being hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged.  They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

 

The rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture, at which point a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet for protection. A lucky call that had been made only a year earlier had seemingly saved the drill tube. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not legally allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

 

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step at the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly and stopping often. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

 

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the man in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before. Nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

 

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever, since in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as meticulous as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

 

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do that. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

 

Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So, we’re descending, slow. Me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

 

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog, the next bar never appeared. I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, flailing and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

 

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

 

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000-ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

 

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the seabed, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond. 

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he turned the situation over in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you can, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

 

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was uncanny, watching the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

 

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back, reconvene with me and have a look in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me. 

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

 

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben huffed, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see,”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

Liar. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, man, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“Dave’s gone, dude. We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his free hand and beginning to climb as fast as he could. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go to swim as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch him, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too determined to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

 

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the line to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what to do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

 

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a few days.

 

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like red bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far too sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure flood the bell. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

 

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

 

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring himself from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

 

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

 

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and wept into a warm, sticky puddle that his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

 

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for him to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed from where his shirt had ridden up.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

 

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea. She assured him that it couldn’t be the case, as water protects extremely well from radiation. At the depth and pressure we were at, it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

 

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

 

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” he stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to seize on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off the bunk. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

 

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off the bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

 

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained. It would soon tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

 

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was made of equally impenetrable steel. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded as he gagged, spilling a familiar, lumpy, red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

 

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you?”

 

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, as he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite him now allowing Jake access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, Ben seemed content enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

 

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not I agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right. Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet, private conversation.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

 

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

 

One day left till we would be let out. Not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

 

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction from the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression. 

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

 

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, no longer concerned for his safety. 

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

 

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face. Stank like shit and tasted like rotted flesh as I gagged at every vile drop that landed on my tongue.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up. 

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

 

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to. In fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol, and I had broken Ben. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s dried vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

 

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now.

But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. And now, as I stare at the toilet bowl in the dim morning light, painted red by the sticky remains of my insides. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation. Some warping madness in my mind, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void, without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

 

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

 

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body; the crushing weight of the space around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

 

I’m usually in good company, though, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

 

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the chamber to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the diving bell (room) with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch.

 

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

 

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though they were being hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged.  They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

 

The rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture, at which point a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet for protection. A lucky call that had been made only a year earlier had seemingly saved the drill tube. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not legally allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

 

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step at the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly and stopping often. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

 

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the man in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before. Nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

 

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever, since in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as meticulous as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

 

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do that. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

 

Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

 

So, we’re descending, slow. Me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

 

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog, the next bar never appeared. I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, flailing and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

 

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

 

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000-ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

 

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

 

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the seabed, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

 

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond. 

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he turned the situation over in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

 

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you can, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

 

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was uncanny, watching the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

 

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back, reconvene with me and have a look in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me. 

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

 

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben huffed, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see,”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

Liar. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, man, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“Dave’s gone, dude. We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his free hand and beginning to climb as fast as he could. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go to swim as fast as he could directly up.

 

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

 

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch him, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too determined to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

 

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the line to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what to do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

 

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a few days.

 

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like red bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far too sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure flood the bell. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

 

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

 

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring himself from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

 

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

 

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and wept into a warm, sticky puddle that his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

 

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

 

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for him to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed from where his shirt had ridden up.

 

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

 

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea. She assured him that it couldn’t be the case, as water protects extremely well from radiation. At the depth and pressure we were at, it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

 

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

 

“I don’t know, it was… a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

 

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” he stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! Vael thaervok! Vael koru’neth! Morath kel ushen!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to seize on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off the bunk. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

 

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off the bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

 

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained. It would soon tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

 

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was made of equally impenetrable steel. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded as he gagged, spilling a familiar, lumpy, red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

 

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you?”

 

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, as he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite him now allowing Jake access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, Ben seemed content enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

 

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not I agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right. Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet, private conversation.

 

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

 

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

 

One day left till we would be let out. Not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

 

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction from the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression.

 

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

 

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, no longer concerned for his safety.

 

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud. I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

 

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

 

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face. Stank like shit and tasted like rotted flesh as I gagged at every vile drop that landed on my tongue.

 

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up.

 

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“Vael thaervok. Vael koru’neth. Morath kel ushen.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

 

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

 

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to. In fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol, and I had broken Ben. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s dried vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

 

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now.

 

But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. And now, as I stare at the toilet bowl in the dim morning light, painted red by the sticky remains of my insides. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation. Some warping madness in my mind, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

 

Vael thaervok
Vael koru’neth
Morath kel ushen

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void, without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

 

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

 

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body; the crushing weight of the space around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

 

I’m usually in good company, though, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

 

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the chamber to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the diving bell (room) with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch. 

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

 

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though they were being hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged.  They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

 

The rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture, at which point a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet for protection. A lucky call that had been made only a year earlier had seemingly saved the drill tube. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not legally allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

 

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step at the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly and stopping often. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

 

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the man in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before. Nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

 

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever, since in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as meticulous as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

 

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do that. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

 

Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So, we’re descending, slow. Me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

 

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog, the next bar never appeared. I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, flailing and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

 

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

 

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000-ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

 

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the seabed, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond. 

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he turned the situation over in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you can, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

 

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was uncanny, watching the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

 

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back, reconvene with me and have a look in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me. 

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

 

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben huffed, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see,”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

Liar. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, man, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“Dave’s gone, dude. We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his free hand and beginning to climb as fast as he could. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go to swim as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch him, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too determined to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

 

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the line to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what to do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

 

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a few days.

 

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like red bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far too sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure flood the bell. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

 

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

 

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring himself from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

 

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

 

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and wept into a warm, sticky puddle that his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

 

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for him to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed from where his shirt had ridden up.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

 

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea. She assured him that it couldn’t be the case, as water protects extremely well from radiation. At the depth and pressure we were at, it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

 

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

 

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” he stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to seize on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off the bunk. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

 

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off the bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

 

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained. It would soon tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

 

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was made of equally impenetrable steel. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded as he gagged, spilling a familiar, lumpy, red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

 

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you?”

 

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, as he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite him now allowing Jake access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, Ben seemed content enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

 

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not I agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right. Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet, private conversation.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

 

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

 

One day left till we would be let out. Not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

 

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction from the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression. 

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

 

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, no longer concerned for his safety. 

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

 

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face. Stank like shit and tasted like rotted flesh as I gagged at every vile drop that landed on my tongue.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up. 

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

 

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to. In fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol, and I had broken Ben. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s dried vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

 

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now.

But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. And now, as I stare at the toilet bowl in the dim morning light, painted red by the sticky remains of my insides. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation. Some warping madness in my mind, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

 

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void, without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

 

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

 

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body; the crushing weight of the space around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

 

I’m usually in good company, though, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

 

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the chamber to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the diving bell (room) with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch. 

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

 

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though they were being hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged.  They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

 

The rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture, at which point a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet for protection. A lucky call that had been made only a year earlier had seemingly saved the drill tube. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not legally allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

 

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step at the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly and stopping often. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

 

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the man in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before. Nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

 

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever, since in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as meticulous as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

 

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do that. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

 

Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So, we’re descending, slow. Me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

 

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog, the next bar never appeared. I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, flailing and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

 

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

 

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000-ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

 

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the seabed, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond. 

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he turned the situation over in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you can, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

 

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was uncanny, watching the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

 

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back, reconvene with me and have a look in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me. 

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

 

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben huffed, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see,”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

Liar. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, man, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“Dave’s gone, dude. We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his free hand and beginning to climb as fast as he could. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go to swim as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch him, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too determined to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

 

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the line to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what to do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

 

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a few days.

 

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like red bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far too sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure flood the bell. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

 

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

 

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring himself from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

 

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

 

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and wept into a warm, sticky puddle that his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

 

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for him to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed from where his shirt had ridden up.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

 

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea. She assured him that it couldn’t be the case, as water protects extremely well from radiation. At the depth and pressure we were at, it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

 

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

 

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” he stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to seize on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off the bunk. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

 

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off the bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

 

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained. It would soon tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

 

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was made of equally impenetrable steel. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded as he gagged, spilling a familiar, lumpy, red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

 

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you?”

 

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, as he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite him now allowing Jake access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, Ben seemed content enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

 

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not I agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right. Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet, private conversation.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

 

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

 

One day left till we would be let out. Not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

 

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction from the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression. 

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

 

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, no longer concerned for his safety. 

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

 

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face. Stank like shit and tasted like rotted flesh as I gagged at every vile drop that landed on my tongue.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up. 

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

 

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to. In fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol, and I had broken Ben. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s dried vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

 

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now.

But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. And now, as I stare at the toilet bowl in the dim morning light, painted red by the sticky remains of my insides. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation. Some warping madness in my mind, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

 

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void and without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do about our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body. The crushing weight of the room around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

I’m usually in good company, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the diving bell to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the chamber with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch.

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though it were being repeatedly hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged. They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

A lucky call a year earlier had saved them now, as the rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture. Upon which a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not “legally” allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step upon the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly or maintaining elevation. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the head in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before; nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever since we had to be so meticulous, and in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as precise as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a washed-up shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do this. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

So we did. Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So we’re descending, slow, me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog. Next bar never appeared, and I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, grasping and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000 ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk and going to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the sea floor, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond.

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight down and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he thought the situation through in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you’re willing, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was strange, when we reached it, to watch the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back to reconvene with me and have a look back in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben said, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see, I’ll be like two secs.”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

But he didn’t. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, dude, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his other hand and beginning to climb hand over hand above us. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go and was swimming as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch Ben, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too afraid to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the rope to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what I should do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a day or two.

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like black bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far to sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure seal and kill us all. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring his head from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and weeped into a warm, sticky puddle his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for Ben to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea, but she assured him that couldn’t be the case as water protects extremely well from radiation, and at the depth and pressure we were at it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… there’s a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” I stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to spasm on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off his bed. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off his bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside of legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, even in his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained to tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was equally impenetrable. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded over as he gagged, spilling a familiarly lumpy red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you.”

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, and he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite Ben now allowing him access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, he seemed to find relief enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not we agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right, as Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet conversation away from Ben.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

One day left till we would be let out, not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction of the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression.

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, now no longer concerned for his safety.

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face, my eyes screwed shut for fear of the repellent sludge landing anywhere near my eyes, nose or mouth.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up.

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to; in fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol and we had broken over half of our team. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived evermore. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now. But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void and without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do about our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body. The crushing weight of the room around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

I’m usually in good company, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the diving bell to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the chamber with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch.

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though it were being repeatedly hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged. They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

A lucky call a year earlier had saved them now, as the rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture. Upon which a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not “legally” allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step upon the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly or maintaining elevation. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the head in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before; nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever since we had to be so meticulous, and in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as precise as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a washed-up shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do this. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

So we did. Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So we’re descending, slow, me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog. Next bar never appeared, and I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, grasping and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000 ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk and going to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the sea floor, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond.

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight down and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he thought the situation through in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you’re willing, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was strange, when we reached it, to watch the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back to reconvene with me and have a look back in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben said, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see, I’ll be like two secs.”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

But he didn’t. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, dude, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his other hand and beginning to climb hand over hand above us. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go and was swimming as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch Ben, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too afraid to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the rope to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what I should do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a day or two.

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like black bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far to sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure seal and kill us all. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring his head from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and weeped into a warm, sticky puddle his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for Ben to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea, but she assured him that couldn’t be the case as water protects extremely well from radiation, and at the depth and pressure we were at it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… there’s a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” I stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to spasm on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off his bed. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off his bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside of legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, even in his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained to tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was equally impenetrable. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded over as he gagged, spilling a familiarly lumpy red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you.”

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, and he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite Ben now allowing him access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, he seemed to find relief enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not we agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right, as Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet conversation away from Ben.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

One day left till we would be let out, not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction of the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression.

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, now no longer concerned for his safety.

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face, my eyes screwed shut for fear of the repellent sludge landing anywhere near my eyes, nose or mouth.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up.

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to; in fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol and we had broken over half of our team. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived evermore. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now. But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. All I can say is that through some sick and twisted mutation, I understand every word Ben told me many years ago.

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Are you afraid of space? It seems common amongst man to desire the experience of weightlessness. Or to see the world as an insignificant little sphere out the window, small enough to be covered by your hand. To know what it’s like to leave your home and step far beyond the means that God ever intended for man. I wonder if you want to experience maintenance on the ISS? I wonder if you think about floating free in the black abyss of nothingness without so much as a tether to hold you down to mankind. I wonder if you consider floating free into the void and without the means to so much as steer, let alone get home.

It’s such a cliche fact that people toss around, “we actually know more about space than we do about our own ocean”. And yet, it seems to me, no one ever questions that. Does that not concern anyone? That we know what’s going on 11 billion light-years away, but by proxy, don’t know what’s going on in our own house. Thousands of people get all spooked out by the thought of aliens, in a space that we know far more about, and yet sea monsters are more or less scoffed at. I’m not, of course, claiming to believe in either, but rather the conceptual hypocrisy irks me. In comparison, we assume the seas have been conquered, and repeat that back to guys like me when working at sea goes awry.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think about it much till recently, other than how much it fucking sucks. Saturation diving, it’s a bitch. Living days on end in a room just about the same volume as a medium-sized tent. Just to get down to depth, they have to slowly pressurise the entire room, ready for descent. You can feel all the muscles in your body getting squeezed as the gases in your blood get forced into dissolving. The room begins to turn hot as more and more air is pumped into the chamber and forced into your body. The crushing weight of the room around you imposes itself on your entire being. Point is, it sucks ass.

I’m usually in good company, often with the same guys. Most of the time, it’s three of us, sometimes four. We’ll sit around and play cards for a few hours, kick around and banter till the pain fades. It’s boring, uncomfortable and dangerous, but I can’t say I’d be worthwhile at anything else, so I doubted for a long time I’d ever tap out and move on to something different. At least the pay is good.

The purpose is to raise the pressure of the diving bell to be equal to that of the oceanic depth you’ll be working in. You take the chamber with you so you can work at depth and then sleep off the clock in the chamber. Pressurisation takes hours, decompression can take days; it’s just not efficient to resurface at the end of every day when you clock off. So you sleep down there, in that little room, getting handed your food through the antisocial medical hatch.

Normally, we’re working stuff like internet cables or miscellaneous pipes running across the ocean floor, but this time we got something new. Something about continuous maintenance on an offshore oil rig.

Supposedly, they’d sent down tech divers multiple times since the chains holding the thing in place kept moving. Swaying and tensioning as though it were being repeatedly hit by something solid. Though they are built to withstand the pull of both currents and the winds exerted on the rig, the strain that each chain experienced was isolated to individual moments acting on one chain at a time. Praying it wasn’t oceanic debris drifting along the seabed, the team of divers were sent down to survey the damage and make sure that the drill and drill tube weren’t damaged. They were meant to run down to the depths, have a look, and resurface. Most of the time, those guys are down there for a few hours to a day, but their trips are few and far between, without needing to stay down for too long. After the third team were sent for maintenance, they told us they set up equipment to monitor for another recurrence, but apparently, hours after they got it working, everything went offline. Team four went down to retrieve the stuff, only to find a small portion missing, and the rest they retrieved was all out of action, with burnt-out sensors and a decade’s worth of undersea ageing and decay. So with no more ideas or solutions, we got shipped out and sent down.

A lucky call a year earlier had saved them now, as the rig that was intended to be moved sometime in the future had now been changed to a permanent fixture. Upon which a lattice truss cage had been built around the drill tube extending down about 4,000 feet. I can’t say I was a fan. The diving bell we were to be living inside once deployed had to be secured to the truss next to the drill tube, and so it was the first thing I saw. That dim, grimy, grey cage extending down into murky blackness, like looking up at a radio tower in complete fog. From where we were attached, around 1500 feet down, I could just about see to the other side of the cage. Technically, we were not “legally” allowed to be stationed that deep, but both we and the team on the rig had agreed to keep it a secret since it is technically speaking safe. We were therefore willing to bend the rules a little further when our pay got handily increased if we were willing to go deeper.

We dropped a line down from the diving bell so that we had something to hold on to during the trip. Despite decompression becoming a necessary step upon the end of our mission, we would still need to normalise in the ascent back to the diving bell, which involved rising slowly or maintaining elevation. At least with the line we could clip on and float while we decompressed, rather than having to tread water during our ascent.

We were lucky on this mission, since we got a team of four. Three guys I’ve worked with previously, the head in charge being my friend Jake. We’d worked countless jobs together, and he’d recommended me for the job, as well as two other guys, Ben and Dave. I’d worked with them both before; nice lads, we worked well together. We were anticipating a lot of sitting around, so it helped to be on a team of people who all got along pretty well. It made the compression process that much more tolerable, and by the time we were ready to leave the bell to start our work, the job was far more relaxed with everyone chatting over the radio.

The first two days were mostly surveillance, going between the anchor ties and checking for signs of damage before doing the same for the cage and the drill tube. The anchor chains are far apart, around 150-200 meters above sea level, but they get wider as they go down in order to hold the rig in place, so a lot of the time on the first two days was spent swimming either between the chains or slowly ascending or descending along them to check they were all in shape. We had to go in teams of two, if not all together in case of emergency, so it was slow going. Checking the chains took forever since we had to be so meticulous, and in the dim fog of the ocean at depth, we couldn’t see more than 20-30 feet in front of us at any moment. The only way to be sure of our work was to get as close as possible, for inspection. And we were told specifically that we had to be as precise as possible. Those anchors were built to withstand anything, but with impacts strong enough to rock the entire rig, our higher-ups didn’t want to take any chances.

It was day 2 when, as a group, we made a slow descent down the lattice to check it out for damage. It was a little way down where we found some evidence of what might have been causing issues upstairs. One of the three vertical bars of the lattice, each of which was about 2-3 feet wide, was bent inwards and crumpled like a used paper straw. We radioed in to control upstairs and confirmed their suspicions. Looked like a washed-up shipwreck, or something equally heavy could’ve been drifting along and collided with the frame. But, though the currents do pick up rather violently at times, we saw it hardly likely that they would ever be strong enough to do this. Not to mention the seabed was another 3500m below us, and none of us could imagine how any sort of drifting debris would be raised that high off the sea floor. Control, on the rig, was not too excited about it, and having already done our anchor checks for them, they requested we go deeper immediately the next morning.

So we did. Woke up to the same cramped, sterile white walls. A quick meal and we were out again. Descent was slow, next to the drill cage. We weren’t allowed to go fast for health and safety, but I have to say, even with Ben cracking jokes and helping to pass the time over the radio for the whole descent, I still wish the process could be a lot quicker. In theory, we should have been safe to dive up to 1000m, which Control repeated to us multiple times, but presently aware of our own mortality, we took it slow and didn’t plan on going any further than necessary.

So we’re descending, slow, me in the middle, Jake below and Dave and Ben just above me. All of us gripping the cross bars between the lattice, waiting for our ears to normalise before letting go, dropping a few feet and grabbing the next bar in turn. It’s hard to look up or down in the suit without kicking my legs out to reorient my whole body to face a direction, so listening to the guys banter over the radio was about all I could do to know they were still there. Though it wouldn’t help much, as I would only be able to see a little way above me or below me before all my vision faded off into the same misty blackness. So I heard it before I felt it, when Jakes voiced jittered over the radio, “holy fuck”.

I’d let go of the bar I was on and dropped down ready for the next one, when, as I drifted through the deep blue fog. Next bar never appeared, and I soon found myself plummeting down in an uncontrolled fall, kicking, grasping and praying to God to find my balance. Though we are able to move freely in the water, with a 20kg oxygen tank strapped to your back, slowing down is less than easy, and other than kick as hard as I could and wait for my momentum to change, there wasn’t much else I could do.

I felt him collide with my back before I saw him, Jake, kicking his legs hard enough to keep us both at level as he gripped my arm to hold me steady

“The cage is gone,” Jake’s voice crackled over the radio, “Descend with caution, boys.”

“The fuck you mean the cage is gone?” Ben appeared next to us, treading water as he cast his eyes towards the abyss in front of us. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

The three of us turned our heads up, into the obscured blue above us, where the wrinkled claw of what used to be the cage twisted and bent into a crumpled mess, in the fog. Like a children’s toy that had been torn apart, the near 10,000 ton metal cage that was supposed to extend for another 2000 feet below us had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left for us in the void below was the drill tube drifting idly in the currents, beckoning us down into the deep.

“What do you mean the cage is gone? That’s not possible.” Even over the little radio, we could tell Control did not sound happy.

“That’s what I said.” Ben chirped up, standing from his bunk and going to hover next to Jake, who had been trying to explain the situation for the past half an hour.

The voice sighed over the radio, composing itself before continuing. “This is a big issue, obviously. If true, then we have to assume that the cage has fallen to the ocean floor. You understand, the drill extends to the sea floor, correct?” They didn’t wait for a reply. “The cage was built around the drill tube. If it has, as you say, detached, then we risk it falling onto the sea floor and pulling the drill with it. We can’t exactly remove the drill tube from inside it, not easily anyway. We’d have to lift the drill a couple thousand feet; it’s just not practical.”

“How the hell does the drill still work then. Shouldn’t it have been crushed when the cage hit the floor?” Ben cut in before Jake had a chance to respond.

“Theoretically, yes. But it’s possible that the cage has fallen straight down and landed upright. But if the currents pick up on the sea floor, it could tip, and we’d be fu… it’d be a problem.”

Ben went to reply, but Jake lifted his hand, requesting silence as he thought the situation through in his head.

“That’s fine. What do you need from us?”

“Before we do anything else, we need to know what’s happened. Can your team find the other end of the cage?”

“You’re talking us going a relative depth of 8 to 9 thousand feet, that’s not possible. You’ll have to send drones down. We can’t.”

Another measured sigh of exasperation from the voice over the radio, “We tried before you got here. Anything too deep, and the drones failed. We lost one already, it’s too high-risk. Look, can you guys go back down tomorrow, as deep as you’re willing, and just see if you find anything? We’re willing to pay accordingly.”

“Deal.”

Up early next day. Jake wanted as much time as he could get to be out just to give us as much time to ascend and descend as possible. No longer trusting the cage, we all kept a gloved hand wrapped tightly around the rope we’d dropped on day one, slowly sliding down as fast as our ears and equilibrium would allow us. It was strange, when we reached it, to watch the cage disappear before my eyes as we reached the bottom. Despite having spent a good half an hour the day before circling it, inspecting the broken ends and so on, it still didn’t sit right with me. Something about looking at something so big, broken and suspended in the middle of the misty black just looked unnatural.

I was not dealing well with the descent, for the first time in years. My body just refused to equalise normally, and so after a little bit of descending, I told the team over the radio I was struggling and moved myself to the back of the group. The plan was supposed to be simple. Don’t push it, but descend as far as Jake told us to; keep one of us waiting at the rope and let the others sweep out a little to see if anything funny showed up, not that any of us were expecting it to.

Still feeling shit, I volunteered to stay at the rope. I clipped on and just floated there, watching as the other three disappeared into the shroud of darkness in front of us, their head torches slowly swallowed by the same shadows they were swimming into. I was half asleep when Jake told Dave over the radio to head back to reconvene with me and have a look back in the opposite direction. We weren’t supposed to be splitting up, but as things were getting later, I think the time was concerning him. Dave reappeared after another half an hour from the blackness, stopping by the rope to see how I was doing before disappearing off behind me.

“Stay on the radio,” I told him as I watched him swim off into the distance.

“Yeah, I know.”

An hour later, Jake and Ben reappeared and clipped on to the rope next to me.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Boring as shit,” Ben said, “it’s all empty space all the way out. Must be nothing around us for miles. I don’t know what the fuck we’re meant to find.”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Dave? Have you heard from him? I think he was out of range from us.”

“Yeah, I… No, actually, I’ve not heard from him in like an hour.”

“Not funny, man.” Ben turned to face me.

“I’m not… no, I’m serious.”

“Dave, do you copy? Dave, can you hear me? Do you copy?” Jake said, repeating the words over and over into the radio. No response.

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll find him.” Ben said, unclipping from the rope.

“I’ll come,” I said, moving to follow suit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be a sec, his radio’s probably died, he’s probably on his way back. He knows protocol. I’ll stay on the radio and just go out a little to see, I’ll be like two secs.”

Before either of us had time to respond, he was off. Much like I did, Jake moved to unclip, but as the youngest and fittest of us, Ben was a much faster swimmer than either of us, and by the time we had unclipped, he’d already disappeared.

“Idiot.” Jake cursed, “Stay on the radio, I swear to-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

But he didn’t. 20 minutes later, we’d had nothing but radio silence till the frantic silhouette of something came bolting towards us from beyond the mist. Ben, swimming frantically as his life depended upon it, before colliding shoulder-first with Jake and me, and clutching the rope tightly in his shaking hand like a lifeline.

“We gotta go, dude, we gotta fucking go.”

“What, where’s Dave? Did you-”

“We gotta go right fucking now, dude!” He yelled, before grabbing the rope in his other hand and beginning to climb hand over hand above us. The motion was clunky, and within seconds, he’d let go and was swimming as fast as he could directly up.

“Ben, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jake demanded over the radio, but Ben didn’t care. Both he and I soon followed, swimming after him as fast as we could, though he was still too fast for us.

“Ben? Ben, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I could feel my ears beginning to throb as I raced vertically to catch Ben, my head splitting as the pressure built up in my skull. I swallowed, desperate to release the pressure, but I was too afraid to slow now, till suddenly Ben went still. His violent thrashing ceased as he blacked out, his limbs curling up above him as the nearly empty oxygen tank on his back began to drag him back down. Slowly at first, but picking up speed as he began to plummet towards the hungry depths beneath him. I leapt out from the rope so as to catch him, but his unexpectedly limp hand slipped from my grasp. falling ever faster. Picking up speed, like a lead balloon, Jake turned tail and raced down the rope after him. Both of them disappeared, swallowed by the missing light as Jake outstretched his hand to catch his falling comrade.

The rope moved first, a wave whipping up the length of the rope to my hand, reflecting off my grip before racing back down from whence it came. Something gripping the rope, and swinging it back and forth, I could feel my pulse spike as I turned over in my head what I should do, till I saw Jake, pulling himself up the rope with his free hand, the other gripping tightly under Ben’s shoulder. I dropped down to grab Ben and help Jake hoist him up as we slowed down, checking him over before nodding to each other and making the slow ascension back to the diving bell.

Ben was in a bad way when we got back to the bell. When we’d got back, we undressed him and helped him into the sleeping quarters. Somehow, in the time between when Jake had caught him and when we had got back to the bell, Ben’s oxygen had completely depleted. When he didn’t awake for the rest of the night or the next morning, Jake and I were beginning to feel concerned that he might have suffered greatly. Brain damage, oxygen starvation, or barotrauma from his, frankly, reckless ascent. I don’t know about Jake, but a little piece of me was hoping we’d get back to the bell and see Dave waiting patiently for us to return, but he wasn’t. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen again. It was a quiet night that night, and the morning after. Neither Jake nor I felt much like talking, and other than Jake updating control on the situation, not a word was said between us over the night. Control let up after that, thanking us for our service and telling us we’d be sent transport for decom in a day or two.

Ben woke up that evening as Jake and I were sitting down for dinner. He awoke with a start, rolling off the side of his bunk and landing on the cold metal floor with a sickening crack. He began to convulse violently, his spine arching as he began to wretch, spewing some lumpy mucous like black bile across the floor. I could hear him groaning with pain as his stomach pumped as hard as it could to expel this black substance, far to sticky to leave his body with any ease, his breath now wheezy and sickly sounding as every sucking breath he took bubbled past the remaining globs that lodged themselves in his oesophagus. He began looking around the bell frantically like a caged animal, as Jake and I tried to calm him down and explain the situation. He wouldn’t listen, or didn’t care, and soon we found ourselves having to pin him to his bunk and tie him down as he went from confusion to fear to anger and began threatening to fight before jumping for the air lock and threatening to break the pressure seal and kill us all. We had to bind his arms and ankles tight as he kicked and screamed and foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, writhing violently against his binds till his muscles were physically too tired to move any more.

We radioed control for some sort of medical assistance, but they said they had no medical staff qualified to dive or to meet us at 1500 feet below sea level, so the best they could do was get the chief medical officer on the radio to talk us through what to do. Oddly enough, she was on board with our solution of tying our colleague down and didn’t see it as being in any way questionable, given the circumstances. And as Ben had begun to tire and to calm down, his focus turned from finding his escape to finding help, as he began to gasp and writhe with his own pain.

Jake and I had undressed him from his wetsuit and put him into his own clothes when we had re-entered the bell, without any signs of issue. But now, as he began to groan and cry out in pain, telling us his skin was on fire, we were about to find, upon lifting his shirt, that his skin was beginning to peel and flake off like red leaves in autumn. I had to hold him down as he still weakly struggled against his binds, while Jake lifted his shirt to find the dark red and blistered skin that covered every inch of his body. For fear of him injuring his head from his violent movements, I held his head still, gently but firmly, only for clumps of his hair to come away in my hands like cotton candy. The medical officer had one theory, though, foolish as it sounded, she seemed hesitant to propose it. Ben was suffering from Acute Radiation Syndrome.

Ever the team leader, Jake sat on the radio with the medical officer for the rest of the night, both trying to work out how it could have happened, and trying to learn to the best of his ability what he had to do to help. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to somehow fix the puddle of lumpy red fluid that was still splattered across our little room’s floor. I needed something to soak it up, and I suppose my solution was, in a way, heartless when I raided Dave’s items and used his various sets of clothes to soak up the majority of the foul-smelling slime and scoop it into the air lock. Next day, all I’d have to do was open the hatch and kick them out into the open ocean, and let the ocean floor a mile and a half below me hold onto them for the rest of our lifetimes.

Jake and I both had to pretend we couldn’t hear Ben the rest of the night, as the medical officer retired to her bedchambers and we attempted to do the same. He spent the rest of the night groaning intermittently as blisters across his body grew and weeped into a warm, sticky puddle his bonds wouldn’t let him escape. I don’t think either Jake or I slept a second that night, but I guess it worked out in our favour, as in the small hours of the morning, we heard Ben’s ability to form sentences found him once more. He was mumbling to himself over and over again, though I can’t say I understood a word of it. I think both Jake and I were too unsure to say anything and let him know we were awake till our alarm hit at 7am, and we couldn’t avoid it any more.

“Morning, bud.” Jake said, swinging his legs off his bunk and jumping off to approach Ben, still tied down to his bed, “How you feeling?”

“It hurts.” He groaned, flexing a little against the ropes that held him down.

“Mmm, I know it does.” He continued. I’d never heard him act so motherly. “I don’t really know what to tell you, but… HQ thinks you might have radiation sickness.”

Ben closed his eyes, slumping back on the table in exasperation and nodding sadly.

“If we let you off the table, you promise you won’t try and do anything crazy like yesterday?”

Ben nodded again.

“Alright, let’s get him moving then.” Jake turned to me, gesturing for me to help him with the rope. I slid off my bunk and moved to Ben’s ankles, letting the rope fall free for Ben to bend his legs and stretch his limbs a little. He rolled onto his side with a sickly sucking sound as his weepy flaked skin tore from his back to stay stuck in sticky beige clumps to his bed.

We managed to get him out of his soaked clothes and into a fresh set, and helped him sit up on the edge of his bed as he massaged his head and groaned about a pounding headache before wobbling his way to the bathroom to expel another burst of red-tinted fluid from his stomach.

9am, the medical officer was back on the radio to us. We’d managed to get a little bit of info out of Ben, but nothing of substance, and she wanted to talk to him personally. Jake had asked if someone could have been dumping toxic waste at the bottom of the sea, but she assured him that couldn’t be the case as water protects extremely well from radiation, and at the depth and pressure we were at it was not physically possible to receive anything like a lethal dosage unless we were within a few inches of supposed toxic waste. Though this was an answer that none of us, including her, were satisfied with, since we therefore had no clue as to what could have caused Ben’s current state.

“Listen, Ben.” The medical officer started, her demeanour far more practised in comfort than either Jake or I, “If we’re going to work out how to help you, we have to know what we’re dealing with. We need to know what happened, or what you found, or anything.”

“I don’t know, it was… there’s a thing. Down there it’s…” he closed his eyes, tight as his hands resting at his knees began to shake violently. “A face, an eye, in the black. Darker than the sea, darker than anything, I- I saw it, I… so big. My eyes couldn’t fit; it was there, but it wasn’t.

Jake turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion as Ben stuttered half-sentences, brought to tears.

“It was watching me, us… It was there, but it wasn’t. I- it was too big, my eyes couldn’t, it didn’t fit” I stopped, turning to look frantically between Jake and I as if either of us might understand what the hell he was talking about. “Dave fell, he fell! Fuck, he was swallowed by the black, it took him, and stretched him thin, too thin! The black! The Darkness! It watches, god, don’t you fucking understand! R'lyeh fhtagn! R’yleh fhan'ghft! C'thagnagl usg'n'throd!” Tears in his eyes as he began to gag on his own words, choking as he began to spasm on his bed. Before either Jake or I had found the impulse to restrain him, he’d writhed and kicked so hard he launched himself off his bed. An uncontrolled tumble through the cramped room, landing with his temple on the cold white metal bar of Dave’s bed opposite him. A bell-like ping followed by a muffled thud as he hit the ground hard.

I reached Ben first, pressing my shaking fingers to his throat in search of a pulse.

“He’s still with us.” I breathed.

A tired nod of approval from Jake before he turned back to the radio, “We need emergency evac. I don’t give two shits what you have to do, push the decom date up. We’re leaving the bell tomorrow, copy?”

“I’ll speak to my advisors.” Her voice was restrained and unreadable over the little speaker. Then a click as she closed the line.

“Ready to go?” Jake asked, stepping out of the cramped confines of our chemical toilet and grabbing his bag off his bed. After another heated argument with control the night prior, they had finally agreed to eat the overhead and offer emergency evac once Jake threatened to let slip publicly that we had been told repeatedly to work outside of legal limits throughout our time diving. The decompression chamber was hooked up to the bell and would soon be taking us away from the depths. Jake opened the little porthole and squeezed through first for me to pass our bags through to the decom chamber. Next up was Ben. The medical hatch was finally living up to its name, as usually its purpose was to pass food to us during our time in the bell, but as of the last night control had provided heavy sleeping pills and the strongest pain meds available on the rig, to help Ben in the meantime. This meant, luckily for us, he was asleep and relatively easy to move as we passed him through the tiny, circular door and into the decompression chamber. We would be stuck in the chamber for the next few days at least, but supposedly a qualified medical professional would be able to join us within the first few days, though they neglected to tell us how they were going to manage that.

In the last 24 hours between his outburst and entering the chamber, it seemed as though Ben’s condition had worsened. I feel bad saying it, as one of the very few people who were there to help him, but just the mere sight of him disgusted me. Most of his skin had long since flaked off, and what hadn’t was all a deep, inflamed red. He had a habit of scratching at his skin, even in his skin, which would often fracture the fragile barrier that remained to tear and begin seeping out or sometimes spewing some awful-smelling, yellowish liquid. His face had turned puffy and swollen, his eyes sunken into his overgrown forehead and cheeks. Since his recent proclivity to expelling his own bloody fluids from one of two ends, we had him permanently seated on the toilet, and he was only permitted to leave for Jake’s increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom.

Ben would begin to point out Jake’s trips to the bathroom as often as they occurred, telling him how he’d caught it. Whether out of concern or cynicism, it was hard to tell, as Ben’s vocal cords had long since tired and turned hoarse like an age-old smoker on the brink of death. Jake would continue to deny these accusations till, on the second day, Ben decided to lock himself in the bathroom to prove his point. Furious, Jake pounded on the cold steel door, but it was no use. Much like the rest of the chamber, the door to the toilet was equally impenetrable. Ben refused to open the door till, unable to control himself any longer, Jake doubled over, spine folded over as he gagged, spilling a familiarly lumpy red mucous across the floor of the chamber.

“You bastard!” Roared Jake, returning to pound against the bathroom door till Ben swung it open with a sickly smile painted across his puffy red cheeks.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Ben Grinned.

“I didn’t see shit. You’re contagious.” Jake said, grabbing Ben by the hair so as to lift him to eye level, only for another oversized clump of Ben’s hair to come away in his hands like it was never attached at all. I had to grab Jake and pull him back as he lunged to punch Ben, narrowly missing and cracking his knuckles on the unforgiving steel of the door frame. He cried out as he stumbled back in my arms before spitting on the floor and climbing onto his bed, clutching his hand to his chest and muttering, “Why did I help you.”

Day three, Jake’s hand had swollen massively, which he blamed on his presumably broken knuckles, and he would go on to ignore the beginning signs of his now peeling skin. He now refused to speak to Ben, despite Ben now allowing him access to the bathroom since he’d successfully proven his point. Ben soon got the message and stopped talking to Jake as well. By day four, we were all existing in parallel, and not a word was spoken between any of us. Jake had taken to using Ben’s medication for himself, but other than his tendency to spasm and scratch at the sticky red mess that was his skin, he seemed to find relief enough in watching his colleague suffer the same. Somehow now, only 30 metres from the surface of the ocean, and I’d never felt more isolated.

Day five, Jake looked like shit. Whether or not we agreed with his actions, there was no doubt Ben was right, as Jake’s entire body, by now, had turned dark red and began to crack like soil in a drought. His bedsheets were soaked, much like Ben’s, in the foul stench of his body’s fluids. A stench that clung around him even now as he pulled me aside for a quiet conversation away from Ben.

“I’m not feeling good. I don’t think we should go up to the surface.” He said, glancing back in Ben’s direction.

“The fuck are you talking about? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“He’s contagious. I’m telling you, he’s fucking contagious. Whatever this is, it’s contained in here with us.” He placed a crusty hand on my shoulder, pleading for me to agree.

I recoiled a little, stepping back from him, “It’s radiation sickness, you know this. It’s not contagious.”

“Then how the fuck did I get it?” He raised his voice a little before glancing behind his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. I ain’t got it. Maybe you guys went near something when you left the line to look around, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He spat, clearly not pleased as he turned and slumped back down onto his bed.

Next morning, Jake was dead. His pocket knife plunged into his chest, with such force that it had wedged itself between two of his ribs. His lung collapsed, and he suffocated. Ben denied having anything to do with it, and considering the amount of blood smudged across Jake’s hands and on the handle of the knife, I was inclined to trust Ben’s word.

One day left till we would be let out, not a word from the outside world and not a promised medical professional in sight. Ben’s whole body had bloated at this point, stretching the fabric of his clothes at every seam. The room stank of rotted flesh, as I was caught between a dead man and a dead man walking. Ben had begun telling me we should break out. That we needed to be free and that he was sure they never intended to let us out. I told him we had one day to go, which he brushed off in his own doubt. Instead, after that, he chose to talk to himself. Muttering in hushed tones like an old man rambling.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when that night, lying in my bed, I heard Ben move. I assumed on one of his trips to shed some blood in the bathroom, but I had long since learnt not to trust him. I watched as he slumped out of his bed onto the floor, his withered and malnourished legs struggling to carry the balloon that had become his body aloft. Two unsteady steps, and the third found its purpose as he began to move in the opposite direction of the toilet. I followed him with my eyes as he made his way, as silently as his laboured and wheezing breaths would allow him, right towards the door. The decompression chamber was, even a day away from normalisation, at a high pressure difference from the world outside. The door was always free to open from the inside, in case of an emergency. A safety feature designed by people who didn’t understand the physics and had never heard of explosive decompression.

“Ben? What you doing?” Much more silent than he, I had slipped out of my bed and was now standing in the dim doorway to the airlock.

“You weren’t meant to wake. It’s time, I have to…” he didn’t turn to face me, instead reaching with both his hands to grip the bulkhead wheel.

Before he had a chance to turn it, I leapt at him, hands outstretched for his shoulders as I forced him into the door, both of us colliding and falling to the floor. I felt the crack as his skull collided with the bulkhead wheel, now no longer concerned for his safety.

I punched him, hard, his soft, pudgy cheek slapping with the impact and leaving his sticky body residue drizzled across my knuckles. He grabbed me by the collar, head-butting me, hard. I could feel the dried-out sticky mess of his skin crumble like a candy wrapper under the impact as I stumbled back, landing on my ass with a bruising thud.

I went to stand, but Ben moved faster, pinning my shoulders to the ground as he half mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to himself.

“I had to, it’s time, I had to do it.” He stammered, leering over me before he wretched, spewing chunky red sludge across my face.

I turned my head away, gagging, gasping, spitting, sputtering at every odorous pulpy hunk of flesh that landed on my face, my eyes screwed shut for fear of the repellent sludge landing anywhere near my eyes, nose or mouth.

A solid knee to his crotch in retaliation. He gasped, choking on his own chyme, his grip loosening enough for me to shake my arms free and kick him to the wall. My turn now as I pinned him to the ground and landed a solid fist to his temple. He didn’t resist, rather, talked calmly and requested that I desist, though I ignored him, my hand colliding repeatedly with his temple, reforming the overgrown tissue around my fist and waiting till I felt bone. We both heard a crunch under the impact of my fist. I couldn’t tell whether it was my knuckle or his temple, but I was too afraid of what would happen when I stopped to even consider letting up.

His time was wearing thin as his tongue, like an old radio sliding through frequencies, suddenly shifted with the crushing impact.

“R'lyeh fhtagn. R’yleh fhan'ghft. C’thagnagl usg'n'throd.” He’d repeat, hypnotic in nature, till a loud crunch emanated from under my fist and his head folded in pieces under the pressure.

Ben was dead, and I had killed him. Good riddance, I told myself, it was self-defence. But I couldn’t help the tremors that found me afterwards as I sat back on my bunk staring at the puffy, half-formed face of the man who used to be a friend. A sick man, I didn’t have a choice. I was doing him a favour. Was I? Only I remained to ask the question.

Several hours later, the bulkhead opened to a team of strong-armed men pulling me free from the decompression chamber. They found me, slumped against the cold metal framing of my bunk bed, staring into the white abyss of Ben’s bed opposite mine. Four men had entered, and only one lived to tell the tale. I was paid handsomely not to; in fact, all three of my comrades’ pay was rolled into mine as an incentive to keep my silence. We’d broken our contract, we had broken the law, we had broken diving protocol and we had broken over half of our team. The rescue team cleaned me up, wiping Ben’s vomit and blood from my face and telling me I would be ok, as if that would make a difference.

I was sent home and promised I’d never venture near the sea again as long as I lived evermore. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter now. Did I trust the words of those more qualified than myself? It’s a possibility. Did I live in denial because the truth was too far-fetched for me to admit to? Also likely. I can’t claim to believe or disbelieve any part of the story now. But as I sit here years later, in my house that was paid for by my silence. As I lived my comfy life, bathed in the money bled by those who used to be my friends. As I toss and turn each night, haunted by shadows as my skin begins to turn red and peel and flake away from me like red leaves in autumn. All I can say is that through this sick and twisted mutation, I finally understand the words Ben told me many years ago.

R'lyeh fhtagn
R’yleh fhan'ghft
C’thagnagl usg'n'throd

I am nothing
I become nothing
The darkness becomes me

Who would you say if I asked you to think about the most famous missing person cases? Approximately 600,00 people go missing every year in the United States alone, and every year, roughly 90% of them are found. That's a pretty admirable ratio, if you think about it. To think that the large majority are found, though we don't know in what physical or mental state. But that still leaves around 60,000 every year who are not found. With that many people permanently disappearing annually, it would seem that the simple act of disappearing isn't enough to be remembered.
If you compare the map of disappearances across the United States with a map of known cave systems, the two line up eerily close to each other. It’s a good example, a reason that we might rule out that a large quantity of disappearances are due to one’s own actions or negligence. Many other disappearances are of homeless folk, or those who are involved in dangerous affairs, such as gangs, drugs or debt. 

No, to be remembered requires a story. People want a conspiracy. A story that asks more questions than it answers. In 1937, Amelia Earhart disappeared after a radio transmission she left, saying she was low on fuel and struggling to find land. At the time of her disappearance, we can forgive the empty-handed search results due to a lack of advanced technology, a lack of concerted search effort, and being right on the heels of the Second World War. I’m sure, finding her was not the most important thing with which to take an interest in the coming years. 
But decades later, the story still fascinates people, as there have still been no real signs of what may have happened to her. We’ve considered wind patterns, tidal movements and potential crash radii. We’ve scanned from space and mapped the seabed as well as charted every island in the Pacific Ocean, and still not turned up so much as a tattered hull panel or a scrap of cloth. She is still missing, and that’s what makes it fascinating. Peculiar and unexplainable cases like hers, or in more recent memory, Madeleine McCann’s, only become more confusing as you analyse the little facts that we do have. But there is one missing person, who has never been found. Someone who is arguably the most famous person in history, and barely anyone has ever chosen to question it.

How about the dude in the desert? The one who got executed and then shoved in a cave? No one ever seems to wonder where he ended up. Everyone who should actually care to know chooses not to, because that’s not the story they’ve been taught. He rose from the dead and ascended from his tomb to the heavens. Therefore, as all of his followers would have you believe, his location is known; you just can’t get there to find out yourself. Not without dying at least. And if you’re sane enough not to believe that, then you’re probably too sane to care about where he might be.
My mother, however, resides on neither side of that coin. She cares enough to believe he ascended to heaven, but not quite blind enough in faith to not care where he was buried. She was actually the one who first pointed out to me that he ascended spiritually, not physically, and therefore, his body must be somewhere. But she was also the first to point out that there were almost no good hints as to where.

See, the bible is a devious little text. A strategically genius combination of history and fiction. Some would have you believe it’s entirely truthful, and others would call it bunk, but in fact, it’s both. It’s so easy to forget how it has twisted and morphed over the years to fit specific narratives that were desirable at their own times. In the modern day, “Christianity” is really a number of religions in a trench coat. A dynamic, amorphous blob of era-dependent convenience. Easter is always on Sun-day, because it was merged with the Romans’ religious beliefs, who at the time worshipped the sun as a god. Equally, Christmas traditions stem from Roman, Pagan and Northern European traditions around the winter solstice. My point is that the texts available to us now are untrustworthy. When the bible tells us where Jesus was buried, it’s no more trustworthy than when it claims God made the universe in six days.

That’s not to say that none of the events of the Bible are true or able to be trusted. We have recently found, as an example, some evidence that might support the idea that the ten plagues, or at least a few of them, might have happened. Something along the lines of algae in the river, volcanic activity causing strange animal behaviour and so on. But it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t true. Supposedly, my mother planned on finding the final resting place of the son of god, and she didn’t fancy draining her bank account on half-trusted ideas and a direction that was general to say the least, and so she had spent the past year and a half sunk in as much research as she could manage.

Despite how much she talked about it, the realisation of what she was doing didn’t really hit me till she approached me with two plane tickets and a claim that she was pretty sure she’d found it. I told her that’s impossible, and she told me she could prove me wrong. I can’t say I cared enough to go, but to me it sounded like a free holiday, so I wasn’t going to say no. Plus, I think going and poking around in a possibly undiscovered cave is safer as a pair than the thought of my mother going alone. So a few days later, we packed up and headed out.
I’d been expecting some level of luxury, I’ll be honest. I was expecting a hotel and some cold drinks in the sun. A day of traipsing around a half-formed map that my mom had made, and the rest of the time with my feet kicked up on a lounger, basking in the sun without a care in the world. I was not expecting a single tour guide to provide us camping gear, and to lead us into the middle of the fucking desert at the height of summer. I was not expecting to wander, tired, aching and dehydrated through the desert, led by a dude just going by the rough co-ordinates he’d been given by my mom in her planning a month prior. So you can understand my frustration by the seventh day, when we finally got to rest, as we had supposedly reached our destination. 

I looked at the land around us, seeing nothing but the same flat, dusty, barren land surrounding us in all directions. Nothing, as far as I could tell. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. So far from civilisation, the Romans would have had to carry his corpse for days to get him here. It just didn’t make sense.
I was pretty mad. I mean, I love my mom, but as far as I could tell, she’d not only dragged me into the middle of nowhere in search of some dude who had somehow convinced billions of people throughout history that he was magic. But I was even more mad that after a weeklong trek, and her repeating continuously that she was certain, had landed us in the middle of fucking nowhere and completely empty-handed. 
And maybe, I thought, she was deluding herself, as she saw the building frustration on my face and said that she knew it was never going to be this easy. But no. We were just being granted the opportunity to rest for the night before the following day, when we would begin our search in a massive radius from our current position, sweeping the desert in hopes of finding the cave*.*

And so the next day I found myself following my mom and our meek little guide, sweeping in widening circles through the desert. Kicking the sand as I followed in tow, and cursing the name of the son of God under my breath till we found something. We’d been walking along the same ridge for about four hours, watching as the sand split on a short rocky cliff, growing from a few centimetres to a good few feet in height. The orange, crumbling rock was a nice change of pace from the layers of sand that surrounded us, being that much easier to walk on. By the time the cliff was taller than any of us, we were all just happy to be able to take shelter in the forgiving shadows it provided. And sitting before us now, in front of this rock face, lay a boulder.

Mom made me wait there while they returned to our camp to grab the stuff, I’m assuming just to rub it in that she was right. She and I both knew we were a step closer than I ever thought we’d get, and she wanted me to know it. We camped there, next to the rocks that night. It was honestly nice to get to stay in the shade for the afternoon, despite how it was still oppressively hot, but it wasn’t like the day was any easier. As soon as they got back with our camping stuff, it was time to get to work on cracking the boulder open.
The story of the resurrection would have you believe that the rock had already been removed from the cave entrance when Jesus was resurrected. If you’re like me, then you don’t buy into any of it, so much like I did, you would have expected the boulder to remain. But if I were to play ball and pretend to believe what the stories say, then you still have to consider that Jesus was said to be 100% god and 100% man. Ignoring how the bible fails at fundamental mathematics, given that Jesus was 100% man, he would never have been able to get the door open, even if he had been resurrected. We couldn’t move the boulder among the three of us; there was no way one man could ever move the boulder on his own. Not that my mother would believe this, as a religious woman herself. She was convinced that he had escaped spiritually and that we were looking for nothing more than a skeleton. It was at this point that she decided to inform me how much worse our trip was set to be. 

The bible would have you believe that Jesus was crucified for heresy, and that his claims to divinity questioned the Romans' own beliefs. But the truth is, they feared him. That Joseph of Arimathea, in an act of loyalty and respect, buried him. A touching story, but untrue. An addition was made to make the story more palatable and enjoyable, as well as a vehicle to the part of the story where Jesus was reborn. The truth is, the Romans buried him. They put a boulder over the cave opening because deep down they feared that he might have actually possessed the powers he claimed, and that he might actually return to life. They took a lot of precautions like this, and one of them was the cave.
In every depiction I’ve ever seen, Jesus being put in a cave is always shown as him in a tiny cavern, the size of a large room, with a boulder over the front to seal his exit. I guess I never chose to question it, but turns out that’s not the truth. We’re told Jesus was put in a cave, and artists, movies and retellings are free to interpret what that means as they see fit, which always seems to show the same tiny room of rock. But that night, my mom told us that the day after, we’d be cave diving, because his corpse had been left deep underground. 

We’d been taking shifts throughout the day and the night, trying to slowly chip away at the entrance. The boulder did not cover the jagged entrance perfectly, so all we had to do was widen one of the gaps enough for us to fit through till, at the crack of dawn, our tour guide woke us. He waved us over excitedly, pointing at the large section of rock he had managed to dislodge and gesturing for one of us to see how it measured up to our own proportions. The gap was right on the floor, a little over a foot tall and half a foot wide, with nothing but blackness waiting on the other side. 
My mother went first, crunching her shoulders close to her chest as she twisted herself sideways, kicking her legs off the floor to slowly inch her way into the gap. Pressing with her toes, in small movements, till her hands were free on the other side to push against the walls and retract her legs into the darkness. Then it was my turn.

God, I could feel my collar bones getting squeezed into my chest as I tried to worm my way through the tiny gap. Knowing I would not have willingly consented to this in advance, both my mom and our guide had neglected to mention this to me in advance, and so, in packing, I had anticipated light clothing to help beat the heat. Now squeezing through the gap in a t-shirt and jeans, I could feel the skin of my ribs and arms slowly begin to tear and peel away against the jagged serration of the walls that hugged tightly around me. I did not enjoy getting stuck halfway, as my hips were a few millimetres too wide, only for me to find myself getting pulled into the cave by my mom as my bones reformed around the rock to let me through. And I did not enjoy her trying to laugh it off as I crumpled onto the cave floor, hugging my shredded arms to my chest as I groaned in pain. 

So yeah, when she handed me my head torch, I was pretty pissed off. I think we’ve already established that I had not been enjoying our “holiday” as much as she had been. And I stayed pretty irritably silent as we began to make our way through the twisting cavern that expanded before us. But I couldn’t stay mad for too long. My mom, ignoring my irritation, as she had grown accustomed to doing, only got more energised the further we went. Her excitement was infectious, and I soon forgot about my own ailments as I began to feel her adventurous spirit seep into me.
I remember when I was a kid, she used to tell me stories from the bible. Not quite as accurately as the official text would tell them, but more for the theatrics of it. I used to love those stories as a child, and it was almost the same now. Now, me an adult, and her an academic, it was no longer so whimsical, but in a way, it reminded me of being a kid. Instead of biblical stories, she began to tell me about how all of it tied into her research. Most of it was fascinating; a little bit of it was mildly preachy. I knew she knew I was an atheist, and she wasn’t ecstatic about it since I’d told her, but she’d never really questioned me on it. But I began to wonder now, if she’d brought me along in some strange attempt to change my mind.

“You remember Matthew 4:3?” She started

“Maybe. Which one is that again?”

“Oh come on, you used to like that one!” She laughed, “The one where the devil tries to tempt Jesus to use his powers.”

“Oh yeah. Not really my favourite anymore.”

“Oh God, here we go…” she sighed in mock exasperation.

“What? I’m just saying, you don’t think it’s weird that he disappeared into the desert by himself? And then you have two dudes, two, cause I know another one of them mentions it, who say it happened. Like, even though they weren’t there for it. And you don’t think that’s a bit strange?”

“No, you have a point. But that kind of defeats my following point.”

“Sorry, continue.” 

“Well, we know that the boulder didn’t get removed from the tomb, obviously. And given the labyrinth that the Romans put Jesus in, there’s a theory that it took him days to find his way out. A few people I spoke to, in my research, had a theory that the devil came to him again, while he was in here, and tried again to tempt him into darkness. And a few believe that the devil succeeded, and that’s why the world has remained a tumultuous place. It’s often believed in Christianity that Jesus won and his ‘saving us from sin’ was saving the damned from hell and allowing us back into heaven again. But some believed that he was meant to save humans from their own sins in this life, and he failed…” she tailed off, letting the silence of the caves surround us.

“Is this your version of a scary story? Are you trying to creep me out right now?”

“No… maybe. Is it working?” 

“Considering I don’t believe in any of it to begin with, no. That’s a cool story, though. Did you come up with it on the spot?”

“No, that is actually a theory I found in my research. Not a popular one, though, it died out ages ago, but it is a fun one.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool. Very metal.”

Since she had started it, Mom and I had taken to telling each other scary stories while we were in the caves, and despite how tragically unscathed all of hers were, I still found it fun. And to make things even better, our guide had spent the days while we were in the cave chipping away at the boulder gap to make our entrance and exit that much easier.
The first day, we only explored two of the numerous split passages. I told my mom we could have got through more of them if we’d moved quicker, but she wanted to be thorough about it. On the bright side, going that slow about it was quite fun, a lot more relaxed than I had anticipated. 

I remember when I was a kid, in scouts, we did caving. It wasn’t real caving; it was in a little man-made plastic cave just for us to do some activities in, but even then, I enjoyed it. As a kid, I never considered getting stuck or being trapped underground. Maybe because it was a controlled environment, maybe because I was carefree, but a little piece of me I couldn’t shake that fear now. So I had to say I appreciated the slow nature of our search. It gave me time to plan out my actions and ensure I didn’t get stuck too much. Mom wanted to start with the ones that seemed easiest, since we started by going a little ways into each passage to see how tight it looked from the get-go and to consider which ones we wanted to put off till last.
Day 2 to 3 was fun even. I think both mom and I had acclimated to the process, and both of us were gaining confidence in descending and ascending. We’d begun to work out how to twist and move around obstacles in ways that were both not too uncomfortable and that made the next move easier to go into.

Day 4, and we had explored most of the cave. I wish I could say I was acclimatising to the feeling of squeezing through rocky gaps half the size of my body, but I can confirm, it still sucked. It was late in the day, later than we had been exploring the last few days, but with one passage left, neither my mother nor I could contain our excitement. Either way, at the end of this journey, we would have an answer. As far as I was concerned, the body had to be in this passage. My mother was less optimistic, as she had begun to doubt her own research, given how we had so far found ourselves consistently empty-handed. I kept telling her that, with one passage left, we had to find something. But if we didn’t, her research, her academic leave, and the grant money her trip was funded by would be a waste. Nothing I could say would set her nerves at ease. 
With every trip that passed, I had taken to wearing more and more clothing into the cave. Not only did the walls continue to tear at my skin with every trip down we took, but to make things worse, the cave was freezing. The further underground we went, the colder it got due to a lack of light and ventilation. We had all since widened the cave opening a little, enough to allow my extra layers, and as of the day prior, I had managed to go down in 5 t-shirts on top of each other plus a hoodie. But the passage that awaited us was both the tightest yet and the longest, hence why we had left it till last, and such I had to return to a single shirt and my since-tattered jeans. It turns out the Romans really did want to make it as hard as possible for Jesus to find his way out. 

The passage twisted and wound its way almost straight down, slowly tightening as we went. I remember moments where we had to stick our arms and legs into random blind holes, hoping they were not home to something hiding in the black, just to create enough space for our bodies to contort and twist into unforgiving cracks in which we should never have been able to fit. Having to press ourselves around a corner just to slide our legs around in the direction we had to go, edging backwards on our toes and fingers, completely blind while we prayed we didn’t get stuck. Many times my mom told me she should go alone, since she was smaller than I, but I refused, reasoning that if worse came to worst, we would benefit from one of us being there to help. I also reasoned that, should we get stuck, at least one of us would know to get help, but since we were days’ trek away from any civilisation, I think we both knew that was a lie we both accepted for our own comfort.

At last, we came to the end of the passage, through a gap only a few inches tall. Given how we had to twist around the corner upside down just to get there, it meant we now needed to push through this last obstacle upside down. It would have been beneficial for my mom to have gone first since she would have fit more easily, but considering how the last place we had room to move around each other was about 20 minutes of squeezing behind us, we both knew it wasn’t worth it. It took me a minute to assess the gap, trying to decide how best to tackle it. But with the low light of my one headtorch, and not many angles of attack considering that both of my arms were currently folded back into the passage behind me, I realised my only option was to just go for it. 

Turning my head to the side and pressing my chin to my shoulder, I began to shuffle into the crevice. It was tight, tighter than I had expected. I had to exhale as hard as I could just to fit into the gap, and soon began shuffling as fast as I could for fear of being unable to inhale again. I’d gone too far from where I had entered, and didn’t have enough oxygen left in my lungs to shuffle back. I could only press forward, closing my eyes and pretending my growing light-headedness was just a symptom of my own superstition. I could feel my shirt getting pulled down as the rocks tore at my face and arms, but I didn’t care anymore. We were so close, and I couldn’t care less about the pain. And all I cared for was to press on, till finally, I felt the rock begin to widen. The pressure on my cramped shoulder blades began to lift, and after a short moment, I was soon able to retract my arms from behind me and use my hands to pull myself into the open cavern. I called my mom back to tell her the passage was free for her to come through before I turned back to the empty room I was now standing in to look around. 
It was strangely square, for a supposedly natural landmark. The walls were still jagged and crumbled as had been all other passages throughout the cave, but strangely, the walls were near symmetrical in length. The width and height appeared identical in a perfect square that met each other at what appeared to be relative right angles. The room was long too, stretching what appeared to be, in the dim light of my headtorch, nearly four times as long as it was wide. 

Turning back to the entrance behind me, I peeked into the gap to see my mom slowly making her way through to the room. After checking, she was happy to make her way through, and that she didn’t seem to be stuck, I began to explore. Not that there was much to explore, in an empty rock cavern, and I felt my heart fall a little as I swept the room with my torch, only to see that it appeared completely empty. That’s a shame.
A little disheartened, I followed the walls into the back of the room, sweeping the back and forth over the walls and ceiling again with my torch for anything of interest, till suddenly I felt something gripping my foot tight, rolling my ankle from under me as I failed to lift my foot in stride. I fell hard, instinctively throwing my hands in front of me to brace my fall. 
As I came crashing to the ground, suddenly a white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm without warning. Turned my attention towards my hand, the torch following my gaze to reveal a garden of bladelike stalagmites jutting up from the floor, one of which had inserted itself through my hand. A little back from between my index and middle knuckle. I could feel, as my hand shook, the rock gently pressing my metacarpals apart. Hurt like a bitch. The little spike appeared naturally serrated, and it only chewed my hand up further, as with gritted teeth, I began to lift my hand off of it.

“Mom… do you have the first aid kit?” I called, turning back to the entrance to see if she had made it any further.

“I do, why? What have you done?” 

“Just a little accident… I just… really need the kit.” I replied, sucking air in through my gritted teeth as I removed my shirt with my one good hand in order to wrap it up temporarily and soak up some of the bleeding. I sat myself up a little, my back against the wall as I tried to control my breathing. Moving to pull my limbs in close to me, I found my foot resisting, as whatever had taken hold of it still gripped it now. A hole in the cave floor, about 8 inches in diameter, in which my foot appeared wedged.
Peering down inside the hole, my light revealed an open pit about 2ft deep and wider inside than the little. And at the bottom of the pit was a pile of malformed limbs, piled on top of each other, still wrapped in the olive skin of their owner. His face sat on the side of the pile, his long, frozen eyes staring up at me from behind his long black hair and his mouth still agape in a silent scream. As far as I could tell, it looked as though his corpse had been forced through the hole without regard to how he would fit. I’m sure inside he was nothing more than a pile of broken bones, as his arms, legs and ribcage had been shoved through a gap that was only just big enough for his head to fit through.

“Mom? Mom! I found something. I mean, I found… we found… he’s here!” I called, now completely ignoring the searing pain of my seeping hand for the excitement of the moment. My mom came rushing over, kneeling down next to me with our little first aid kit in hand. I took it from her and immediately pointed her to the hole in the ground. 

“We found him?” she breathed, stumbling back before instinctively making the sign of the cross on herself. 

“I think so…” I breathed, unzipping the first aid kit and taking the little bandage out to bind tightly over my hand. It wouldn’t last, and most likely wouldn’t stop the bleeding. But I had to hope it was enough to last me till I managed to get back out of the cave. “What now?”

“I- I don’t know. I was expecting bones but…”

“Yeah, he doesn’t look like a skeleton to me.” I heaved as I finally pushed myself back onto my feet. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s too cold to decompose, I’m not sure.” She said, peering back into the hole with fascination. 

“Mhm. Speaking of the cold, how long are we staying down here for? It was already cold when I had a shirt on…” 

“I know, but… we’re heading back tomorrow. I was planning on taking a bone sample back for DNA analysis, but… I don’t know what to do with this.”

“We could rip one of his arms off… or something.”

“No! That’s wrong…” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully,” But maybe it’d be ok to take one of his teeth? If he still has his teeth, that is.”

“What do you mean if he still has his teeth? His mouth is open, just have a look. Can’t you see any?”

“What? No, it’s not. Look.”

I peered back into the hole. She was right. “Weird… I don’t know then. Maybe we can lift him out of the hole; it’s not too deep. Take a tooth and then go. I’m fucking freezing and bleeding out, remember? We really gotta go.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” she said, reaching in with a shaky hand to the hole to grab a handful of loose skin and pull the body up out of its resting place. 

He appeared to lift up easily, slumping back like a limp bag of bones as Mom delicately pulled him back through the little opening and onto the rock beside her. She paused, staring at the puddle of flesh in shock and awe as the realisation hit of both what she was doing and who she was doing it to. Another sign of the cross mimed over her body and a whispered “forgive me Lord” before she gently unhinged the man’s jaw and reached in, gripping a tooth between her thumb and forefinger as she began to pull. 

The pulling motion against his skull seemed to pull his jaw closed on her hand as she tugged harder and harder till she stopped, frowning. Still with the same gentle touch, she went to unhinge his jaw again with her free hand, only to find that it had locked shut. Her face flashed from confusion to concern to panic as her wrist twisted in the tight grasp of the man’s jaw, as it seemed to independently begin tightening around her fingers.
She hooked the fingers of her free hand into the skin of his cheek, soft and spongy from millennia of decay, now trying to get a grip on the bones beneath and pry her hand free, but it was no use.
Unlike her, I had no respect for the man nor what he represented, and instead, kicked my foot up against his face as I too began to pull at his lower jaw. Desperate to loosen it as I pushed the top of his face back with my foot, but to no avail. 

A muffled crunch echoed through the dimly lit cavern, followed by my mother’s scream. The grinding of bones and another, wetter crunch and my mom’s hand sprang free, now missing her two middle fingers. She clutched her hand to her chest as the pile of bones began to shift and move, slowly. His eyes turned to watch us as he attempted to learn how to coordinate with his malformed body, stretching his malformed fingers and pulling his limbs in and around himself in what I assumed to be a stretch

Grabbing her with my good hand, I pulled my mother back from the creature, kicking it again in the face to keep it back as we both pressed our backs against the back wall. It was yet to find its faculties, and so I turned my attention now to my mother. I gripped her sleeve, trying to pull it into the light to inspect the damage. Her two fingers had been severed at the knuckle, and her pinky had been crushed and bent out of shape. But more concerning was the greyish, clammy quality of her skin that was slowly spreading from her severed fingers, her capillaries turning black as though infected, as the colour spread to her wrist and began climbing her arm. 

“It burns! Make it stop!” She cried as I rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder, the veins at her wrist now blackening and raising under her skin like the roots of an old tree. It was spreading fast. 

“I- I don’t know what to.” I stammered, watching as the skin of her hand now began to wrinkle and crack like aged paint, her remaining fingers now black.

“I don’t… I… Just cut it off!” 

Frantically glancing around me, my eyes came to rest upon the gathering of bladelike stalagtites just to my side. I kicked the largest one I could find, again and again, till finally it dislodged and fell free from the ground. Gripping it in my hand, I lined it up with the skin just below her shoulder, where it looked as though the spreading infection had yet to reach, turning the serrated side to face her.

“Deep breath…” I murmured, though I couldn’t tell you which of us I was talking to. 

I closed my eyes and pressed the blade into her flesh hard as I began to saw. Her flesh tore easily, or easier than I would have expected. Like taking a steak knife to a bag of blood, as I tore through her arteries, springing free like tensioned rubber bands, the increasingly pumping flow of blood only served to make it harder to see what I was doing. I suppose in a way I’m thankful I didn’t have to see it all, though I could feel every tendon, vein, muscle fibre and sinew as they caught on the serration of the blade and were pulled till they tore with a sickening, sucking sound like tearing wet cloth. Starting from her outer arm and cutting around her bicep in a circle about her humerus till her flesh began to slide down the bone like a moist, saggy sleeve, only for me to realise the problem I had not considered. The rock made a valiant effort to cut through her bone, but it was neither sharp nor fast enough, and still watching the greying flesh creep up her now slack flesh, I knew I needed something quicker. 

A whispered apology to my mother and a kiss on her temple before I pressed her squishy, limp arm up against the wall of the cave and began to hammer against the bone with the blunt stump of the rock in my hand. She screamed with every impact, but she didn’t resist, till with a sound eerily like that of a breaking tree branch, her bone bent and broke free, flopping limp onto the cave floor. Another few seconds, and the pale white stump of bone that stuck out from the severed flesh turned ash grey and began to crack like a wood burning fire. 

By then, she’d passed out, thank God, she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. Not for now, at least. Immediately, my attention turned back to the thing on the floor. With muffled cracks that resounded around the cavern, his bones snapped and popped like cracked knuckles, snapping into place where they once were. Half-formed and jagged at every breaking point, now a broken man made of zigzags, he stood with a gasping, sucking cry in agony as his larynx snapped into place. He fell to the ground as he struggled to take his first step, his long, broken leg crumbling under the unexpected pressure. Hunching over his broken leg, he gripped his shin and forced the breakage back into position with another laboured cry. I stood to my feet and quickly threw my mother’s remaining arm over my shoulder to carry her to the exit, backing around the edge of the room so as to keep as much distance as the little cavern would allow. 

Safe, or safer on the other side of the room, I had time to fumble with my belt and wrap a tight-ish tourniquet around my mother’s shoulder, also removing the now half-soaked bandage at my hand to attach to her missing arm. 

I had to hope that the supposed dead man had not found the means to speed up his pursuit, as I now had to slip back into the gap we had entered through, one arm in front of myself, pressed up against my chin with my head turned at 90 degrees, my other hand gripping my mother’s as I tried to pull her into the crack with me. I didn’t have time to waste, and after feeling around blindly behind me to try and line her up in a way that allowed her to fit relatively comfortably into the crevice, before shuffling as fast as I could through the gap, dragging her behind me. Now, without a shirt, I could feel the rock slicing me open at every square inch of my skin, but I didn’t have time to care, so I chose not to.

The ascent was so much harder when dragging someone behind me all the way, and I had to move back multiple times to reposition my mom’s head, arms or shoulders in order to fit her through a gap that I myself could barely fit through. By the time I reached the open space close to the entrance, I could barely feel my back and shoulders, having spent the past two hours of panicked climbing with them tensed and twisted in all manners that evolution had never intended for humans. 

The final squeeze took us out of the boulder into the cool night air. It was so bright, at least by comparison to the pitch darkness of the cave. Brighter still was the spotlight of the air ambulance that was awaiting our arrival as we slipped out of the crack between the cave wall and the boulder. Supposedly, emergency services were en route to try and remove the boulder and possibly come find us in the cave, but the fastest to arrive by a wide margin was the air ambulance, thank God. Our saint of a guide had got stressed when he had neither heard nor seen from us for hours and had called the emergency services. I had thought we had only been down for maybe 4-6 hours, but according to him, we had been gone for 16. Not really sure how that one works, but I’m thankful either way.

I ended up needing stitches in my hand, though it’s likely it’ll never have full functionality again. And my mother still hasn’t left hospital, though she has been flown back home to a more local hospital. Neither I nor our guide have been back to the cave to find out what the fuck was going on, and honestly, I don’t plan on it. But I fear we may have broken the seal. 

I wonder now if the Romans were on to something, if their layers of protection were the right idea and if they buried something contagious deep in that tomb. I wonder if they feared him because they feared what they didn’t understand. Or if they feared what he had the potential to become. And I wonder in their attempts to contain him, if they created the thing that they feared the most. What do you think it would have taken if the devil stood before a pile of broken bones? Who’d been whipped, beaten and tortured; hung on a cross and crushed into a cave. Reborn and immortal, but unable to escape. Trapped in a tomb for 2000 years, alive but not living, and unable to die. Do you think it would have been hard to convince the chosen one, after everything he’d been through? I never thought I’d believe in any of it, but I find myself believing now. Believing that he would take that offer, as a broken man, with nothing left to lose and nothing left to gain. That he’d bide his time since he’d been turned to hatred, till someone was foolish enough to let him out.

Who would you say if I asked you to think about the most famous missing person cases? Approximately 600,000 people go missing every year in the United States alone, and every year, roughly 90% of them are found. That’s a pretty admirable ratio, if you think about it.  To think that the large majority are found, though we don’t know in what physical or mental state. But that still leaves around 60,000 every year who aren’t found. With that many people permanently disappearing annually, it would seem that the simple act of disappearing isn’t enough to be remembered.
If you compare the map of disappearances across the United States with a map of known cave systems, the two line up eerily close to each other. It’s a good example, a reason that we might rule out that a large quantity of disappearances are due to one’s own actions or negligence. Many other disappearances are of homeless folk, or those who are involved in dangerous affairs, such as gangs, drugs or debt. 

No, to be remembered requires a story. People want a conspiracy. A story that asks more questions than it answers. In 1937, Amelia Earhart disappeared after a radio transmission she left, saying she was low on fuel and struggling to find land. At the time of her disappearance, we can forgive the empty-handed search results due to a lack of advanced technology, a lack of concerted search effort, and being right on the heels of the Second World War. I’m sure, finding her was not the most important thing with which to take an interest in the coming years. 
But decades later, the story still fascinates people, as there have still been no real signs of what may have happened to her. We’ve considered wind patterns, tidal movements and potential crash radii. We’ve scanned from space and mapped the seabed as well as charted every island in the Pacific Ocean, and still not turned up so much as a tattered hull panel or a scrap of cloth. She is still missing, and that’s what makes it fascinating. Peculiar and unexplainable cases like hers, or in more recent memory, Madeleine McCann’s, only become more confusing as you analyse the little facts that we do have. But there is one missing person, who has never been found. Someone who is arguably the most famous person in history, and barely anyone has ever chosen to question it.

How about the dude in the desert? The one who got executed and then shoved in a cave? No one ever seems to wonder where he ended up. Everyone who should actually care to know chooses not to, because that’s not the story they’ve been taught. He rose from the dead and ascended from his tomb to the heavens. Therefore, as all of his followers would have you believe, his location is known; you just can’t get there to find out yourself. Not without dying at least. And if you’re sane enough not to believe that, then you’re probably too sane to care about where he might be.
My mother, however, resides on neither side of that coin. She cares enough to believe he ascended to heaven, but not quite blind enough in faith to not care where he was buried. She was actually the one who first pointed out to me that he ascended spiritually, not physically, and therefore, his body must be somewhere. But she was also the first to point out that there were almost no good hints as to where.

See, the bible is a devious little text. A strategically genius combination of history and fiction. Some would have you believe it’s entirely truthful, and others would call it bunk, but in fact, it’s both. It’s so easy to forget how it has twisted and morphed over the years to fit specific narratives that were desirable at their own times. In the modern day, “Christianity” is really a number of religions in a trench coat. A dynamic, amorphous blob of era-dependent convenience. Easter is always on Sun-day, because it was merged with the Romans’ religious beliefs, who at the time worshipped the sun as a god. Equally, Christmas traditions stem from Roman, Pagan and Northern European traditions around the winter solstice. My point is that the texts available to us now are untrustworthy. When the bible tells us where Jesus was buried, it’s no more trustworthy than when it claims God made the universe in six days.

That’s not to say that none of the events of the Bible are true or able to be trusted. We have recently found, as an example, some evidence that might support the idea that the ten plagues, or at least a few of them, might have happened. Something along the lines of algae in the river, volcanic activity causing strange animal behaviour and so on. But it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t true. Supposedly, my mother planned on finding the final resting place of the son of god, and she didn’t fancy draining her bank account on half-trusted ideas and a direction that was general to say the least, and so she had spent the past year and a half sunk in as much research as she could manage.

Despite how much she talked about it, the realisation of what she was doing didn’t really hit me till she approached me with two plane tickets and a claim that she was pretty sure she’d found it. I told her that’s impossible, and she told me she could prove me wrong. I can’t say I cared enough to go, but to me it sounded like a free holiday, so I wasn’t going to say no. Plus, I think going and poking around in a possibly undiscovered cave is safer as a pair than the thought of my mother going alone. So a few days later, we packed up and headed out.
I’d been expecting some level of luxury, I’ll be honest. I was expecting a hotel and some cold drinks in the sun. A day of traipsing around a half-formed map that my mom had made, and the rest of the time with my feet kicked up on a lounger, basking in the sun without a care in the world. I was not expecting a single tour guide to provide us camping gear, and to lead us into the middle of the fucking desert at the height of summer. I was not expecting to wander, tired, aching and dehydrated through the desert, led by a dude just going by the rough co-ordinates he’d been given by my mom in her planning a month prior. So you can understand my frustration by the seventh day, when we finally got to rest, as we had supposedly reached our destination. 

I looked at the land around us, seeing nothing but the same flat, dusty, barren land surrounding us in all directions. Nothing, as far as I could tell. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. So far from civilisation, the Romans would have had to carry his corpse for days to get him here. It just didn’t make sense.
I was pretty mad. I mean, I love my mom, but as far as I could tell, she’d not only dragged me into the middle of nowhere in search of some dude who had somehow convinced billions of people throughout history that he was magic. But I was even more mad that after a weeklong trek, and her repeating continuously that she was certain, we had landed us in the middle of fucking nowhere and completely empty-handed. 
And maybe, I thought, she was deluding herself, as she saw the building frustration on my face and said that she knew it was never going to be this easy. But no. We were just being granted the opportunity to rest for the night before the following day, when we would begin our search in a massive radius from our current position, sweeping the desert in hopes of finding the cave*.*

And so the next day I found myself following my mom and our meek little guide, sweeping in widening circles through the desert. Kicking the sand as I followed in tow, and cursing the name of the son of God under my breath till we found something. We’d been walking along the same ridge for about four hours, watching as the sand split on a short rocky cliff, growing from a few centimetres to a good few feet in height. The orange, crumbling rock was a nice change of pace from the layers of sand that surrounded us, being that much easier to walk on. By the time the cliff was taller than any of us, we were all just happy to be able to take shelter in the forgiving shadows it provided. And sitting before us now, in front of this rock face, lay a boulder.

Mom made me wait there while they returned to our camp to grab the stuff, I’m assuming just to rub it in that she was right. She and I both knew we were a step closer than I ever thought we’d get, and she wanted me to know it. We camped there, next to the rocks that night. It was honestly nice to get to stay in the shade for the afternoon, despite how it was still oppressively hot, but it wasn’t like the day was any easier. As soon as they got back with our camping stuff, it was time to get to work on cracking the boulder open.
The story of the resurrection would have you believe that the rock had already been removed from the cave entrance when Jesus was resurrected. If you’re like me, then you don’t buy into any of it, so much like I did, you would have expected the boulder to remain. But if I were to play ball and pretend to believe what the stories say, then you still have to consider that Jesus was said to be 100% god and 100% man. Ignoring how the bible fails at fundamental mathematics, given that Jesus was 100% man, he would never have been able to get the door open, even if he had been resurrected. We couldn’t move the boulder among the three of us; there was no way one man could ever move the boulder on his own. Not that my mother would believe this, as a religious woman herself. She was convinced that he had escaped spiritually and that we were looking for nothing more than a skeleton. It was at this point that she decided to inform me how much worse our trip was set to be. 

The bible would have you believe that Jesus was crucified for heresy, and that his claims to divinity questioned the Romans' own beliefs. But the truth is, they feared him. They put a boulder over the cave opening because deep down they feared that he might have actually possessed the powers he claimed to have, and that he might return to life. They took a lot of precautions like this, and one of them was the cave.
In every depiction I’ve ever seen, Jesus being put in a cave is always shown as him in a tiny cavern, the size of a large room, with a boulder over the front to seal his exit. I guess I never chose to question it, but turns out that’s not the truth. We’re told Jesus was put in a cave, and artists, movies and retellings are free to interpret what that means as they see fit, which always seems to show the same tiny room of rock. But that night, my mom told us that the day after, we’d be cave diving, because his corpse had been left deep underground. 

We’d been taking shifts throughout the day and the night, trying to slowly chip away at the entrance. The boulder did not cover the jagged entrance perfectly, so all we had to do was widen one of the gaps enough for us to fit through till, at the crack of dawn, our tour guide woke us. He waved us over excitedly, pointing at the large section of rock he had managed to dislodge and gesturing for one of us to see how it measured up to our own proportions. The gap was right on the floor, a little over a foot tall and half a foot wide, with nothing but blackness waiting on the other side. 
My mother went first, crunching her shoulders close to her chest as she twisted herself sideways, kicking her legs off the floor to slowly inch her way into the gap. Pressing with her toes, in small movements, till her hands were free on the other side to push against the walls and retract her legs into the darkness. Then it was my turn.

God, I could feel my collar bones getting squeezed into my chest as I tried to worm my way through the tiny gap. Knowing I would not have willingly consented to this in advance, both my mom and our guide had neglected to mention this to me in advance, and so, in packing, I had anticipated light clothing to help beat the heat. Now squeezing through the gap in a t-shirt and jeans, I could feel the skin of my ribs and arms slowly begin to tear and peel away against the jagged serration of the walls that hugged tightly around me. I did not enjoy getting stuck halfway, as my hips were a few millimetres too wide, only for me to find myself getting pulled into the cave by my mom as my bones reformed around the rock to let me through. And I did not enjoy her trying to laugh it off as I crumpled onto the cave floor, hugging my shredded arms to my chest as I groaned in pain. 

So yeah, when she handed me my head torch, I was pretty pissed off. I think we’ve already established that I had not been enjoying our “holiday” as much as she had been. And I stayed pretty irritably silent as we began to make our way through the twisting cavern that expanded before us. But I couldn’t stay mad for too long. My mom, ignoring my irritation, as she had grown accustomed to doing, only got more energised the further we went. Her excitement was infectious, and I soon forgot about my own ailments as I began to feel her adventurous spirit seep into me.
I remember when I was a kid, she used to tell me stories from the bible. Not quite as accurately as the official text would tell them, but more for the theatrics of it. I used to love those stories as a child, and it was almost the same now. Now, me an adult, and her an academic, it was no longer so whimsical, but in a way, it reminded me of being a kid. Instead of biblical stories, she began to tell me about how all of it tied into her research. Most of it was fascinating; a little bit of it was mildly preachy. I knew she knew I was an atheist, and she wasn’t ecstatic about it since I’d told her, but she’d never really questioned me on it. But I began to wonder now, if she’d brought me along in some strange attempt to change my mind.

“You remember Matthew 4:3?” She started
“Maybe. Which one is that again?”
“Oh come on, you used to like that one!” She laughed, “The one where the devil tries to tempt Jesus to use his powers.”
“Oh yeah. Not really my favourite anymore.”
“Oh God, here we go…” she sighed in mock exasperation.
“What? I’m just saying, you don’t think it’s weird that he disappeared into the desert by himself? And then you have two dudes, two, cause I know another one of them mentions it, who say it happened. Like, even though they weren’t there for it. And you don’t think that’s a bit strange?”
“No, you have a point. But that kind of defeats my following point.”
“Sorry, continue.” 
“Well, we know that the boulder didn’t get removed from the tomb, obviously. And given the labyrinth that the Romans put Jesus in, there’s a theory that it took him days to find his way out. A few people I spoke to, in my research, had a theory that the devil came to him again, while he was in here, and tried again to tempt him into darkness. And a few believe that the devil succeeded, and that’s why the world has remained a tumultuous place. It’s often believed in Christianity that Jesus won and his ‘saving us from sin’ was saving the damned from hell and allowing us back into heaven again. But some believed that he was meant to save humans from their own sins in this life, and he failed…” she tailed off, letting the silence of the caves surround us.
“Is this your version of a scary story? Are you trying to creep me out right now?”
“No… maybe. Is it working?” 
“Considering I don’t believe in any of it to begin with, no. That’s a cool story, though. Did you come up with it on the spot?”
“No, that is actually a theory I found in my research. Not a popular one, though, it died out ages ago, but it is a fun one.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty cool. Very metal.”

Since she had started it, Mom and I had taken to telling each other scary stories while we were in the caves, and despite how tragically unscathed all of hers were, I still found it fun. And to make things even better, our guide had spent the days while we were in the cave chipping away at the boulder gap to make our entrance and exit that much easier.
The first day, we only explored two of the numerous split passages. I told my mom we could have got through more of them if we’d moved quicker, but she wanted to be thorough about it. On the bright side, going that slow about it was quite fun, a lot more relaxed than I had anticipated. 

I remember when I was a kid, in scouts, we did caving. It wasn’t real caving; it was in a little man-made plastic cave just for us to do some activities in, but even then, I enjoyed it. As a kid, I never considered getting stuck or being trapped underground. Maybe because it was a controlled environment, maybe because I was carefree, but a little piece of me I couldn’t shake that fear now. So I had to say I appreciated the slow nature of our search. It gave me time to plan out my actions and ensure I didn’t get stuck too much. Mom wanted to start with the ones that seemed easiest, since we started by going a little ways into each passage to see how tight it looked from the get-go and to consider which ones we wanted to put off till last.
Day 2 to 3 was fun even. I think both mom and I had acclimated to the process, and both of us were gaining confidence in descending and ascending. We’d begun to work out how to twist and move around obstacles in ways that were both not too uncomfortable and that made the next move easier to go into.

Day 4, and we had explored most of the cave. I wish I could say I was acclimatising to the feeling of squeezing through rocky gaps half the size of my body, but I can confirm, it still sucked. It was late in the day, later than we had been exploring the last few days, but with one passage left, neither my mother nor I could contain our excitement. Either way, at the end of this journey, we would have an answer. As far as I was concerned, the body had to be in this passage. My mother was less optimistic, as she had begun to doubt her own research, given how we had so far found ourselves consistently empty-handed. I kept telling her that, with one passage left, we had to find something. But if we didn’t, her research, her academic leave, and the grant money her trip was funded by would be a waste. Nothing I could say would set her nerves at ease. 
With every trip that passed, I had taken to wearing more and more clothing into the cave. Not only did the walls continue to tear at my skin with every trip down we took, but to make things worse, the cave was freezing. The further underground we went, the colder it got due to a lack of light and ventilation. We had all since widened the cave opening a little, enough to allow my extra layers, and as of the day prior, I had managed to go down in 5 t-shirts on top of each other plus a hoodie. But the passage that awaited us was both the tightest yet and the longest, hence why we had left it till last, and such I had to return to a single shirt and my since-tattered jeans. It turns out the Romans really did want to make it as hard as possible for Jesus to find his way out. 

The passage twisted and wound its way almost straight down, slowly tightening as we went. I remember moments where we had to stick our arms and legs into random blind holes, hoping they were not home to something hiding in the black, just to create enough space for our bodies to contort and twist into unforgiving cracks in which we should never have been able to fit. Having to press ourselves around a corner just to slide our legs around in the direction we had to go, edging backwards on our toes and fingers, completely blind while we prayed we didn’t get stuck. Many times my mom told me she should go alone, since she was smaller than I, but I refused, reasoning that if worse came to worst, we would benefit from one of us being there to help. I also reasoned that, should we get stuck, at least one of us would know to get help, but since we were days’ trek away from any civilisation, I think we both knew that was a lie we both accepted for our own comfort.

At last, we came to the end of the passage, through a gap only a few inches tall. Given how we had to twist around the corner upside down just to get there, it meant we now needed to push through this last obstacle upside down. It would have been beneficial for my mom to have gone first since she would have fit more easily, but considering how the last place we had room to move around each other was about 20 minutes of squeezing behind us, we both knew it wasn’t worth it. It took me a minute to assess the gap, trying to decide how best to tackle it. But with the low light of my one headtorch, and not many angles of attack considering that both of my arms were currently folded back into the passage behind me, I realised my only option was to just go for it. 

Turning my head to the side and pressing my chin to my shoulder, I began to shuffle into the crevice. It was tight, tighter than I had expected. I had to exhale as hard as I could just to fit into the gap, and soon began shuffling as fast as I could for fear of being unable to inhale again. I’d gone too far from where I had entered, and didn’t have enough oxygen left in my lungs to shuffle back. I could only press forward, closing my eyes and pretending my growing light-headedness was just a symptom of my own superstition. I could feel my shirt getting pulled down as the rocks tore at my face and arms, but I didn’t care anymore. We were so close, and I couldn’t care less about the pain. And all I cared for was to press on, till finally, I felt the rock begin to widen. The pressure on my cramped shoulder blades began to lift, and after a short moment, I was soon able to retract my arms from behind me and use my hands to pull myself into the open cavern. I called my mom back to tell her the passage was free for her to come through before I turned back to the empty room I was now standing in to look around. 
It was strangely square, for a supposedly natural landmark. The walls were still jagged and crumbled as had been all other passages throughout the cave, but strangely, the walls were near symmetrical in length. The width and height appeared identical in a perfect square that met each other at what appeared to be relative right angles. The room was long too, stretching what appeared to be, in the dim light of my headtorch, nearly four times as long as it was wide. 

Turning back to the entrance behind me, I peeked into the gap to see my mom slowly making her way through to the room. After checking, she was happy to make her way through, and that she didn’t seem to be stuck, I began to explore. Not that there was much to explore, in an empty rock cavern, and I felt my heart fall a little as I swept the room with my torch, only to see that it appeared completely empty. That’s a shame.
A little disheartened, I followed the walls into the back of the room, sweeping the back and forth over the walls and ceiling again with my torch for anything of interest, till suddenly I felt something gripping my foot tight, rolling my ankle from under me as I failed to lift my foot in stride. I fell hard, instinctively throwing my hands in front of me to brace my fall. 

As I came crashing to the ground, suddenly a white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm without warning. Turned my attention towards my hand, the torch following my gaze to reveal a garden of bladelike stalagmites jutting up from the floor, one of which had inserted itself through my hand. A little back from between my index and middle knuckle. I could feel, as my hand shook, the rock gently pressing my metacarpals apart. Hurt like a bitch. The little spike appeared naturally serrated, and it only chewed my hand up further, as with gritted teeth, I began to lift my hand off of it.

 “Mom… do you have the first aid kit?” I called, turning back to the entrance to see if she had made it any further.
“I do, why? What have you done?” 
“Just a little accident… I just… really need the kit.” I replied, sucking air in through my gritted teeth as I removed my shirt with my one good hand in order to wrap it up temporarily and soak up some of the bleeding. I sat myself up a little, my back against the wall as I tried to control my breathing. Moving to pull my limbs in close to me, I found my foot resisting, as whatever had taken hold of it still gripped it now. A hole in the cave floor, about 8 inches in diameter, in which my foot appeared wedged.
Peering down inside the hole, my light revealed an open pit about 2ft deep and wider inside than the little. And at the bottom of the pit was a pile of malformed limbs, piled on top of each other, still wrapped in the olive skin of their owner. His face sat on the side of the pile, his long, frozen eyes staring up at me from behind his long black hair and his mouth still agape in a silent scream. As far as I could tell, it looked as though his corpse had been forced through the hole without regard to how he would fit. I’m sure inside he was nothing more than a pile of broken bones, as his arms, legs and ribcage had been shoved through a gap that was only just big enough for his head to fit through.

“Mom? Mom! I found something. I mean, I found… we found… he’s here!” I called, now completely ignoring the searing pain of my seeping hand for the excitement of the moment. My mom came rushing over, kneeling down next to me with our little first aid kit in hand. I took it from her and immediately pointed her to the hole in the ground. 
“We found him?” she breathed, stumbling back before instinctively making the sign of the cross on herself. 
“I think so…” I breathed, unzipping the first aid kit and taking the little bandage out to bind tightly over my hand. It wouldn’t last, and most likely wouldn’t stop the bleeding. But I had to hope it was enough to last me till I managed to get back out of the cave. “What now?”
“I- I don’t know. I was expecting bones but…”
“Yeah, he doesn’t look like a skeleton to me.” I heaved as I finally pushed myself back onto my feet. 
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s too cold to decompose, I’m not sure.” She said, peering back into the hole with fascination. 
“Mhm. Speaking of the cold, how long are we staying down here for? It was already cold when I had a shirt on…” 
“I know, but… we’re heading back tomorrow. I was planning on taking a bone sample back for DNA analysis, but… I don’t know what to do with this.”
“We could rip one of his arms off… or something.”
“No! That’s wrong…” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully,” But maybe it’d be ok to take one of his teeth? If he still has his teeth, that is.”
“What do you mean if he still has his teeth? His mouth is open, just have a look. Can’t you see any?”
“What? No, it’s not. Look.”
I peered back into the hole. She was right. “Weird… I don’t know then. Maybe we can lift him out of the hole; it’s not too deep. Take a tooth and then go. I’m fucking freezing and bleeding out, remember? We really gotta go.” 
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” she said, reaching in with a shaky hand to the hole to grab a handful of loose skin and pull the body up out of its resting place. 

He appeared to lift up easily, slumping back like a limp bag of bones as Mom delicately pulled him back through the little opening and onto the rock beside her. She paused, staring at the puddle of flesh in shock and awe as the realisation hit of both what she was doing and who she was doing it to. Another sign of the cross mimed over her body and a whispered “forgive me Lord” before she gently unhinged the man’s jaw and reached in, gripping a tooth between her thumb and forefinger as she began to pull. 

The pulling motion against his skull seemed to pull his jaw closed on her hand as she tugged harder and harder till she stopped, frowning. Still with the same gentle touch, she went to unhinge his jaw again with her free hand, only to find that it had locked shut. Her face flashed from confusion to concern to panic as her wrist twisted in the tight grasp of the man’s jaw, as it seemed to independently begin tightening around her fingers.
She hooked the fingers of her free hand into the skin of his cheek, soft and spongy from millennia of decay, now trying to get a grip on the bones beneath and pry her hand free, but it was no use.
Unlike her, I had no respect for the man nor what he represented, and instead, kicked my foot up against his face as I too began to pull at his lower jaw. Desperate to loosen it as I pushed the top of his face back with my foot, but to no avail. 

A muffled crunch echoed through the dimly lit cavern, followed by my mother’s scream. The grinding of bones and another, wetter crunch and my mom’s hand sprang free, now missing her two middle fingers. She clutched her hand to her chest as the pile of bones began to shift and move, slowly. His eyes turned to watch us as he attempted to learn how to coordinate with his malformed body, stretching his malformed fingers and pulling his limbs in and around himself in what I assumed to be a stretch

Grabbing her with my good hand, I pulled my mother back from the creature, kicking it again in the face to keep it back as we both pressed our backs against the back wall. It was yet to find its faculties, and so I turned my attention now to my mother. I gripped her sleeve, trying to pull it into the light to inspect the damage. Her two fingers had been severed at the knuckle, and her pinky had been crushed and bent out of shape. But more concerning was the greyish, clammy quality of her skin that was slowly spreading from her severed fingers, her capillaries turning black as though infected, as the colour spread to her wrist and began climbing her arm. 

“It burns! Make it stop!” She cried as I rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder, the veins at her wrist now blackening and raising under her skin like the roots of an old tree. It was spreading fast. 
“I- I don’t know what to.” I stammered, watching as the skin of her hand now began to wrinkle and crack like aged paint, her remaining fingers now black.
“I don’t… I… Just cut it off!” 

Turning next to me, I kicked one of the larger stalactites, just next to the one still painted red with my own blood, breaking it from the floor. Gripping it in my hand, I lined it up with the skin just below her shoulder, where it looked as though the spreading infection had yet to reach, turning the serrated side to face her.
“Deep breath…” I murmured, though I couldn’t tell you which of us I was talking to. 
I closed my eyes and pressed the blade into her flesh hard as I began to saw. Her flesh tore easily at the sharp blade in my hand, and her tendons shortly followed, springing free like cutting a tensioned rubber band. I cut around her arm in a circle, till her flesh began to slide down the bone like a saggy sleeve, only for me to realise the problem I had not considered. The rock made a valiant effort to cut through her humerus, but it was not sharp enough, and still watching the greying flesh creep up her now slack flesh, I knew I needed something quicker. 

Another whispered apology to my mother and a kiss on her temple before I pressed her arm up against the wall of the cave and began to hammer against the bone with the blunt stump of the rock in my hand. She screamed with every impact, but she didn’t resist, till with a sound eerily like that of a breaking tree branch, her bone bent and then broke free, flopping limp onto the cave floor. Another few seconds and the pale white stump of bone that stuck out from the severed flesh turned ash grey, and began to crack with a sound like a wood burning fire. 

By then, she’d passed out, thank God, she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. Not for now, at least. Immediately, my attention turned back to the thing on the floor, who had since found access to his hands and arms and had begun worming his way towards us. I stood to my feet and quickly threw my mother’s remaining arm over my shoulder to carry her to the other side of the room, landing another swift kick to our pursuer as I passed him. 

Safe, or safer on the other side of the room, I had time to fumble with my belt and wrap a loose-ish tourniquet around my mother’s shoulder, also removing the now half-soaked bandage at my hand to attach to her missing arm. 

I had to hope that the supposed dead man had not found the means to speed up his pursuit, as I now had to slip back into the gap we had entered through, one arm in front of myself, pressed up against my chin with my head turned at 90 degrees, my other hand gripping my mother’s as I tried to pull her into the crack with me. I didn’t have time to waste, and after feeling around blindly behind me to try and line her up in a way that allowed her to fit relatively comfortably into the crevice, before shuffling as fast as I could through the gap, dragging her behind me. Now, without a shirt, I could feel the rock slicing me open at every square inch of my skin, but I didn’t have time to care, so I chose not to.

The ascent was so much harder when dragging someone behind me all the way, and I had to move back multiple times to reposition my mom’s head, arms or shoulders in order to fit her through a gap that I myself could barely fit through. By the time I reached the open space close to the entrance, I could barely feel my back and shoulders, having spent the past two hours of panicked climbing with them tensed and twisted in all manners that evolution had never intended for humans. 

The final squeeze took us out of the boulder into the cool night air. It was so bright, at least by comparison to the pitch darkness of the cave. Brighter still was the spotlight of the air ambulance that was awaiting our arrival as we slipped out of the crack between the cave wall and the boulder. Supposedly, emergency services were en route to try and remove the boulder and possibly come find us in the cave, but the fastest to arrive by a wide margin was the air ambulance, thank God. Our saint of a guide had got stressed when he had neither heard nor seen from us for hours and had called the emergency services. I had thought we had only been down for maybe 4-6 hours, but according to him, we had been gone for 16. Not really sure how that one works, but I’m thankful either way.

I ended up needing stitches in my hand, though it’s likely it’ll never have full functionality again. And my mother still hasn’t left hospital, though she has been flown back home to a more local hospital. Neither I nor our guide have been back to the cave to find out what the fuck was going on, and honestly, I don’t plan on it. But I fear we may have broken the seal. 
I wonder now if the Romans were on to something, if their layers of protection were the right idea and if they buried something contagious deep in that tomb. I wonder if they feared him because they feared what they didn’t understand. Or if they feared what he had the potential to become. And I wonder in their attempts to contain him, if they created the thing that they feared the most. What do you think it would have taken if the devil stood before a pile of broken bones? Who’d been whipped, beaten and tortured; hung on a cross and crushed into a cave. Reborn and immortal, but unable to escape. Trapped in a tomb for 2000 years, alive but not living, and unable to die. Do you think it would have been hard to convince the chosen one, after everything he’d been through? I never thought I’d believe in any of Jesus’ story, but I find myself believing now that he would take that offer. That he’d bide his time since he’d been turned to hatred, till someone was foolish enough to let him out.

Who would you say if I asked you to think about the most famous missing person cases? Approximately 600,000 people go missing every year in the United States alone, and every year, roughly 90% of them are found. That’s a pretty admirable ratio, if you think about it.  To think that the large majority are found, though we don’t know in what physical or mental state. But that still leaves around 60,000 every year who aren’t found. With that many people permanently disappearing annually, it would seem that the simple act of disappearing isn’t enough to be remembered.
If you compare the map of disappearances across the United States with a map of known cave systems, the two line up eerily close to each other. It’s a good example, a reason that we might rule out that a large quantity of disappearances are due to one’s own actions or negligence. Many other disappearances are of homeless folk, or those who are involved in dangerous affairs, such as gangs, drugs or debt. 

No, to be remembered requires a story. People want a conspiracy. A story that asks more questions than it answers. In 1937, Amelia Earhart disappeared after a radio transmission she left, saying she was low on fuel and struggling to find land. At the time of her disappearance, we can forgive the empty-handed search results due to a lack of advanced technology, a lack of concerted search effort, and being right on the heels of the Second World War. I’m sure, finding her was not the most important thing with which to take an interest in the coming years. 
But decades later, the story still fascinates people, as there have still been no real signs of what may have happened to her. We’ve considered wind patterns, tidal movements and potential crash radii. We’ve scanned from space and mapped the seabed as well as charted every island in the Pacific Ocean, and still not turned up so much as a tattered hull panel or a scrap of cloth. She is still missing, and that’s what makes it fascinating. Peculiar and unexplainable cases like hers, or in more recent memory, Madeleine McCann’s, only become more confusing as you analyse the little facts that we do have. But there is one missing person, who has never been found. Someone who is arguably the most famous person in history, and barely anyone has ever chosen to question it.

How about the dude in the desert? The one who got executed and then shoved in a cave? No one ever seems to wonder where he ended up. Everyone who should actually care to know chooses not to, because that’s not the story they’ve been taught. He rose from the dead and ascended from his tomb to the heavens. Therefore, as all of his followers would have you believe, his location is known; you just can’t get there to find out yourself. Not without dying at least. And if you’re sane enough not to believe that, then you’re probably too sane to care about where he might be.
My mother, however, resides on neither side of that coin. She cares enough to believe he ascended to heaven, but not quite blind enough in faith to not care where he was buried. She was actually the one who first pointed out to me that he ascended spiritually, not physically, and therefore, his body must be somewhere. But she was also the first to point out that there were almost no good hints as to where.

See, the bible is a devious little text. A strategically genius combination of history and fiction. Some would have you believe it’s entirely truthful, and others would call it bunk, but in fact, it’s both. It’s so easy to forget how it has twisted and morphed over the years to fit specific narratives that were desirable at their own times. In the modern day, “Christianity” is really a number of religions in a trench coat. A dynamic, amorphous blob of era-dependent convenience. Easter is always on Sun-day, because it was merged with the Romans’ religious beliefs, who at the time worshipped the sun as a god. Equally, Christmas traditions stem from Roman, Pagan and Northern European traditions around the winter solstice. My point is that the texts available to us now are untrustworthy. When the bible tells us where Jesus was buried, it’s no more trustworthy than when it claims God made the universe in six days.

That’s not to say that none of the events of the Bible are true or able to be trusted. We have recently found, as an example, some evidence that might support the idea that the ten plagues, or at least a few of them, might have happened. Something along the lines of algae in the river, volcanic activity causing strange animal behaviour and so on. But it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t true. Supposedly, my mother planned on finding the final resting place of the son of god, and she didn’t fancy draining her bank account on half-trusted ideas and a direction that was general to say the least, and so she had spent the past year and a half sunk in as much research as she could manage.

Despite how much she talked about it, the realisation of what she was doing didn’t really hit me till she approached me with two plane tickets and a claim that she was pretty sure she’d found it. I told her that’s impossible, and she told me she could prove me wrong. I can’t say I cared enough to go, but to me it sounded like a free holiday, so I wasn’t going to say no. Plus, I think going and poking around in a possibly undiscovered cave is safer as a pair than the thought of my mother going alone. So a few days later, we packed up and headed out.
I’d been expecting some level of luxury, I’ll be honest. I was expecting a hotel and some cold drinks in the sun. A day of traipsing around a half-formed map that my mom had made, and the rest of the time with my feet kicked up on a lounger, basking in the sun without a care in the world. I was not expecting a single tour guide to provide us camping gear, and to lead us into the middle of the fucking desert at the height of summer. I was not expecting to wander, tired, aching and dehydrated through the desert, led by a dude just going by the rough co-ordinates he’d been given by my mom in her planning a month prior. So you can understand my frustration by the seventh day, when we finally got to rest, as we had supposedly reached our destination. 

I looked at the land around us, seeing nothing but the same flat, dusty, barren land surrounding us in all directions. Nothing, as far as I could tell. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. So far from civilisation, the Romans would have had to carry his corpse for days to get him here. It just didn’t make sense.
I was pretty mad. I mean, I love my mom, but as far as I could tell, she’d not only dragged me into the middle of nowhere in search of some dude who had somehow convinced billions of people throughout history that he was magic. But I was even more mad that after a weeklong trek, and her repeating continuously that she was certain, we had landed us in the middle of fucking nowhere and completely empty-handed. 
And maybe, I thought, she was deluding herself, as she saw the building frustration on my face and said that she knew it was never going to be this easy. But no. We were just being granted the opportunity to rest for the night before the following day, when we would begin our search in a massive radius from our current position, sweeping the desert in hopes of finding the cave*.*

And so the next day I found myself following my mom and our meek little guide, sweeping in widening circles through the desert. Kicking the sand as I followed in tow, and cursing the name of the son of God under my breath till we found something. We’d been walking along the same ridge for about four hours, watching as the sand split on a short rocky cliff, growing from a few centimetres to a good few feet in height. The orange, crumbling rock was a nice change of pace from the layers of sand that surrounded us, being that much easier to walk on. By the time the cliff was taller than any of us, we were all just happy to be able to take shelter in the forgiving shadows it provided. And sitting before us now, in front of this rock face, lay a boulder.

Mom made me wait there while they returned to our camp to grab the stuff, I’m assuming just to rub it in that she was right. She and I both knew we were a step closer than I ever thought we’d get, and she wanted me to know it. We camped there, next to the rocks that night. It was honestly nice to get to stay in the shade for the afternoon, despite how it was still oppressively hot, but it wasn’t like the day was any easier. As soon as they got back with our camping stuff, it was time to get to work on cracking the boulder open.
The story of the resurrection would have you believe that the rock had already been removed from the cave entrance when Jesus was resurrected. If you’re like me, then you don’t buy into any of it, so much like I did, you would have expected the boulder to remain. But if I were to play ball and pretend to believe what the stories say, then you still have to consider that Jesus was said to be 100% god and 100% man. Ignoring how the bible fails at fundamental mathematics, given that Jesus was 100% man, he would never have been able to get the door open, even if he had been resurrected. We couldn’t move the boulder among the three of us; there was no way one man could ever move the boulder on his own. Not that my mother would believe this, as a religious woman herself. She was convinced that he had escaped spiritually and that we were looking for nothing more than a skeleton. It was at this point that she decided to inform me how much worse our trip was set to be. 

The bible would have you believe that Jesus was crucified for heresy, and that his claims to divinity questioned the Romans' own beliefs. But the truth is, they feared him. They put a boulder over the cave opening because deep down they feared that he might have actually possessed the powers he claimed to have, and that he might return to life. They took a lot of precautions like this, and one of them was the cave.
In every depiction I’ve ever seen, Jesus being put in a cave is always shown as him in a tiny cavern, the size of a large room, with a boulder over the front to seal his exit. I guess I never chose to question it, but turns out that’s not the truth. We’re told Jesus was put in a cave, and artists, movies and retellings are free to interpret what that means as they see fit, which always seems to show the same tiny room of rock. But that night, my mom told us that the day after, we’d be cave diving, because his corpse had been left deep underground. 

We’d been taking shifts throughout the day and the night, trying to slowly chip away at the entrance. The boulder did not cover the jagged entrance perfectly, so all we had to do was widen one of the gaps enough for us to fit through till, at the crack of dawn, our tour guide woke us. He waved us over excitedly, pointing at the large section of rock he had managed to dislodge and gesturing for one of us to see how it measured up to our own proportions. The gap was right on the floor, a little over a foot tall and half a foot wide, with nothing but blackness waiting on the other side. 
My mother went first, crunching her shoulders close to her chest as she twisted herself sideways, kicking her legs off the floor to slowly inch her way into the gap. Pressing with her toes, in small movements, till her hands were free on the other side to push against the walls and retract her legs into the darkness. Then it was my turn.

God, I could feel my collar bones getting squeezed into my chest as I tried to worm my way through the tiny gap. Knowing I would not have willingly consented to this in advance, both my mom and our guide had neglected to mention this to me in advance, and so, in packing, I had anticipated light clothing to help beat the heat. Now squeezing through the gap in a t-shirt and jeans, I could feel the skin of my ribs and arms slowly begin to tear and peel away against the jagged serration of the walls that hugged tightly around me. I did not enjoy getting stuck halfway, as my hips were a few millimetres too wide, only for me to find myself getting pulled into the cave by my mom as my bones reformed around the rock to let me through. And I did not enjoy her trying to laugh it off as I crumpled onto the cave floor, hugging my shredded arms to my chest as I groaned in pain. 

So yeah, when she handed me my head torch, I was pretty pissed off. I think we’ve already established that I had not been enjoying our “holiday” as much as she had been. And I stayed pretty irritably silent as we began to make our way through the twisting cavern that expanded before us. But I couldn’t stay mad for too long. My mom, ignoring my irritation, as she had grown accustomed to doing, only got more energised the further we went. Her excitement was infectious, and I soon forgot about my own ailments as I began to feel her adventurous spirit seep into me.
I remember when I was a kid, she used to tell me stories from the bible. Not quite as accurately as the official text would tell them, but more for the theatrics of it. I used to love those stories as a child, and it was almost the same now. Now, me an adult, and her an academic, it was no longer so whimsical, but in a way, it reminded me of being a kid. Instead of biblical stories, she began to tell me about how all of it tied into her research. Most of it was fascinating; a little bit of it was mildly preachy. I knew she knew I was an atheist, and she wasn’t ecstatic about it since I’d told her, but she’d never really questioned me on it. But I began to wonder now, if she’d brought me along in some strange attempt to change my mind.

“You remember Matthew 4:3?” She started
“Maybe. Which one is that again?”
“Oh come on, you used to like that one!” She laughed, “The one where the devil tries to tempt Jesus to use his powers.”
“Oh yeah. Not really my favourite anymore.”
“Oh God, here we go…” she sighed in mock exasperation.
“What? I’m just saying, you don’t think it’s weird that he disappeared into the desert by himself? And then you have two dudes, two, cause I know another one of them mentions it, who say it happened. Like, even though they weren’t there for it. And you don’t think that’s a bit strange?”
“No, you have a point. But that kind of defeats my following point.”
“Sorry, continue.” 
“Well, we know that the boulder didn’t get removed from the tomb, obviously. And given the labyrinth that the Romans put Jesus in, there’s a theory that it took him days to find his way out. A few people I spoke to, in my research, had a theory that the devil came to him again, while he was in here, and tried again to tempt him into darkness. And a few believe that the devil succeeded, and that’s why the world has remained a tumultuous place. It’s often believed in Christianity that Jesus won and his ‘saving us from sin’ was saving the damned from hell and allowing us back into heaven again. But some believed that he was meant to save humans from their own sins in this life, and he failed…” she tailed off, letting the silence of the caves surround us.
“Is this your version of a scary story? Are you trying to creep me out right now?”
“No… maybe. Is it working?” 
“Considering I don’t believe in any of it to begin with, no. That’s a cool story, though. Did you come up with it on the spot?”
“No, that is actually a theory I found in my research. Not a popular one, though, it died out ages ago, but it is a fun one.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty cool. Very metal.”

Since she had started it, Mom and I had taken to telling each other scary stories while we were in the caves, and despite how tragically unscathed all of hers were, I still found it fun. And to make things even better, our guide had spent the days while we were in the cave chipping away at the boulder gap to make our entrance and exit that much easier.
The first day, we only explored two of the numerous split passages. I told my mom we could have got through more of them if we’d moved quicker, but she wanted to be thorough about it. On the bright side, going that slow about it was quite fun, a lot more relaxed than I had anticipated. 

I remember when I was a kid, in scouts, we did caving. It wasn’t real caving; it was in a little man-made plastic cave just for us to do some activities in, but even then, I enjoyed it. As a kid, I never considered getting stuck or being trapped underground. Maybe because it was a controlled environment, maybe because I was carefree, but a little piece of me I couldn’t shake that fear now. So I had to say I appreciated the slow nature of our search. It gave me time to plan out my actions and ensure I didn’t get stuck too much. Mom wanted to start with the ones that seemed easiest, since we started by going a little ways into each passage to see how tight it looked from the get-go and to consider which ones we wanted to put off till last.
Day 2 to 3 was fun even. I think both mom and I had acclimated to the process, and both of us were gaining confidence in descending and ascending. We’d begun to work out how to twist and move around obstacles in ways that were both not too uncomfortable and that made the next move easier to go into.

Day 4, and we had explored most of the cave. I wish I could say I was acclimatising to the feeling of squeezing through rocky gaps half the size of my body, but I can confirm, it still sucked. It was late in the day, later than we had been exploring the last few days, but with one passage left, neither my mother nor I could contain our excitement. Either way, at the end of this journey, we would have an answer. As far as I was concerned, the body had to be in this passage. My mother was less optimistic, as she had begun to doubt her own research, given how we had so far found ourselves consistently empty-handed. I kept telling her that, with one passage left, we had to find something. But if we didn’t, her research, her academic leave, and the grant money her trip was funded by would be a waste. Nothing I could say would set her nerves at ease. 
With every trip that passed, I had taken to wearing more and more clothing into the cave. Not only did the walls continue to tear at my skin with every trip down we took, but to make things worse, the cave was freezing. The further underground we went, the colder it got due to a lack of light and ventilation. We had all since widened the cave opening a little, enough to allow my extra layers, and as of the day prior, I had managed to go down in 5 t-shirts on top of each other plus a hoodie. But the passage that awaited us was both the tightest yet and the longest, hence why we had left it till last, and such I had to return to a single shirt and my since-tattered jeans. It turns out the Romans really did want to make it as hard as possible for Jesus to find his way out. 

The passage twisted and wound its way almost straight down, slowly tightening as we went. I remember moments where we had to stick our arms and legs into random blind holes, hoping they were not home to something hiding in the black, just to create enough space for our bodies to contort and twist into unforgiving cracks in which we should never have been able to fit. Having to press ourselves around a corner just to slide our legs around in the direction we had to go, edging backwards on our toes and fingers, completely blind while we prayed we didn’t get stuck. Many times my mom told me she should go alone, since she was smaller than I, but I refused, reasoning that if worse came to worst, we would benefit from one of us being there to help. I also reasoned that, should we get stuck, at least one of us would know to get help, but since we were days’ trek away from any civilisation, I think we both knew that was a lie we both accepted for our own comfort.

At last, we came to the end of the passage, through a gap only a few inches tall. Given how we had to twist around the corner upside down just to get there, it meant we now needed to push through this last obstacle upside down. It would have been beneficial for my mom to have gone first since she would have fit more easily, but considering how the last place we had room to move around each other was about 20 minutes of squeezing behind us, we both knew it wasn’t worth it. It took me a minute to assess the gap, trying to decide how best to tackle it. But with the low light of my one headtorch, and not many angles of attack considering that both of my arms were currently folded back into the passage behind me, I realised my only option was to just go for it. 

Turning my head to the side and pressing my chin to my shoulder, I began to shuffle into the crevice. It was tight, tighter than I had expected. I had to exhale as hard as I could just to fit into the gap, and soon began shuffling as fast as I could for fear of being unable to inhale again. I’d gone too far from where I had entered, and didn’t have enough oxygen left in my lungs to shuffle back. I could only press forward, closing my eyes and pretending my growing light-headedness was just a symptom of my own superstition. I could feel my shirt getting pulled down as the rocks tore at my face and arms, but I didn’t care anymore. We were so close, and I couldn’t care less about the pain. And all I cared for was to press on, till finally, I felt the rock begin to widen. The pressure on my cramped shoulder blades began to lift, and after a short moment, I was soon able to retract my arms from behind me and use my hands to pull myself into the open cavern. I called my mom back to tell her the passage was free for her to come through before I turned back to the empty room I was now standing in to look around. 
It was strangely square, for a supposedly natural landmark. The walls were still jagged and crumbled as had been all other passages throughout the cave, but strangely, the walls were near symmetrical in length. The width and height appeared identical in a perfect square that met each other at what appeared to be relative right angles. The room was long too, stretching what appeared to be, in the dim light of my headtorch, nearly four times as long as it was wide. 

Turning back to the entrance behind me, I peeked into the gap to see my mom slowly making her way through to the room. After checking, she was happy to make her way through, and that she didn’t seem to be stuck, I began to explore. Not that there was much to explore, in an empty rock cavern, and I felt my heart fall a little as I swept the room with my torch, only to see that it appeared completely empty. That’s a shame.
A little disheartened, I followed the walls into the back of the room, sweeping the back and forth over the walls and ceiling again with my torch for anything of interest, till suddenly I felt something gripping my foot tight, rolling my ankle from under me as I failed to lift my foot in stride. I fell hard, instinctively throwing my hands in front of me to brace my fall. 

As I came crashing to the ground, suddenly a white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm without warning. Turned my attention towards my hand, the torch following my gaze to reveal a garden of bladelike stalagmites jutting up from the floor, one of which had inserted itself through my hand. A little back from between my index and middle knuckle. I could feel, as my hand shook, the rock gently pressing my metacarpals apart. Hurt like a bitch. The little spike appeared naturally serrated, and it only chewed my hand up further, as with gritted teeth, I began to lift my hand off of it.

 “Mom… do you have the first aid kit?” I called, turning back to the entrance to see if she had made it any further.
“I do, why? What have you done?” 
“Just a little accident… I just… really need the kit.” I replied, sucking air in through my gritted teeth as I removed my shirt with my one good hand in order to wrap it up temporarily and soak up some of the bleeding. I sat myself up a little, my back against the wall as I tried to control my breathing. Moving to pull my limbs in close to me, I found my foot resisting, as whatever had taken hold of it still gripped it now. A hole in the cave floor, about 8 inches in diameter, in which my foot appeared wedged.
Peering down inside the hole, my light revealed an open pit about 2ft deep and wider inside than the little. And at the bottom of the pit was a pile of malformed limbs, piled on top of each other, still wrapped in the olive skin of their owner. His face sat on the side of the pile, his long, frozen eyes staring up at me from behind his long black hair and his mouth still agape in a silent scream. As far as I could tell, it looked as though his corpse had been forced through the hole without regard to how he would fit. I’m sure inside he was nothing more than a pile of broken bones, as his arms, legs and ribcage had been shoved through a gap that was only just big enough for his head to fit through.

“Mom? Mom! I found something. I mean, I found… we found… he’s here!” I called, now completely ignoring the searing pain of my seeping hand for the excitement of the moment. My mom came rushing over, kneeling down next to me with our little first aid kit in hand. I took it from her and immediately pointed her to the hole in the ground. 
“We found him?” she breathed, stumbling back before instinctively making the sign of the cross on herself. 
“I think so…” I breathed, unzipping the first aid kit and taking the little bandage out to bind tightly over my hand. It wouldn’t last, and most likely wouldn’t stop the bleeding. But I had to hope it was enough to last me till I managed to get back out of the cave. “What now?”
“I- I don’t know. I was expecting bones but…”
“Yeah, he doesn’t look like a skeleton to me.” I heaved as I finally pushed myself back onto my feet. 
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s too cold to decompose, I’m not sure.” She said, peering back into the hole with fascination. 
“Mhm. Speaking of the cold, how long are we staying down here for? It was already cold when I had a shirt on…” 
“I know, but… we’re heading back tomorrow. I was planning on taking a bone sample back for DNA analysis, but… I don’t know what to do with this.”
“We could rip one of his arms off… or something.”
“No! That’s wrong…” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully,” But maybe it’d be ok to take one of his teeth? If he still has his teeth, that is.”
“What do you mean if he still has his teeth? His mouth is open, just have a look. Can’t you see any?”
“What? No, it’s not. Look.”
I peered back into the hole. She was right. “Weird… I don’t know then. Maybe we can lift him out of the hole; it’s not too deep. Take a tooth and then go. I’m fucking freezing and bleeding out, remember? We really gotta go.” 
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” she said, reaching in with a shaky hand to the hole to grab a handful of loose skin and pull the body up out of its resting place. 

He appeared to lift up easily, slumping back like a limp bag of bones as Mom delicately pulled him back through the little opening and onto the rock beside her. She paused, staring at the puddle of flesh in shock and awe as the realisation hit of both what she was doing and who she was doing it to. Another sign of the cross mimed over her body and a whispered “forgive me Lord” before she gently unhinged the man’s jaw and reached in, gripping a tooth between her thumb and forefinger as she began to pull. 

The pulling motion against his skull seemed to pull his jaw closed on her hand as she tugged harder and harder till she stopped, frowning. Still with the same gentle touch, she went to unhinge his jaw again with her free hand, only to find that it had locked shut. Her face flashed from confusion to concern to panic as her wrist twisted in the tight grasp of the man’s jaw, as it seemed to independently begin tightening around her fingers.
She hooked the fingers of her free hand into the skin of his cheek, soft and spongy from millennia of decay, now trying to get a grip on the bones beneath and pry her hand free, but it was no use.
Unlike her, I had no respect for the man nor what he represented, and instead, kicked my foot up against his face as I too began to pull at his lower jaw. Desperate to loosen it as I pushed the top of his face back with my foot, but to no avail. 

A muffled crunch echoed through the dimly lit cavern, followed by my mother’s scream. The grinding of bones and another, wetter crunch and my mom’s hand sprang free, now missing her two middle fingers. She clutched her hand to her chest as the pile of bones began to shift and move, slowly. His eyes turned to watch us as he attempted to learn how to coordinate with his malformed body, stretching his malformed fingers and pulling his limbs in and around himself in what I assumed to be a stretch

Grabbing her with my good hand, I pulled my mother back from the creature, kicking it again in the face to keep it back as we both pressed our backs against the back wall. It was yet to find its faculties, and so I turned my attention now to my mother. I gripped her sleeve, trying to pull it into the light to inspect the damage. Her two fingers had been severed at the knuckle, and her pinky had been crushed and bent out of shape. But more concerning was the greyish, clammy quality of her skin that was slowly spreading from her severed fingers, her capillaries turning black as though infected, as the colour spread to her wrist and began climbing her arm. 

“It burns! Make it stop!” She cried as I rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder, the veins at her wrist now blackening and raising under her skin like the roots of an old tree. It was spreading fast. 
“I- I don’t know what to.” I stammered, watching as the skin of her hand now began to wrinkle and crack like aged paint, her remaining fingers now black.
“I don’t… I… Just cut it off!” 

Turning next to me, I kicked one of the larger stalactites, just next to the one still painted red with my own blood, breaking it from the floor. Gripping it in my hand, I lined it up with the skin just below her shoulder, where it looked as though the spreading infection had yet to reach, turning the serrated side to face her.
“Deep breath…” I murmured, though I couldn’t tell you which of us I was talking to. 
I closed my eyes and pressed the blade into her flesh hard as I began to saw. Her flesh tore easily at the sharp blade in my hand, and her tendons shortly followed, springing free like cutting a tensioned rubber band. I cut around her arm in a circle, till her flesh began to slide down the bone like a saggy sleeve, only for me to realise the problem I had not considered. The rock made a valiant effort to cut through her humerus, but it was not sharp enough, and still watching the greying flesh creep up her now slack flesh, I knew I needed something quicker. 

Another whispered apology to my mother and a kiss on her temple before I pressed her arm up against the wall of the cave and began to hammer against the bone with the blunt stump of the rock in my hand. She screamed with every impact, but she didn’t resist, till with a sound eerily like that of a breaking tree branch, her bone bent and then broke free, flopping limp onto the cave floor. Another few seconds and the pale white stump of bone that stuck out from the severed flesh turned ash grey, and began to crack with a sound like a wood burning fire. 

By then, she’d passed out, thank God, she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. Not for now, at least. Immediately, my attention turned back to the thing on the floor, who had since found access to his hands and arms and had begun worming his way towards us. I stood to my feet and quickly threw my mother’s remaining arm over my shoulder to carry her to the other side of the room, landing another swift kick to our pursuer as I passed him. 

Safe, or safer on the other side of the room, I had time to fumble with my belt and wrap a loose-ish tourniquet around my mother’s shoulder, also removing the now half-soaked bandage at my hand to attach to her missing arm. 

I had to hope that the supposed dead man had not found the means to speed up his pursuit, as I now had to slip back into the gap we had entered through, one arm in front of myself, pressed up against my chin with my head turned at 90 degrees, my other hand gripping my mother’s as I tried to pull her into the crack with me. I didn’t have time to waste, and after feeling around blindly behind me to try and line her up in a way that allowed her to fit relatively comfortably into the crevice, before shuffling as fast as I could through the gap, dragging her behind me. Now, without a shirt, I could feel the rock slicing me open at every square inch of my skin, but I didn’t have time to care, so I chose not to.

The ascent was so much harder when dragging someone behind me all the way, and I had to move back multiple times to reposition my mom’s head, arms or shoulders in order to fit her through a gap that I myself could barely fit through. By the time I reached the open space close to the entrance, I could barely feel my back and shoulders, having spent the past two hours of panicked climbing with them tensed and twisted in all manners that evolution had never intended for humans. 

The final squeeze took us out of the boulder into the cool night air. It was so bright, at least by comparison to the pitch darkness of the cave. Brighter still was the spotlight of the air ambulance that was awaiting our arrival as we slipped out of the crack between the cave wall and the boulder. Supposedly, emergency services were en route to try and remove the boulder and possibly come find us in the cave, but the fastest to arrive by a wide margin was the air ambulance, thank God. Our saint of a guide had got stressed when he had neither heard nor seen from us for hours and had called the emergency services. I had thought we had only been down for maybe 4-6 hours, but according to him, we had been gone for 16. Not really sure how that one works, but I’m thankful either way.

I ended up needing stitches in my hand, though it’s likely it’ll never have full functionality again. And my mother still hasn’t left hospital, though she has been flown back home to a more local hospital. Neither I nor our guide have been back to the cave to find out what the fuck was going on, and honestly, I don’t plan on it. But I fear we may have broken the seal. 
I wonder now if the Romans were on to something, if their layers of protection were the right idea and if they buried something contagious deep in that tomb. I wonder if they feared him because they feared what they didn’t understand. Or if they feared what he had the potential to become. And I wonder in their attempts to contain him, if they created the thing that they feared the most. What do you think it would have taken if the devil stood before a pile of broken bones? Who’d been whipped, beaten and tortured; hung on a cross and crushed into a cave. Reborn and immortal, but unable to escape. Trapped in a tomb for 2000 years, alive but not living, and unable to die. Do you think it would have been hard to convince the chosen one, after everything he’d been through? I never thought I’d believe in any of Jesus’ story, but I find myself believing now that he would take that offer. That he’d bide his time since he’d been turned to hatred, till someone was foolish enough to let him out.

Who would you say if I asked you to think about the most famous missing person cases? Approximately 600,000 people go missing every year in the United States alone, and every year, roughly 90% of them are found. That’s a pretty admirable ratio, if you think about it.  To think that the large majority are found, though we don’t know in what physical or mental state. But that still leaves around 60,000 every year who aren’t found. With that many people permanently disappearing annually, it would seem that the simple act of disappearing isn’t enough to be remembered.
If you compare the map of disappearances across the United States with a map of known cave systems, the two line up eerily close to each other. It’s a good example, a reason that we might rule out that a large quantity of disappearances are due to one’s own actions or negligence. Many other disappearances are of homeless folk, or those who are involved in dangerous affairs, such as gangs, drugs or debt. 

No, to be remembered requires a story. People want a conspiracy. A story that asks more questions than it answers. In 1937, Amelia Earhart disappeared after a radio transmission she left, saying she was low on fuel and struggling to find land. At the time of her disappearance, we can forgive the empty-handed search results due to a lack of advanced technology, a lack of concerted search effort, and being right on the heels of the Second World War. I’m sure, finding her was not the most important thing with which to take an interest in the coming years. 
But decades later, the story still fascinates people, as there have still been no real signs of what may have happened to her. We’ve considered wind patterns, tidal movements and potential crash radii. We’ve scanned from space and mapped the seabed as well as charted every island in the Pacific Ocean, and still not turned up so much as a tattered hull panel or a scrap of cloth. She is still missing, and that’s what makes it fascinating. Peculiar and unexplainable cases like hers, or in more recent memory, Madeleine McCann’s, only become more confusing as you analyse the little facts that we do have. But there is one missing person, who has never been found. Someone who is arguably the most famous person in history, and barely anyone has ever chosen to question it.

How about the dude in the desert? The one who got executed and then shoved in a cave? No one ever seems to wonder where he ended up. Everyone who should actually care to know chooses not to, because that’s not the story they’ve been taught. He rose from the dead and ascended from his tomb to the heavens. Therefore, as all of his followers would have you believe, his location is known; you just can’t get there to find out yourself. Not without dying at least. And if you’re sane enough not to believe that, then you’re probably too sane to care about where he might be.
My mother, however, resides on neither side of that coin. She cares enough to believe he ascended to heaven, but not quite blind enough in faith to not care where he was buried. She was actually the one who first pointed out to me that he ascended spiritually, not physically, and therefore, his body must be somewhere. But she was also the first to point out that there were almost no good hints as to where.

See, the bible is a devious little text. A strategically genius combination of history and fiction. Some would have you believe it’s entirely truthful, and others would call it bunk, but in fact, it’s both. It’s so easy to forget how it has twisted and morphed over the years to fit specific narratives that were desirable at their own times. In the modern day, “Christianity” is really a number of religions in a trench coat. A dynamic, amorphous blob of era-dependent convenience. Easter is always on Sun-day, because it was merged with the Romans’ religious beliefs, who at the time worshipped the sun as a god. Equally, Christmas traditions stem from Roman, Pagan and Northern European traditions around the winter solstice. My point is that the texts available to us now are untrustworthy. When the bible tells us where Jesus was buried, it’s no more trustworthy than when it claims God made the universe in six days.

That’s not to say that none of the events of the Bible are true or able to be trusted. We have recently found, as an example, some evidence that might support the idea that the ten plagues, or at least a few of them, might have happened. Something along the lines of algae in the river, volcanic activity causing strange animal behaviour and so on. But it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t true. Supposedly, my mother planned on finding the final resting place of the son of god, and she didn’t fancy draining her bank account on half-trusted ideas and a direction that was general to say the least, and so she had spent the past year and a half sunk in as much research as she could manage.

Despite how much she talked about it, the realisation of what she was doing didn’t really hit me till she approached me with two plane tickets and a claim that she was pretty sure she’d found it. I told her that’s impossible, and she told me she could prove me wrong. I can’t say I cared enough to go, but to me it sounded like a free holiday, so I wasn’t going to say no. Plus, I think going and poking around in a possibly undiscovered cave is safer as a pair than the thought of my mother going alone. So a few days later, we packed up and headed out.
I’d been expecting some level of luxury, I’ll be honest. I was expecting a hotel and some cold drinks in the sun. A day of traipsing around a half-formed map that my mom had made, and the rest of the time with my feet kicked up on a lounger, basking in the sun without a care in the world. I was not expecting a single tour guide to provide us camping gear, and to lead us into the middle of the fucking desert at the height of summer. I was not expecting to wander, tired, aching and dehydrated through the desert, led by a dude just going by the rough co-ordinates he’d been given by my mom in her planning a month prior. So you can understand my frustration by the seventh day, when we finally got to rest, as we had supposedly reached our destination. 

I looked at the land around us, seeing nothing but the same flat, dusty, barren land surrounding us in all directions. Nothing, as far as I could tell. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. So far from civilisation, the Romans would have had to carry his corpse for days to get him here. It just didn’t make sense.
I was pretty mad. I mean, I love my mom, but as far as I could tell, she’d not only dragged me into the middle of nowhere in search of some dude who had somehow convinced billions of people throughout history that he was magic. But I was even more mad that after a weeklong trek, and her repeating continuously that she was certain, we had landed us in the middle of fucking nowhere and completely empty-handed. 
And maybe, I thought, she was deluding herself, as she saw the building frustration on my face and said that she knew it was never going to be this easy. But no. We were just being granted the opportunity to rest for the night before the following day, when we would begin our search in a massive radius from our current position, sweeping the desert in hopes of finding the cave*.*

And so the next day I found myself following my mom and our meek little guide, sweeping in widening circles through the desert. Kicking the sand as I followed in tow, and cursing the name of the son of God under my breath till we found something. We’d been walking along the same ridge for about four hours, watching as the sand split on a short rocky cliff, growing from a few centimetres to a good few feet in height. The orange, crumbling rock was a nice change of pace from the layers of sand that surrounded us, being that much easier to walk on. By the time the cliff was taller than any of us, we were all just happy to be able to take shelter in the forgiving shadows it provided. And sitting before us now, in front of this rock face, lay a boulder.

Mom made me wait there while they returned to our camp to grab the stuff, I’m assuming just to rub it in that she was right. She and I both knew we were a step closer than I ever thought we’d get, and she wanted me to know it. We camped there, next to the rocks that night. It was honestly nice to get to stay in the shade for the afternoon, despite how it was still oppressively hot, but it wasn’t like the day was any easier. As soon as they got back with our camping stuff, it was time to get to work on cracking the boulder open.
The story of the resurrection would have you believe that the rock had already been removed from the cave entrance when Jesus was resurrected. If you’re like me, then you don’t buy into any of it, so much like I did, you would have expected the boulder to remain. But if I were to play ball and pretend to believe what the stories say, then you still have to consider that Jesus was said to be 100% god and 100% man. Ignoring how the bible fails at fundamental mathematics, given that Jesus was 100% man, he would never have been able to get the door open, even if he had been resurrected. We couldn’t move the boulder among the three of us; there was no way one man could ever move the boulder on his own. Not that my mother would believe this, as a religious woman herself. She was convinced that he had escaped spiritually and that we were looking for nothing more than a skeleton. It was at this point that she decided to inform me how much worse our trip was set to be. 

The bible would have you believe that Jesus was crucified for heresy, and that his claims to divinity questioned the Romans' own beliefs. But the truth is, they feared him. They put a boulder over the cave opening because deep down they feared that he might have actually possessed the powers he claimed to have, and that he might return to life. They took a lot of precautions like this, and one of them was the cave.
In every depiction I’ve ever seen, Jesus being put in a cave is always shown as him in a tiny cavern, the size of a large room, with a boulder over the front to seal his exit. I guess I never chose to question it, but turns out that’s not the truth. We’re told Jesus was put in a cave, and artists, movies and retellings are free to interpret what that means as they see fit, which always seems to show the same tiny room of rock. But that night, my mom told us that the day after, we’d be cave diving, because his corpse had been left deep underground. 

We’d been taking shifts throughout the day and the night, trying to slowly chip away at the entrance. The boulder did not cover the jagged entrance perfectly, so all we had to do was widen one of the gaps enough for us to fit through till, at the crack of dawn, our tour guide woke us. He waved us over excitedly, pointing at the large section of rock he had managed to dislodge and gesturing for one of us to see how it measured up to our own proportions. The gap was right on the floor, a little over a foot tall and half a foot wide, with nothing but blackness waiting on the other side. 
My mother went first, crunching her shoulders close to her chest as she twisted herself sideways, kicking her legs off the floor to slowly inch her way into the gap. Pressing with her toes, in small movements, till her hands were free on the other side to push against the walls and retract her legs into the darkness. Then it was my turn.

God, I could feel my collar bones getting squeezed into my chest as I tried to worm my way through the tiny gap. Knowing I would not have willingly consented to this in advance, both my mom and our guide had neglected to mention this to me in advance, and so, in packing, I had anticipated light clothing to help beat the heat. Now squeezing through the gap in a t-shirt and jeans, I could feel the skin of my ribs and arms slowly begin to tear and peel away against the jagged serration of the walls that hugged tightly around me. I did not enjoy getting stuck halfway, as my hips were a few millimetres too wide, only for me to find myself getting pulled into the cave by my mom as my bones reformed around the rock to let me through. And I did not enjoy her trying to laugh it off as I crumpled onto the cave floor, hugging my shredded arms to my chest as I groaned in pain. 

So yeah, when she handed me my head torch, I was pretty pissed off. I think we’ve already established that I had not been enjoying our “holiday” as much as she had been. And I stayed pretty irritably silent as we began to make our way through the twisting cavern that expanded before us. But I couldn’t stay mad for too long. My mom, ignoring my irritation, as she had grown accustomed to doing, only got more energised the further we went. Her excitement was infectious, and I soon forgot about my own ailments as I began to feel her adventurous spirit seep into me.
I remember when I was a kid, she used to tell me stories from the bible. Not quite as accurately as the official text would tell them, but more for the theatrics of it. I used to love those stories as a child, and it was almost the same now. Now, me an adult, and her an academic, it was no longer so whimsical, but in a way, it reminded me of being a kid. Instead of biblical stories, she began to tell me about how all of it tied into her research. Most of it was fascinating; a little bit of it was mildly preachy. I knew she knew I was an atheist, and she wasn’t ecstatic about it since I’d told her, but she’d never really questioned me on it. But I began to wonder now, if she’d brought me along in some strange attempt to change my mind.

“You remember Matthew 4:3?” She started
“Maybe. Which one is that again?”
“Oh come on, you used to like that one!” She laughed, “The one where the devil tries to tempt Jesus to use his powers.”
“Oh yeah. Not really my favourite anymore.”
“Oh God, here we go…” she sighed in mock exasperation.
“What? I’m just saying, you don’t think it’s weird that he disappeared into the desert by himself? And then you have two dudes, two, cause I know another one of them mentions it, who say it happened. Like, even though they weren’t there for it. And you don’t think that’s a bit strange?”
“No, you have a point. But that kind of defeats my following point.”
“Sorry, continue.” 
“Well, we know that the boulder didn’t get removed from the tomb, obviously. And given the labyrinth that the Romans put Jesus in, there’s a theory that it took him days to find his way out. A few people I spoke to, in my research, had a theory that the devil came to him again, while he was in here, and tried again to tempt him into darkness. And a few believe that the devil succeeded, and that’s why the world has remained a tumultuous place. It’s often believed in Christianity that Jesus won and his ‘saving us from sin’ was saving the damned from hell and allowing us back into heaven again. But some believed that he was meant to save humans from their own sins in this life, and he failed…” she tailed off, letting the silence of the caves surround us.
“Is this your version of a scary story? Are you trying to creep me out right now?”
“No… maybe. Is it working?” 
“Considering I don’t believe in any of it to begin with, no. That’s a cool story, though. Did you come up with it on the spot?”
“No, that is actually a theory I found in my research. Not a popular one, though, it died out ages ago, but it is a fun one.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty cool. Very metal.”

Since she had started it, Mom and I had taken to telling each other scary stories while we were in the caves, and despite how tragically unscathed all of hers were, I still found it fun. And to make things even better, our guide had spent the days while we were in the cave chipping away at the boulder gap to make our entrance and exit that much easier.
The first day, we only explored two of the numerous split passages. I told my mom we could have got through more of them if we’d moved quicker, but she wanted to be thorough about it. On the bright side, going that slow about it was quite fun, a lot more relaxed than I had anticipated. 

I remember when I was a kid, in scouts, we did caving. It wasn’t real caving; it was in a little man-made plastic cave just for us to do some activities in, but even then, I enjoyed it. As a kid, I never considered getting stuck or being trapped underground. Maybe because it was a controlled environment, maybe because I was carefree, but a little piece of me I couldn’t shake that fear now. So I had to say I appreciated the slow nature of our search. It gave me time to plan out my actions and ensure I didn’t get stuck too much. Mom wanted to start with the ones that seemed easiest, since we started by going a little ways into each passage to see how tight it looked from the get-go and to consider which ones we wanted to put off till last.
Day 2 to 3 was fun even. I think both mom and I had acclimated to the process, and both of us were gaining confidence in descending and ascending. We’d begun to work out how to twist and move around obstacles in ways that were both not too uncomfortable and that made the next move easier to go into.

Day 4, and we had explored most of the cave. I wish I could say I was acclimatising to the feeling of squeezing through rocky gaps half the size of my body, but I can confirm, it still sucked. It was late in the day, later than we had been exploring the last few days, but with one passage left, neither my mother nor I could contain our excitement. Either way, at the end of this journey, we would have an answer. As far as I was concerned, the body had to be in this passage. My mother was less optimistic, as she had begun to doubt her own research, given how we had so far found ourselves consistently empty-handed. I kept telling her that, with one passage left, we had to find something. But if we didn’t, her research, her academic leave, and the grant money her trip was funded by would be a waste. Nothing I could say would set her nerves at ease. 
With every trip that passed, I had taken to wearing more and more clothing into the cave. Not only did the walls continue to tear at my skin with every trip down we took, but to make things worse, the cave was freezing. The further underground we went, the colder it got due to a lack of light and ventilation. We had all since widened the cave opening a little, enough to allow my extra layers, and as of the day prior, I had managed to go down in 5 t-shirts on top of each other plus a hoodie. But the passage that awaited us was both the tightest yet and the longest, hence why we had left it till last, and such I had to return to a single shirt and my since-tattered jeans. It turns out the Romans really did want to make it as hard as possible for Jesus to find his way out. 

The passage twisted and wound its way almost straight down, slowly tightening as we went. I remember moments where we had to stick our arms and legs into random blind holes, hoping they were not home to something hiding in the black, just to create enough space for our bodies to contort and twist into unforgiving cracks in which we should never have been able to fit. Having to press ourselves around a corner just to slide our legs around in the direction we had to go, edging backwards on our toes and fingers, completely blind while we prayed we didn’t get stuck. Many times my mom told me she should go alone, since she was smaller than I, but I refused, reasoning that if worse came to worst, we would benefit from one of us being there to help. I also reasoned that, should we get stuck, at least one of us would know to get help, but since we were days’ trek away from any civilisation, I think we both knew that was a lie we both accepted for our own comfort.

At last, we came to the end of the passage, through a gap only a few inches tall. Given how we had to twist around the corner upside down just to get there, it meant we now needed to push through this last obstacle upside down. It would have been beneficial for my mom to have gone first since she would have fit more easily, but considering how the last place we had room to move around each other was about 20 minutes of squeezing behind us, we both knew it wasn’t worth it. It took me a minute to assess the gap, trying to decide how best to tackle it. But with the low light of my one headtorch, and not many angles of attack considering that both of my arms were currently folded back into the passage behind me, I realised my only option was to just go for it. 

Turning my head to the side and pressing my chin to my shoulder, I began to shuffle into the crevice. It was tight, tighter than I had expected. I had to exhale as hard as I could just to fit into the gap, and soon began shuffling as fast as I could for fear of being unable to inhale again. I’d gone too far from where I had entered, and didn’t have enough oxygen left in my lungs to shuffle back. I could only press forward, closing my eyes and pretending my growing light-headedness was just a symptom of my own superstition. I could feel my shirt getting pulled down as the rocks tore at my face and arms, but I didn’t care anymore. We were so close, and I couldn’t care less about the pain. And all I cared for was to press on, till finally, I felt the rock begin to widen. The pressure on my cramped shoulder blades began to lift, and after a short moment, I was soon able to retract my arms from behind me and use my hands to pull myself into the open cavern. I called my mom back to tell her the passage was free for her to come through before I turned back to the empty room I was now standing in to look around. 
It was strangely square, for a supposedly natural landmark. The walls were still jagged and crumbled as had been all other passages throughout the cave, but strangely, the walls were near symmetrical in length. The width and height appeared identical in a perfect square that met each other at what appeared to be relative right angles. The room was long too, stretching what appeared to be, in the dim light of my headtorch, nearly four times as long as it was wide. 

Turning back to the entrance behind me, I peeked into the gap to see my mom slowly making her way through to the room. After checking, she was happy to make her way through, and that she didn’t seem to be stuck, I began to explore. Not that there was much to explore, in an empty rock cavern, and I felt my heart fall a little as I swept the room with my torch, only to see that it appeared completely empty. That’s a shame.
A little disheartened, I followed the walls into the back of the room, sweeping the back and forth over the walls and ceiling again with my torch for anything of interest, till suddenly I felt something gripping my foot tight, rolling my ankle from under me as I failed to lift my foot in stride. I fell hard, instinctively throwing my hands in front of me to brace my fall. 

As I came crashing to the ground, suddenly a white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm without warning. Turned my attention towards my hand, the torch following my gaze to reveal a garden of bladelike stalagmites jutting up from the floor, one of which had inserted itself through my hand. A little back from between my index and middle knuckle. I could feel, as my hand shook, the rock gently pressing my metacarpals apart. Hurt like a bitch. The little spike appeared naturally serrated, and it only chewed my hand up further, as with gritted teeth, I began to lift my hand off of it.

 “Mom… do you have the first aid kit?” I called, turning back to the entrance to see if she had made it any further.
“I do, why? What have you done?” 
“Just a little accident… I just… really need the kit.” I replied, sucking air in through my gritted teeth as I removed my shirt with my one good hand in order to wrap it up temporarily and soak up some of the bleeding. I sat myself up a little, my back against the wall as I tried to control my breathing. Moving to pull my limbs in close to me, I found my foot resisting, as whatever had taken hold of it still gripped it now. A hole in the cave floor, about 8 inches in diameter, in which my foot appeared wedged.
Peering down inside the hole, my light revealed an open pit about 2ft deep and wider inside than the little. And at the bottom of the pit was a pile of malformed limbs, piled on top of each other, still wrapped in the olive skin of their owner. His face sat on the side of the pile, his long, frozen eyes staring up at me from behind his long black hair and his mouth still agape in a silent scream. As far as I could tell, it looked as though his corpse had been forced through the hole without regard to how he would fit. I’m sure inside he was nothing more than a pile of broken bones, as his arms, legs and ribcage had been shoved through a gap that was only just big enough for his head to fit through.

“Mom? Mom! I found something. I mean, I found… we found… he’s here!” I called, now completely ignoring the searing pain of my seeping hand for the excitement of the moment. My mom came rushing over, kneeling down next to me with our little first aid kit in hand. I took it from her and immediately pointed her to the hole in the ground. 
“We found him?” she breathed, stumbling back before instinctively making the sign of the cross on herself. 
“I think so…” I breathed, unzipping the first aid kit and taking the little bandage out to bind tightly over my hand. It wouldn’t last, and most likely wouldn’t stop the bleeding. But I had to hope it was enough to last me till I managed to get back out of the cave. “What now?”
“I- I don’t know. I was expecting bones but…”
“Yeah, he doesn’t look like a skeleton to me.” I heaved as I finally pushed myself back onto my feet. 
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s too cold to decompose, I’m not sure.” She said, peering back into the hole with fascination. 
“Mhm. Speaking of the cold, how long are we staying down here for? It was already cold when I had a shirt on…” 
“I know, but… we’re heading back tomorrow. I was planning on taking a bone sample back for DNA analysis, but… I don’t know what to do with this.”
“We could rip one of his arms off… or something.”
“No! That’s wrong…” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully,” But maybe it’d be ok to take one of his teeth? If he still has his teeth, that is.”
“What do you mean if he still has his teeth? His mouth is open, just have a look. Can’t you see any?”
“What? No, it’s not. Look.”
I peered back into the hole. She was right. “Weird… I don’t know then. Maybe we can lift him out of the hole; it’s not too deep. Take a tooth and then go. I’m fucking freezing and bleeding out, remember? We really gotta go.” 
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” she said, reaching in with a shaky hand to the hole to grab a handful of loose skin and pull the body up out of its resting place. 

He appeared to lift up easily, slumping back like a limp bag of bones as Mom delicately pulled him back through the little opening and onto the rock beside her. She paused, staring at the puddle of flesh in shock and awe as the realisation hit of both what she was doing and who she was doing it to. Another sign of the cross mimed over her body and a whispered “forgive me Lord” before she gently unhinged the man’s jaw and reached in, gripping a tooth between her thumb and forefinger as she began to pull. 

The pulling motion against his skull seemed to pull his jaw closed on her hand as she tugged harder and harder till she stopped, frowning. Still with the same gentle touch, she went to unhinge his jaw again with her free hand, only to find that it had locked shut. Her face flashed from confusion to concern to panic as her wrist twisted in the tight grasp of the man’s jaw, as it seemed to independently begin tightening around her fingers.
She hooked the fingers of her free hand into the skin of his cheek, soft and spongy from millennia of decay, now trying to get a grip on the bones beneath and pry her hand free, but it was no use.
Unlike her, I had no respect for the man nor what he represented, and instead, kicked my foot up against his face as I too began to pull at his lower jaw. Desperate to loosen it as I pushed the top of his face back with my foot, but to no avail. 

A muffled crunch echoed through the dimly lit cavern, followed by my mother’s scream. The grinding of bones and another, wetter crunch and my mom’s hand sprang free, now missing her two middle fingers. She clutched her hand to her chest as the pile of bones began to shift and move, slowly. His eyes turned to watch us as he attempted to learn how to coordinate with his malformed body, stretching his malformed fingers and pulling his limbs in and around himself in what I assumed to be a stretch

Grabbing her with my good hand, I pulled my mother back from the creature, kicking it again in the face to keep it back as we both pressed our backs against the back wall. It was yet to find its faculties, and so I turned my attention now to my mother. I gripped her sleeve, trying to pull it into the light to inspect the damage. Her two fingers had been severed at the knuckle, and her pinky had been crushed and bent out of shape. But more concerning was the greyish, clammy quality of her skin that was slowly spreading from her severed fingers, her capillaries turning black as though infected, as the colour spread to her wrist and began climbing her arm. 

“It burns! Make it stop!” She cried as I rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder, the veins at her wrist now blackening and raising under her skin like the roots of an old tree. It was spreading fast. 
“I- I don’t know what to.” I stammered, watching as the skin of her hand now began to wrinkle and crack like aged paint, her remaining fingers now black.
“I don’t… I… Just cut it off!” 

Turning next to me, I kicked one of the larger stalactites, just next to the one still painted red with my own blood, breaking it from the floor. Gripping it in my hand, I lined it up with the skin just below her shoulder, where it looked as though the spreading infection had yet to reach, turning the serrated side to face her.
“Deep breath…” I murmured, though I couldn’t tell you which of us I was talking to. 
I closed my eyes and pressed the blade into her flesh hard as I began to saw. Her flesh tore easily at the sharp blade in my hand, and her tendons shortly followed, springing free like cutting a tensioned rubber band. I cut around her arm in a circle, till her flesh began to slide down the bone like a saggy sleeve, only for me to realise the problem I had not considered. The rock made a valiant effort to cut through her humerus, but it was not sharp enough, and still watching the greying flesh creep up her now slack flesh, I knew I needed something quicker. 

Another whispered apology to my mother and a kiss on her temple before I pressed her arm up against the wall of the cave and began to hammer against the bone with the blunt stump of the rock in my hand. She screamed with every impact, but she didn’t resist, till with a sound eerily like that of a breaking tree branch, her bone bent and then broke free, flopping limp onto the cave floor. Another few seconds and the pale white stump of bone that stuck out from the severed flesh turned ash grey, and began to crack with a sound like a wood burning fire. 

By then, she’d passed out, thank God, she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. Not for now, at least. Immediately, my attention turned back to the thing on the floor, who had since found access to his hands and arms and had begun worming his way towards us. I stood to my feet and quickly threw my mother’s remaining arm over my shoulder to carry her to the other side of the room, landing another swift kick to our pursuer as I passed him. 

Safe, or safer on the other side of the room, I had time to fumble with my belt and wrap a loose-ish tourniquet around my mother’s shoulder, also removing the now half-soaked bandage at my hand to attach to her missing arm. 

I had to hope that the supposed dead man had not found the means to speed up his pursuit, as I now had to slip back into the gap we had entered through, one arm in front of myself, pressed up against my chin with my head turned at 90 degrees, my other hand gripping my mother’s as I tried to pull her into the crack with me. I didn’t have time to waste, and after feeling around blindly behind me to try and line her up in a way that allowed her to fit relatively comfortably into the crevice, before shuffling as fast as I could through the gap, dragging her behind me. Now, without a shirt, I could feel the rock slicing me open at every square inch of my skin, but I didn’t have time to care, so I chose not to.

The ascent was so much harder when dragging someone behind me all the way, and I had to move back multiple times to reposition my mom’s head, arms or shoulders in order to fit her through a gap that I myself could barely fit through. By the time I reached the open space close to the entrance, I could barely feel my back and shoulders, having spent the past two hours of panicked climbing with them tensed and twisted in all manners that evolution had never intended for humans. 

The final squeeze took us out of the boulder into the cool night air. It was so bright, at least by comparison to the pitch darkness of the cave. Brighter still was the spotlight of the air ambulance that was awaiting our arrival as we slipped out of the crack between the cave wall and the boulder. Supposedly, emergency services were en route to try and remove the boulder and possibly come find us in the cave, but the fastest to arrive by a wide margin was the air ambulance, thank God. Our saint of a guide had got stressed when he had neither heard nor seen from us for hours and had called the emergency services. I had thought we had only been down for maybe 4-6 hours, but according to him, we had been gone for 16. Not really sure how that one works, but I’m thankful either way.

I ended up needing stitches in my hand, though it’s likely it’ll never have full functionality again. And my mother still hasn’t left hospital, though she has been flown back home to a more local hospital. Neither I nor our guide have been back to the cave to find out what the fuck was going on, and honestly, I don’t plan on it. But I fear we may have broken the seal. 
I wonder now if the Romans were on to something, if their layers of protection were the right idea and if they buried something contagious deep in that tomb. I wonder if they feared him because they feared what they didn’t understand. Or if they feared what he had the potential to become. And I wonder in their attempts to contain him, if they created the thing that they feared the most. What do you think it would have taken if the devil stood before a pile of broken bones? Who’d been whipped, beaten and tortured; hung on a cross and crushed into a cave. Reborn and immortal, but unable to escape. Trapped in a tomb for 2000 years, alive but not living, and unable to die. Do you think it would have been hard to convince the chosen one, after everything he’d been through? I never thought I’d believe in any of Jesus’ story, but I find myself believing now that he would take that offer. That he’d bide his time since he’d been turned to hatred, till someone was foolish enough to let him out.

It’s the classic thing they all say in the documentaries, “He was just a normal guy who kept to himself. No one could have known”. Fuck that. This guy was weird from the day he moved next door. I went and knocked on the door a few days after he moved in, with a loaf of banana bread to welcome him as I assume a good neighbour would (and my girlfriend made me take it). His whole house was shrouded in darkness, curtains closed over all the visible windows and the view through the obscured glass of his front door displayed near pitch darkness. There was no movement, no hint of him approaching the door through the glass, but perhaps that was due to the dim nature of his house.  So I was mildly startled when without warning the door opened to reveal the mousy little man who lived behind it.

 

Normally, I would be opposed to such unflattering descriptions for fear of being unnecessarily mean, but knowing now what he is, I don’t care. The best word to describe him was moist. From his greasy, thinning hair to his drab grey blazer and the patchy light-blue shirt clinging to his skeletal frame. All of it was soaked through and sopping with what one would assume to be sweat. He was an unusually short man with a wiry brown moustache and a fogged-up pair of round glasses that, whether or not inadvertently, hid his eyes behind the misty white moisture on the lenses. He inspected me up and down before smiling, a thin-lipped, almost pained smile.

 

“Uhmm… Hi,” I nervously cleared my throat, before starting again, “I’m uh Nathan. I live next door, at number 15, with my girlfriend Kate. You know, easy to remember, Nate and Kate.” I chuckled, though quickly tailed off when he didn’t so much as blink. “I just wanted to stop by and give you this to welcome you to the neighbourhood and just say hi from me and Kate and… yeah…”

“Oh, how…” he stopped, looking me up and down again, “nice… I’m uhhh… Michael. Yeah, Michael. O-or you can call me Mike.” 

He extended a pale, clammy hand for me to shake, but I nodded towards both my hands holding the plate of banana bread as an excuse not to. 

“Yeah, so this is for you and yeah.. swing by sometime for a drink or something. I’m sure Kate would love to meet you, too.”

With shaking hands, and a wistful, “yeah that’d be… nice.” He took the plate and shuffled back behind the threshold of his front door, slowly closing it behind him. 

 

We didn’t see him, or our plate back for a good month. Kate kept telling me to go knock on the door and ask for it back, but I really didn’t want to have to talk to him again and was consistently finding any excuse not to. In the end, Kate decided to go herself. She was gone for maybe 20 minutes before she returned with an unprecedented smile on her face. 

“What are you grinning about?” I asked, already on edge. 

“You!” She laughed, “you’ve been fucking with me. Admit it!” She shot me a triumphant smirk as she conspicuously passed me with the plate to put it in the sink, “He seems like a lovely guy. Charming, funny, kinda cute.”

“Mhm, very funny. Seriously, what was he like?”

“I am being serious!” She laughed, “I thought you were messing with me. Like, what were you going on about? You made him sound like some sweaty Reddit mod.” 

“That’s… that’s what he was. I don’t know what to tell you, I guess.”

“Yeah well, now I get to prove you wrong.” Kate turned to face me from the kitchen counter, “He’s invited us over for a drink this afternoon.”

“Oh no, I-“

“I know you’ve got nothing on today. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

She looked so happy about it. I guess she always was the extrovert between the two of us, but I couldn’t help feeling trepidation at the thought of it. But what the heck, I thought, first impressions can be deceiving, maybe I was wrong about him. It seemed like it when he opened the door, a big smile on his face as he ushered us inside.

 

Honestly, you could hardly tell he was the same guy, black hair flowing down to his now unhunched shoulders, and the warmest smile he could muster stretched across his once pallid face. He must’ve grown at least a foot, if not more, now almost level with my eyeline. I smiled back as I stepped across the threshold, though I’m sure mine was far less convincing. 

“Nate, how have you been! It’s been a while.” He laughed and patted me on the back as I stepped past him.

“Yeah… good, good. You know the usual, same old whatever. You look like you’re doing well. I mean, I hardly recognised you.” 

“Hey, yeah, well, I got my eyes lasered, so yeah. It’s like I’ve got new eyes, no more glasses, I suppose.”

“That must be it…” I lied. He laughed again, “Please, come in, come in. Just leave your shoes by that cabinet, just there. Kitchen is that way.” 

I followed Kate into the house, Mike following closely at my heels. I didn’t dare look back at him, but from the heat radiating through my clothes and onto my skin, I could’ve sworn it felt like he was only a fraction of an inch away from being pressed against my back as he pursued us. 

As we rounded the corner to his kitchen, he slithered past me in order to get ahead of us as he asked, “Can I get either of you a drink? I’ve got a couple of different wines, soft drinks...”

“Ooh, do you have a rosé?” Kate said, following him to the fridge. 

“I’ve got a few.”

“Provencé?”

“Ah, a woman of taste. I most certainly do, my dear.” With a sickening laugh, he produced a bottle from behind the fridge door. “Nate? Anything for you?”

“Oh, uhm, do you have like a Coke or something?”

“Hmm, looks like I only have diet, is that alright?”

Before I had a chance to answer, Kate turned and glared at me, anticipating my response. With a grimace, I nodded to her before replying, “Yeah, that’s great, thanks.” 

 

With an overemphasised gesture, he directed us round a corner into a new room. I followed behind Kate, and immediately tensed when I heard her gasp as she entered the room, preparing myself for whatever horror may lay ahead. Close behind, I stepped into to what appeared to be a living room, though it looked like it had never been lived in.  The whole thing was stale and lifeless, like some sort of pamphlet showroom. The curtains and sofas existed without a single crease and there was a large TV on one of the walls, still with the plastic film over the screen. The carpet sat under the coffee table in the middle of the room but appeared completely unused as every single fibre was perfectly combed in the same direction as its neighbours. 

I followed Kate to the sofa and sat beside her, as Mike delicately perched himself on a chair opposite us, staring unblinkingly between the two of us. 

 

I sat and nursed my Diet Coke for hours, feigning interest in the conversation as I slowly transitioned into zoning out completely. At some point the conversation moved onto Mikes career, which would have been interesting if he hadn’t made that weird too. Apparently he worked in practical effects and makeup for TV and movies. Sounds interesting on the surface right? I thought so too until he disappeared round the corner and came back with a picture frame with hair in it. Different rows of hair, black, brown, blonde, nicely combed and organised. I don’t know about you, or people in his line of work but I think that’s pretty fucking weird.

 

Words can’t describe how relieved I was when we finally got up to leave. He kept offering Kate more and more wine and trying to get me to join. And he made a joke, I’m assuming, about having his guest room available if we need it. But he kept saying it, like we don’t live ten fucking yards away. Regardless, we managed to escape a few hours later as a sober me guided my now wobbly partner back to our front door after an irritatingly long goodbye. And finally it was over. 

Weeks passed and then months, and I had cast Mike out of my mind completely. You know how it is with neighbours, yeah you live next to each other but you only really see them or interact a few times a year. And I was quite happy to keep it that way too, but Kate was less happy to stay disconnected than I.

 

She burst into the kitchen one evening after work, practically buzzing with her own excitement.

“Nate, Nate, You won’t believe this!”

“Oh god, what’s happened?”

“I just saw Mike,” She leant forwards, both hands planted firmly on the table, “With a girl!

“Really? I kinda thought he was gay.”

“I know right! I’m pretty sure though. They were just walking down the road and like holding hands and everything.” 

“Damn, well good for him I guess.”

“Yeah, She was cute too. Blue haired girl, that kinda vibe you know? Who’d’ve thought.”

She always was a bit of a gossip, or as she calls it taking an interest but I never related. You know how it is, I’m not really interested in the subject. But she likes telling me about stuff, and I like listening to her get excited, even if the topic doesn’t interest me. Usually her gossip was relatively unimportant, or at least to me, but this piece was particularly boring, so I shelved it in the back of my mind to never think of or engage with until she next brings it up. It wasn’t her that reminded me, though.

 

The following week, I happened to see Mike from our bedroom window. He was in his backyard, mowing the lawn in a tank top and a pair of shorts. He saw me staring from the window and looked up, with a big smile and a wave before continuing with his own matters. But somehow, and for some reason all of his hair was blue. I don’t mean like he’d dyed his hair blue. He’d dyed all of it. Everything from his arm hair to his legs, chest and facial hair was a bright neon blue. I honestly didn’t know how to react, so I just stared at him incredulously as I struggled to decide between laughing or recoiling in disgust. 

He didn’t stay like that for long though. The next time I saw him, maybe a month later, he was back to his regular old black hair, though it was longer again. His face had changed too, his once round jaw was becoming straighter and more defined. He was taller now, noticeably so. The day I had met him he stood at around 4ft, but now he was far past 6ft and close to having to crouch to enter his own front door. Just a fundamentally different person. 

His hair was always the easiest tell. He was ginger for a little while, then blonde, then back to black again. He was constantly getting taller, though he never seemed to gain weight. Much like stretching a rubber band, as he got taller he only appeared to get thinner.

 

I brought it up a few times to Kate but she never seemed to notice or pay much mind to it. “Some people just like to change their look up every now and again.” It was like the his rainbow palette of hair colours was the only thing she would notice. But then again she saw him much more often than I. Constantly bumping into him on the street or in the shops. I guess if he was changing gradually, it’s harder to notice when you see him more often. And every time she saw him she continued to take an interest. It was through her inquiries and observations that we found out that he seemed to have multiple partners. A steady stream of people returning to his house with him. Mostly women, sometimes men, though it was never the same person twice. 

I got suspicious. Maybe he was a pimp, or a dealer or something. Who knows but it seemed so suspicious, at least to me. But I never did anything about it. I mean, there was no way of being sure, right? On the other hand maybe it was work related, or he was dating around, who knows. But I could never shake the feeling of suspicion that clawed its way back into my mind every time I saw him.

 

There was one time, I remember, where I woke up in the middle of the night. Our bedroom was near silent, save for Kate’s faint breathing beside me. Silent enough to hear next door. I could hear a woman screaming. It was muffled behind the wall that separated our houses, but it was unmistakably there. Just the sound turned my blood cold. After ten minutes of tossing, turning and wondering if I should do something, I gently shook Kate awake.

She rolled over to face me with a quiet, “hmm?” as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. 

“Do you hear that?” I whispered. 

“Hear what?”

“It’s like a woman screaming or something…”

She propped herself up on her hand and stared at me for a second. Even in the near pitch darkness of our bedroom, I could still see the judgment on her face. 

“Nate, it’s like 2am right now, and Mike has a guest over. I’m sure you can do the math on that one.” 

“No, you don’t think-“ I stopped, considering her words. As always, I had no proof, and really, no reason to suspect the words. 

“I do, now can we go back to bed…” she yawned, settling back under the covers and giving my arm a gentle tug. I conceded and lay back down as she pulled herself in a little closer with a whispered goodnight. Within seconds, she was back asleep, but I couldn’t do the same with my mind still racing. The screaming continued for minutes till there was a heavy thud against the wall. Only silence followed.

 

When I brought it up again the next morning, she suggested that if I was really that uncomfortable with it, I should go over and tell him to keep it down or something. As if that wouldn’t be uncomfortable enough on a normal occasion, considering it involved interacting with Mike, made it that much less enticing. So of course, I didn’t, and I just left it at that. The next five times I overheard screaming in the middle of the night, I just decided not to mention it to Kate.

 

She came to me one night, at this point over a year since he first entertained us. It was December and she said he wanted us to go over and celebrate the season or whatever. Of course I didn’t want to go, I think we’ve established that at this point. 

“It might be fun.” She said, “You sure you can’t be tempted?”

“I don’t know, Kate, I just don’t like the guy.”

“I thought you’d say that.” She laughed, “That’s fine. Not everyone likes everyone you know. But I like Mike so I’m gonna go say hi and catch up. And I’ll be right around the corner. Yeah?”

“If you’re sure. I’ll wait up yeah? And just text me or keep me updated or whatever.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be back by like, ten or eleven-ish.” She stood up grabbing her bag and keys. 

“Ok. Have fun, I love you.”

“I know you do.” She grinned at me as she shut the door behind her. 

She texted me at around 11 saying she was going to be back soon. Come midnight she still wasn’t home I’d been texting and getting no responses. Finally I was sick of it. I threw a hoodie on and headed next door.

 

As always, his house was pitch black. As I was knocking, I was watching through the glass to spot any sign of movement, and as before the shadows hid it all. When the door opened, I wasn’t prepared for  the new Mike. He had now far outgrown his own door, to the point where I couldn’t see his face till he stepped back from the threshold. His smile sickened me, more than usual as he warmly started with, “Oh hi Nate!”

Fuck pleasantries, I just wanted to get to the point. “Kate’s not come home. Is she here?”

“Kate? No, she left hours ago.” He continued smiling, feigning bewilderment. 

“Well, she’s not come home, and I get the feeling she didn’t get lost on her way back, so… you mind if I come have a look?”

“Oh, Nathan, it’s late, I was just getting ready for bed. I’d rather not…”

 

I didn’t let him finish. I shouldered forward, pushing him aside as I barged my way in. Following the corridor round, I found my way back into to his living room. It still looked identical, polished and smooth furniture, perfectly prim and proper combed rug, and a nearly full glass of provencé. I ignored his called to “ignore the mess” as I circled the first floor and headed straight for the stairs. As Mike rounded the corner, he blocked the way with one of his oversized, bony arms.

“Nate, I’d really rather you don’t go upstairs.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what the fuck you’ve done with my girlfriend.” I glared up at him, trying as hard as I could to look intimidating whilst standing a good foot and a half below him.

“I’ve not done anything, Nate? She left hours ago. Why are you being like this?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” I pushed him, hard. To my surprise, he was both dense and felt as though he barely weighed anything at all, like his whole body was made of memory foam. He toppled backwards, as his skinny legs struggled to support him and he came crashing down.

 

With a spongy thud he landed, his body on the floor and his head wrenched at a 90 degree angle upon the foot of his front door cabinet. He cried out, maybe in pain, maybe in surprise, I didn’t care. He was alive and he’d be up soon, I couldn’t waste my time. I bolted for the stairs.

As I ascended the steps, the whole house seemed to disappear around me, or I should say home rather. There was no furniture or wallpaper or any sense of life above the top step. Moulding, empty walls with open electrical cables dangling out of open cavities. Peeling remnants of where wallpaper used to be, covered in water stains and black splotches. All the finished, perfect vision of the house disappears upon the threshold at the top of the stairs. All of it was gone, just far enough for it to be invisible to anyone who happened to look from downstairs.

I knew where his bedroom was; it shared a wall with ours, so I went straight for it as I heard Mike clambering to his feet downstairs. The door looked somehow older than the rest of the house. It looked like the burnt remains of a house fire, cracked and charred, and simultaneously rotted and moulded by an abundance of moisture. The doorknob was almost entirely brown with age and corrosion, and refused to turn without excessive force.

 

As the bedroom door finally swung open, I was immediately punched in the face by the pungent smell of stale water and rotting flesh. It was near pitch black in there, the windows covered in multiple layers of black fabric so that not even the forgiveness of the moon could cast any means of visibility. Though I couldn’t see the room, I knew I wasn’t alone, as the laboured sound of breathing greeted me from the far corner. I fished around in my pockets for a second. Keys… change… no phone. Shit.  But I had my grandad’s old Zippo, it’d have to do. I flicked it on, and there, barely conscious and crumpled on the floor, in the corner of the room, was Kate. Half clothed, with large patches of hair and skin missing and in a pool of presumably her own blood, but alive. I was at her side in an instant. Leaving the lighter lit on the floor beside us, I gently but urgently tried to pull her away from the wall, trying all the while not to touch any of her large patches of missing skin. Her whole body was slick and wet with a viscous sticky fluid that stank of rat piss. And, as I went to pull her towards me, it only stuck harder, clinging onto both her and the wall. It steadfastly refused to let her budge and all the while making a sickening sound like an old man sucking his teeth as I desperately tried to tear her away. As the sound of footsteps sounded up the stairs, Kate finally pulled away in my arms, only to reveal a massive circle of missing flesh from her shoulder blades to her lower back, slowly seeping what little blood her body had left to give onto the blackened wood floor. 

 

“The game is up then?”

Mike appeared in the doorway, his head now dangling down from the stump of his neck onto his shoulder. Like a sun-dried tomato, his skin had pulled and wrinkled at the point where it stretched to accommodate his new cranial position. His veins bulged and writhed and twisted with every movement, as though a family of spiders might be trapped under his skin, desperately seeking any means of escape. Despite this, he still had to crouch as he entered the door, closing it behind him and smiling at me. I guess he was still happy.

“What have you… What are you?” 

“You’re hard to fool, you know that?” He placed an enormous hand on the top corner of the door and forced it shut. “But you should have just gone home when I gave you the chance.”

 

He stood upright, or more upright. I think more accurately, he grew again, his shoulders flexing as they almost brushed the black, stained ceiling. His shirt swelled as his ribcage began to force its way out of his thin t-shirt. He dropped to his knees as he gripped his head, holding it in place above what used to be his neck. As an indeterminate, nobbled object slid under the skin of his neck he let go of his head, only for it to stay in position as it would have if it had never been detached. Even on his knees, he was still taller than me. His shirt finally gave way, tearing open at the force exerted from his widening torso. His ribcage, or where his ribcage should have been was bulging out from his body. His ribs were covered in linear scars. All of them perfectly straight, like a surgical wound that would never fully heal. 

 

His legs began to bend and break with a sharp, moist crunching. They grew behind him, impossibly long with too many knees protruding at odd angles. His legs, much like his arms only got thinner and thinner, the skin becoming vacuum sealed to his incorrectly shaped bones. 

The scarred skin around his exposed chest began to rip, as it stretched open on weak fibres. He tore his shirt off as it began to pull against his widening shoulders, only to reveal his entire stomach, chest, neck and back were all covered in similar surgical scars. All of them joined shortly after, tearing open to reveal the creature underneath.

 

Its limbs were black, and uncomfortably sticky looking. Two narrow, serrated, insectile arms extended from the torn skin at his ribcage as his neck continued extending. He tried to stand on his two hind legs, but the room was too short and his legs couldn’t support him, so he clambered onto its four other limbs and began to slink his way towards Kate and I. 

On my own unsteady limbs, I crawled backwards, pinning Kate to wall behind me whilst trying to gain some distance. I used to work as a bouncer to a bar for a few years, and thought I had learnt that if push comes to shove, my fight or flight response trusts me enough to do the former. But confronted by whatever the fuck this thing was, I couldn’t seem to do either. I would’ve taken flight if my only means of exit wasn’t on the other end of the room, behind Mike. And as much as I would have wanted to fight, my body wouldn’t move. All I could do, was reach behind me and take Kate’s hand in mine. It was limp, and cold, and she barely had the strength to close her fingers. She was barely clinging onto consciousness at all. 

He took his time, enjoying his slow approach. He always looked happy, but to me it always looked fake. An act he put on to come across as friendly. But not this time. Written across his tearing, deformed face was the purest delight I’m sure he’d ever displayed.

 

The skin of his face slipped away to reveal a mass of slimy grey flesh, covered in thinning black hairlike appendages, each slowly moving of its own accord. His mouth was sunken back in his face and invisible, but I knew it was there from the yellow saliva that was dripping down his malformed chin. The rest of it was dried and caked across his cheeks like a dog. His body barely moved but his ever elongating neck did most of the work for him, pressing as close to me as he could get before I recoiled at the stench. His body soon caught up though, scuttling over to me so that his front arms could reach out and caress my face. 

“I love your hair.” He sang, his spider like hands slowly moving up to my head. One of his hands alone was enough to grip my entire head if he desired, though he never chose to. He leant in closer, his suspended head gliding back in again for a closer look. 

As soon as he was close enough, I punched him, as hard as I could. He grunted and recoiled for a second. As soon as he did, I grabbed one of his zig-zag arms, and cracked it over my  crouching knee. It tore easily, like a freshly cooked crab. But the remnants looked hardly edible, as a gooey, hair filled black liquid spewed from the flailing stump. 

He stumbled back again, as I stood to run at him, but he gathered himself quicker. He stood up taller, towering over me in the little room as he grabbed my by the throat.  As he raised me up off my feet, he sliced down across my face with one of his serrated forearms. I cried out as the world turned dark for a second. 

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor in the dark room. My whole face was both on fire and numb. He placed one of his hands on my chest, holding me down as one of his other hands slid over my face.

 

“Shhh it’s ok, it’s ok!” He cooed as he continued. 

I screamed as I felt his massive fingers sliding into my eye socket. That’s about all I could do. They curled around the soft flesh and began to pull. The wet sounds of shifting flesh as the ball exited my skull filled the room for a second, only to be followed by my screaming once more. I couldn’t breathe, or think, or move. I could feel my head lift off the ground as he tried to pull my eye away, only to be confronted by my optic nerve desperately trying to cling on to its owner. Another one of his hands gripped my face, forcing it back down onto the ground as he began to pull harder. The cord gave way and he finally pulled his treasure up to his face for inspection. 

He laughed. “You know, it’s so funny. I’ve always wanted green eyes!” 

 

I couldn’t see, with my one remaining eye, the pain was too intense, and the least I could do was keep both my eyelids shut. My arms flailed as I writhed on the ground in pain, only to be confronted by a sharp sting on my right knuckle. I felt for the source only to find the same intense sensation on my fingertips. My lighter?

I kicked on the floor, unsure of where Mike was or what he was doing but hoping it would be enough to shift my position just enough to grab my lighter. 

I forced my eyes open, only to find his face inches from mine, smiling down at me. Of course he was smiling. When wasn’t he.

 

His long, greasy, bloodstained hair was dangling between us like a curtain around both our faces, blocking everything out of my peripherals. 

I grabbed the lighter and pushed it up under his hair and watched as the strands caught fire and shot all the way up to his face. Within seconds, he was in a blaze. Like a dying insect, he writhed on the ground as he screamed every frequency at once. Every voice he’d stolen crying out in a haunting harmony. I took my chance and lifted Kate off the ground. Throwing the lighter at him, I ran for the door and down the stairs, bouncing off both the walls and the bannister on the edge of my own consciousness. Out the front door and finally into our own house. I set Kate down on the stairs and retrieved the home phone, dialling for an ambulance. The rest is a blur. I made a call, but I don’t remember any of it. Eyes closed, fading in and out of consciousness, running on the fumes of my own energy.

 

I awoke in a hospital bed. I'm fine, and Kate’s fine, kind of. Thank god. There’s not much that can be done about my eye, but I can’t complain, I didn’t get the worst of it. Somehow Kate’s follicles are missing, and her hair isn’t gonna grow back. Same with her nails. I’m missing most of my left cheek, and Kate is missing a lot of her everywhere. I might need a skin graft, a Kate definitely will. Ironic, I know. She woke up a few days ago, but she hasn’t said much. I don’t blame her. I spoke to the cops on behalf of both of us. They went and checked Mike’s house out. It was about a week after it happened, and his front door was still open. There was blood in the bedroom, but having tested it, apparently, there’s DNA from at least a dozen people, if not more. Worst of all, Mike, or the thing that he became, has not been seen. The house is empty, and despite checking local security footage from surrounding houses, he was never seen leaving the house or in and around the neighbourhood. It’s all just a bit fucked, to be honest. I don’t know how long till we’re officially past this, but Kate’s not gonna be out of the hospital for a while, at the very least. I got discharged today and finally got to return home. The house next door was all boarded up and closed down after the investigation. “Good”, I thought. It’s over and done with, and we can all slowly try to forget about it.

 

Our house looked like a crime scene, too. The stairs were covered in dried blood that I had to spend a good hour cleaning. No more reminders. I knew I was gonna sleep well. Finally, a chance to be reunited with my own bed. I dragged myself through the house, up the freshly cleaned stairs and along the hallway. I dragged myself straight to our bedroom, straight to my bed, straight to my grandad's lighter that was awaiting me on my pillow.

I’ve had a couple stories out by now and I’m just starting to get mad with the clickbait nosleep titles. My god they rake in the views, but also they just feel so hollow. But then on the opposite side, a few stories I’ve named what I want them to be, and they just underperform like hell. I’m trying to cut a good balance between clickbait titles and something that complements the story but idk. How do yall tackle it? I’ve got one at the moment that I’m trying to come up with a name for so maybe yall can help me out :D