u/mythic_melon

I know it sounds insane, but there is a man-baby in my apartment that thinks I am its mother.

I am not talking about an infant or a grown man. This is something else entirely. Something in-between.

Picture a six-foot-tall baby with facial hair and a large bulbous head. It moves like a child but bears the weight and strength of a Swedish bodybuilder. It also has a fixation with swearing if you can believe it...I’m not sure why.

It’s terrifying. I’m terrified.

Sound strange to you? I sure hope so. Believe it or not, everyone around me thinks I am the insane one for suggesting that this is anything but normal. And that isn’t even the half of it. I find myself in a surreal reality that is trying to coerce me into going along with this sick charade.

My mind tells me I am in danger. Reality whispers that I am safe.

Reality.

Such a weird concept.

The very fabric of my existence is not as concrete as I once thought. The laws of physics are no longer a comfortable boundary I sit within, but an ocean where I am eternally scrambling for the shore.

I pray my story is being written in its original state, and you are reading it with my words still intact. Unfortunately, it is more likely that the words are shifting beneath me like sand. The end result will probably end up being an elaborate lie that reality has breathed into existence to cover its tracks.

Unless I win. I have to win.

Before we discuss that journey, let me introduce myself. Recapping things I know to be true helps me catch the lies before they take hold. That’s what Dr. Han told me at least. But we’ll get to that shortly.

My name is Kara. I am 33, single, and my life has been relatively uneventful up to this point. I have a boring job, and I am a proud mother to a—

Dammit.

There it goes again.

I am not a parent. Never have been. That’s the lie that set this whole nightmare into motion. 

I was returning home from work on a quiet Monday afternoon when this all started. The start of the day was largely uneventful. After a handful of meetings, a dozen emails, and a few bouts of small talk with coworkers, it was time to head home.

I was looking forward to settling in for the night and enjoying some take out while my favorite garbage reality show plays in the background. Sounds like a perfect night compared to the nightmare I am dealing with now.

I entered my home and tossed my work accessories aside. Nothing was out of place, as expected. I flipped the lights and started unboxing my meal when an acrid smell hit me. I pressed the box up to my nose and realized it was coming from somewhere else—somewhere deeper in my apartment.

I opened the trash can. Fresh plastic and no sign of spoiled food was all I found. I followed the smell through the living room to my closed bedroom door, a door that was open when I left for work this morning.

I opened it slowly. It creaked open with a loud groan that made me wince. I peered in. I held my hand to my mouth to keep myself from screaming.

A large crib the size of my bed towered in the corner of the room. Large adult diapers littered the floor and left crusty stains all over the surrounding carpet. At the opposite end of the room sat the monster.

The man-baby.

A large hairy man with baby-like skin and a large, bulbous head coo’d and tossed toys at the wall, leaving deep dents. His eyes were asymmetrical and his teeth were nonexistent. A frizzy beard hung from his smooth red face.

He turned to me with an expression of familiarity, excitement, and rage. 

As he stood, he babbled. A mess of garbled syllables escaped his large lips. It was baby talk, but his deep cracking voice made it sound inhuman.

He stood clumsily on his large chubby feet and his face curled into a snarl. 

“B…bu…bi-“ bubbled out of his lips. Then he screamed a single word.

“BITCH!”

I watched in horror as he lumbered over to me with surprising speed. I turned to run but it was too late, he had me by the hair and dragged me backwards into the room. 

I screamed and punched at his balloon fingers but they didn’t let up. My right hand managed to snag a toy off the soiled carpet and I jammed it into his side, sending him into hysterics.

Before he could finish his tantrum I leapt out the room and slammed the door behind me. I held the handle while frantically scanning the area for some way to lock him in from the outside. 

After a few minutes of him yelling obscenities and pounding against the door, I realized he wasn’t even trying to turn the handle.

I don’t think he knew how.

The cops arrived a few minutes later, but the wait felt like an eternity. I told them about everything—the crib, the diapers, the man-baby. They asked how he managed to sneak in but I had no explanation for them. The guy didn’t even know how to open a door much less break into a house. 

I turned away when the officer opened the door to my room. He seemed to enter with ease and closed the door behind him. The silence made me uneasy. After a few minutes, he returned empty handed. No man-baby in handcuffs. 

“Wait, what are you doing? Where is he?” I started to panic. Did he manage to get out? Was he hiding somewhere else?

The cop gave an odd signal to the other officers and they began shuffling out. I could tell he was mulling something in his head before addressing me. He couldn’t hide the annoyance on his face but I could tell he was trying his best.

“Excuse me? Why is everyone leaving? Where is that—that thing?” My face was hot. I could feel my blood start to boil.

“Ma’am, I just need to ask you a few questions.” He dropped low and met my gaze before continuing in a very careful tone.

“You came home and was surprised to find that fella in the other room, correct?” 

I took a deep breath, trying to remain composed despite this unnecessary line of questioning. “Correct.”

He gave a subtle nod. “And you told officer Sulley that this man-baby doesn’t belong to you, correct?”

A laugh escaped me. His face remained stoic, awaiting my answer with impatience.

“You serious? You’re asking if I know this man?”

The officer stood up slowly and rubbed his temple. “Ma’am, this child is registered under your care. But I think you already know that.”

I felt a shift in the room. This couldn’t really be happening. Was everyone going insane?

“I don’t understand.” I stood up, backing away from the officer. I felt the room closing in on me. The creature in the other room started pounding on the door again, sending waves of nausea over me.

“Are you okay ma’am?” The officer started towards me with open arms as if to catch me but I recoiled. I was stumbling now, every second spent enduring this was sending me off-balance.

I could smell it again. The fumes from the bodily waste in the other room started to choke me. The officer was moving in slow motion before my eyes, his voice reduced to a faint noise I couldn’t decipher. 

I was on the ground now. The ceiling swam in my vision until the world faded to black and my mind embraced unconsciousness.

I dreamt the man-baby escaped. It tore down the door and descended on my unconscious body. It’s feral now. The bout of tantrums and my escape sent it into a boiling rage. 

It was hitting me. Pounding its sausage-like limbs into me like an ape.

My form turned to red mist against the carpet as it unleashed a barrage upon me. It hurt at first, then it didn’t.

Then I woke up.

I was in a hospital bed. At first, it felt like my prayers were answered. All I had to do was wait for a doctor to come in and tell me everything was okay. Maybe I got into a car accident and hit my head. Maybe I caught a terrible illness and this was all just a hallucination. I remember seeing a story on the news like that once.

Of course, none of these fantasies came to be.

All of it was real.

I was met with an array of doctors and government officials that took my account with indifferent expressions and impatience. 

They all said the same thing. The creature in my room was my child. 

“You must be experiencing some sort of mental dissociation” one psychologist told me.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you straightened out. You’ll be back to caring for your baby in no time. He needs his mom after all.”

The words sent bile up my throat. I vomited all over her, sending her into a screaming fit that she carried down the hall outside my room. I would be lying if I said it didn’t give me some satisfaction. I’ve been here dealing with these people a long time now.

Too long.

After a few weeks of seeing the same familiar faces every day, I met someone new. A blind government official named Suzie. 

Suzie wasn’t like the other people I met with. She asked her questions with empathy. I could see it in her face that she heard me. Even if she didn’t believe me, she knew I wasn’t lying. That’s when she told me about the organization she worked for.

“I’m sure at this point you realized I’m not with the folks that have been pestering you these past few weeks.” Suzie pulled a pamphlet out of her bag and handed it to me.

“Well you’re the first person here that isn’t treating me like a monster for not wanting to raise a man in a diaper” I muttered. The nurse taking notes at the foot of my bed was staring daggers at me. Her lips pursed thinner than the pencil in her hand.

“Honey I may be blind but I see better than most” Suzie chuckled. She turned her head to the glaring nurse and prodded her with the butt of her cane. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it took ten minutes to take a damn blood pressure reading.” The nurse dropped her face and scurried out of the room.

I giggled. Then Suzie tapped the pamphlet in my hands and leaned in close. “That’s better. We need to be alone for this next bit.” 

She explained that she’s apart of some “anomalous detection unit” within the government. Sits somewhere between intelligence and military in terms of jurisdiction. They scan cases like mine for evidence that could indicate reality is changed in some fundamental way. By the end of this conversation I felt like my head was going to explode.

“I don’t underhand” I said dropping the pamphlet in my lap. “This all sounds so…”

“Fake? Terrifying?” Suzie sighed. “Sorry, our resident physicist, Dr. Han, is much better at explaining these things.”

She patted my knee and continued. “If you choose to review your case with us, you will partake in daily sessions with me and Dr. Han. We’ll understand where the divide is between what you know and what the truth is and do our best to bridge that gap.”

I sat silent for a minute. “And if I say no?”

Suzie stood and put her hand on my shoulder one last time. “Unfortunately you’ll be left with these pricks. I do hope you consider our offer.” She expanded her mobility cane and started for the door.

“Read through the pamphlet carefully and sign the release if you wish to partake. Someone will be around end of day to pick it up.”

I didn’t want her to leave. Her presence brought me peace I hadn’t felt since before all this. 

Before she left the room, she addressed me one more time. “I know this is terrifying, I’ve been where you’re sitting. I do hope you let us help you before it’s too late.” 

Then she was gone.

I've always been too agreeable.

Meek. People-pleasing. A suck-up. Take your pick.

My parents were always telling me I needed to grow a spine. They said my refusal to set boundaries would get me into trouble someday, and they were right. More than once, a simple "no" could've saved me a lot of pain and heartache.

But what I’m about to tell you isn’t a harmless life lesson about confidence. What’s happening to me is…unnatural.

I just never imagined trouble like this could find me. Hell, I don’t think anyone would’ve imagined a situation like this.

What kind of evil, you may ask? Let’s just call it what it is: a sick, vile disease that infects every neighborhood like a plague. 

Door-to-door salespeople.

The worst of the worst.

You know the type. Pushy people that knock down your door and beg you to buy products they don't like or even use.

I just moved into a quiet suburb outside the city and have had my fair share of run-ins with these “people.” I may not buy what they’re selling, but I indulge them nonetheless. Most people slam the door in their faces when they realize what they’ve opened their door to. If they catch me off guard, I’ll hear them out before sending them on their way. I call it considerate, but I know it’s really just me having a hard time saying “no.”

But this time…this was something else entirely. 

Someone was knocking at my door while I was busy attempting to repair my washing machine that clunked out earlier in the day.

That cursed machine.

I lugged the ancient thing from my last place in an attempt to save money. At this point I’m probably losing money due to the damage it’s doing to my clothes (and my patience).

The peephole revealed a tall, lanky man in a blue collared t-shirt and beige slacks. A white cap with words I couldn’t make out were embroidered in sleek black stitching. He held a clipboard in one hand and a smile on his face. The guy couldn’t look any friendlier.

I cracked open the door he wasted no time putting on the charm.

“Hi ma’am! I’m just going around the neighborhood offering some services.” He was very enthusiastic. I couldn’t tell if he loved his work or was just an amazing actor.

“I gotta say, this has gotta be the nicest house on the block,” he said cheerfully. 

He leaned in as if to tell me a secret. “Don’t tell Mary next door I said that, I told her the same thing.”

I chuckled dryly and decided the sales pitch was going to end prematurely. “Uh sorry man, I’m not interested in buying anything today—“

He frowned and held his hand to interrupt my interruption. The gesture was polite but annoying. “Ma’am I’m sorry, I can’t leave you in good conscience until I am sure I can’t be of service today.”

Here we go.

“How about this—two minutes. Sound good ma’am? I give you two minutes of my time. After that, you say no and I leave. No questions asked. Deal?” He held out a pale hand to seal the deal.

A normal person would've said no and closed the door right then and there. Most people have no problem with that.

I just feel so…bad.

I know, it’s ridiculous. I just have a hard time hurting people’s feelings. Just the thought of disappointing someone gives me a nervous feeling. Even Temu "Wolf of Wall Street" over here.

I shook his hand briefly and nodded.

A toothy grin spread across his face. I swear his eyes twinkled like a child.

“Excellent” he said in a sing-songy tone.

“Well, the service we provide is simple. My company—oh, are you okay ma’am?” His eyes narrowed in on my arm.

Blood was oozing from a fresh cut just below the wrist. I must’ve nicked it trying to wrestle the screws off the washing machine. Of course, he knew none of that.

“Oh shit—yeah I am fine. My washing machine clunked out. Was in the middle of fixing it.”

He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. Before I could say more, his eyes lit up again.

“Well I am sorry to see you banged up ma’am. But boy, do I have some good news for you!”

Let me guess, your company sells washing machines?

“My company is an award winning appliance company. Washing machines are our speciality!”

What a salesman.

“Oh that’s awesome” I mumbled. 

He didn’t let my lack of enthusiasm bring him down.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Hey, I actually do some of the repairs on our old units. How about I take a look at your machine? If I manage to get you up and running, maybe you can consider us for your next upgrade?”

Interesting. A traveling salesman and washing machine repairman?

Now, I know what you’re thinking. This is where I should have drawn the line. Unfortunately, I’m a gullible idiot and the tall cartoonish salesman didn’t raise any red flags.

“Sure, what the hell. But I don’t want to hear another word about your appliance specials unless you fix it. Deal?”

He shook my good hand and nodded.

“I won’t let you down ma’am.”

I waved him in and started towards the laundry room. We were halfway to the mess when a chill ran up my spine.

I can’t explain really why I reacted at this moment. The feeling was visceral. Primal. Like a prey animal with its ears raised. Something set me off.

I stopped abruptly and turned to address the salesman.

He wasn’t there.

I hoped maybe he ducked out to grab some tools. Still, something wasn’t right.

I turned my attention to the stairs and shrieked.

He was no longer the harmless salesman. He was something else. His limbs were twisted and spidery as he skittered away from me. It had only been a few moments but the thing that was a man was halfway up the upstairs already. The old wood creaked as he galloped around the bend in the staircase and disappeared.

He was gone.

Deep in the heart of my house.

My home.

I couldn’t really process what I saw. My flight mode kicked in and I was already outside, dialing 911 with trembling hands. It was like the facade just imploded. The second he was invited into my home he tore into it like a ravenous animal.

I couldn’t explain why.

Not to myself. Not to you. Not to the police who showed up to my house moments later.

They assured me whatever he was trying to do had come to an end. They found an open window upstairs and concluded he must’ve left shortly after I ran out of the house. Still, I made them check again.

And again.

“Nothing living in this house at this moment except you, me, and my fellow officers” the man assured. They gave a half-baked explanation that he was just a creep that got spooked and that it isn’t worth losing sleep over.

Easy for them to say. They didn't see what I saw. I kept running that creepy moment over and over in my head. It sounds almost comical saying it out loud, but the reality of someone hiding in your house on all fours is terrifying.

I stayed with a friend for a while. It would’ve been longer but I could tell I was beginning to overstay my welcome. I reluctantly returned to my place. 

I kept telling myself that my fear was silly. The cops checked the whole house. I was safe. Right?

Unfortunately, I had every right to be scared. In fact, I should’ve been a lot more scared. 

I attributed what happened next to my crippling paranoia. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve listened to my gut and taken it seriously.

It was small things at first. Furniture out of place. Food missing from the pantry. Doors were found unlocked even though I checked them the night before.

Then things escalated.

I started to notice clothes missing from my dresser. A foul smell started emanating from the attic. One morning, I awoke to find what appeared to be saliva dripping from my exposed leg.

I called the cops again. I knew I would sound crazy so I made up a story this time. Told them I saw a man breaking into the downstairs window of my house when I was returning home from work. They arrived in minutes.

Of course they found nothing. 

But this time I noticed something. Something they missed. Yes, nothing was out of place or missing. Everything was accounted for in the attic and basement. However, everything was spotless. Too spotless. That was the problem. My attic was empty, sure, but it was much cleaner than how I left it. My basement, which I hadn’t touched since I moved in, had a very sterile quality to it. Things remained in their right place, but something passed through. It was like someone tore the room apart and put it together exactly as they found it. 

Something was hiding its tracks.

The next day, I decided it was time to leave. Whatever was hidden in my home, it ate at me. I barely slept. And when I did, I woke up in a panic. My sanity was slipping. I needed peace again.

So I decided if this thing wasn’t going to leave me, I would leave it.

I was packing upstairs when my friend called. I told her to let me know when she was nearby and that I appreciated her coming to pick me up. I didn’t want to be alone right now.

I lugged my suitcase downstairs and opened the door, anxious to get away from this place I once called home. I waited a few minutes on the sidewalk. To my surprise, her car never pulled up.

I went back inside and called her up. She answered on the second ring.

“Oh you ready to talk now?” There was something off about her tone. A mix of anger and fear.

“What do you mean? I told you to call me when you were close,“ I stammered.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You really freaked me out.” The fear in her voice was undeniable now.

My stomach dropped. I got that eerie feeling again. I was not alone in this house.

“You came to the door?” I whispered. I could feel eyes on me. A faint creak at the top of the stairs. I didn’t turn around.

“Did I—yes I came to the door? What the hell? Are you feeling okay—“

“And I answered?”

I calmly picked up my bag and started for the front door again. I didn't want it to sense that I knew it was there. I swear I could hear faint giggling from the staircase. 

“Yes? You just stood there smiling. You really freaked me out.”

I could hear it getting close now. It was no longer the agile thing that ran up my staircase that fateful day. Whatever facade it was wearing restrained it somehow. I could hear its clumsy limbs slapping against the stairs. 

This was my only chance.

“Something is wrong—come back NOW” I yelled into the phone.

I blindly grabbed the first piece of furniture I could reach and pulled it down behind me, my heart racing as I tore out the front door. Just a few feet behind me, something smashed into the blockade and released a guttural howl.

I shifted focus to the suburb and saw my friend’s car peeling down the street to my left. I didn’t wait for her to slow down before running up and banging at the window.

The car screeched to an abrupt stop and she shot me a bewildered look. “Jeez—what is going on with you today?” She snapped and unlocked the passenger door. 

I got in as quickly as possible and told her to drive. I looked back, fully expecting to be ripped out of the seat by whatever chased me out of the house.

Nothing.

All I could see was the short stretch of lawn and my home sitting peacefully among the rest of the suburb. The only thing out of place was the open door and silhouette of upturned furniture within.

As we made our escape, something gnawed at me. At first, I told myself I imagined it, a trick of the light or some fear induced hallucination. Now, I am not so sure.

While the car peeled away, I thought I saw something in the rearview. 

Peering at me over the upturned furniture was a set of eyes. 

My eyes.

We were too far to see it clearly, but deep down I knew it was true.

Whatever weaseled its way into my life wasn’t just sitting idly. It was consuming me. In my sleep. Through my belongings. Trying to become me. I pray it didn’t succeed.

I never should’ve opened that damn door.

That was the last time I saw my house. I sold it and got a new place closer to family. I decided it was best to be surrounded by people I know and trust. My therapist agreed.

It goes without saying I never opened my door to an unexpected guest again. I learned my lesson. I started saying ‘no’ more often. Boundaries aren’t just a convenience for me anymore, they’re a necessity. 

To anyone reading this, I hope you heed my warning. It’s okay to be wary of strangers. It’s okay to say no. Never drop your guard and say yes to someone, no matter how harmless they appear.

You never know who they really are. 

What they really are.

I’ll leave you with that. Be careful, set boundaries, and stay safe.

"$10,000 for pulling teeth."

That was the job description.

I don't think the words even registered before I clicked "accept." I saw the pay and booked the gig as fast as my thumb could move. Within minutes I was in my mom's pickup, heading out toward the address listed in the app.

The infamous SideGigz app. The latest craze in the gig economy we've come to know and love. The jobs aren't always as weird and cryptic as this one. But the tame ones don't pay as well either.

When I first signed up, I started with conventional stuff—food delivery, taxi service, amateur landscaping. Not a lot of effort if you're willing to accept minimal pay. But if you really want to make a living, you gotta scroll all the way to the bottom. That's where the good stuff lives.

The odd jobs.

The jobs that pay well because nobody is willing to do them. Now, it's not what you think. The app does its best to filter out the sexual stuff. The jobs are just…odd.

The first one I took had a heading that read: "Big pile of rocks need moving." No other details. $500 offer.

$500 to move rocks?

I could hardly believe it.

The address alone was enough to scare off a casual browser. I showed up to a dusty trailer park with a wheelbarrow and some gloves in the back of my car. I thought I'd be met with some pet project. A new driveway perhaps?

Nope.

A fidgety man with two teeth greeted me in dusty blue overalls. He packed his lip and pointed to the pile of boulders in his front lawn. Said I just needed to move them to the back. When I asked "where" he simply replied "wherever" before hobbling back inside.

I didn't understand but I obliged. The job took about an hour. I offered to do more but the man refused. He tossed me a stack of bills and waved me off.

I sat in the truck in silence. The money felt heavy in my hand as I tried to make sense of what I'd just done. Just when I thought it couldn't get any stranger, the man came back out of his house.

He must've thought I already left. Probably best he didn't see me lingering. I pulled out slow as he walked in a hurry to the back of his trailer. He approached the new pile of rubble and began carrying one of the boulders back to the same spot I moved it from.

I couldn't believe it. What was the point? Why pay so much to move the pile? Did he just like watching dudes carry rocks to his backyard? I spent the whole drive home turning it over in my head and came up with nothing. Some jobs don't make sense. I learned to live with that.

I didn't fret over this interaction for long. I took another job shortly after that made me forget all about it.

A woman paid me to come name her kittens. She claimed she made a deal with an entity a long time ago that would "lay waste to all that she claimed" in exchange for some heroin. Having someone else name her belongings was a way to circumvent that—or so she said. I sat on her shag carpet for an hour with a litter of six kittens, trying out names until she felt safe. I left with six hundred bucks and the smell of kitty litter on my clothes.

That same day I was picking up a bouquet of flowers for someone's mom.

You really never know what you're gonna get.

Sure, the gigs can get a little creepy. But it honestly doesn't bother me. I'm making a good living and my days are interesting. That's good enough for me.

Unfortunately my family doesn't see it the same way. When they found out I flunked out of college and "didn't have a real job," they had a lot to say about it.

Shameless. Disgraceful. My mom called me a loser during one of her wine-induced tirades.

I'll admit, I'm not the son you brag about to your friends. I don't have a snazzy degree and trophy family like my siblings. But hey, I'm happy with who I am. That's more than most people can say.

Sure, the work I do is strange, but its not like I am doing anything dangerous.

Or so I thought.

I was scrolling SideGigz on my couch when I came across the job.

Ten thousand dollars to pull a tooth?

I drove to the address as quick as I could. Didn't want to risk someone trying to double book the gig. The house was nestled out in the woods on the nice part of town. A wall of sycamores opened up to reveal a white two-story sitting atop a grassy hill.

The house was fancy-looking, but the vibes were off. No cars in the driveway. Not a single light on outside. And yet, everything was clean and well-kept—the yard, the exterior, the driveway.

It just felt empty.

I tried to knock three times but the door cracked open on the second rap.

"Are you here for the job?" The man was short, pasty, and wearing a robe. He had a small ring of hair around his head and the bushiest eyebrows I think I've ever seen. His eyes were almost as large as his smile.

Yeah that smile was wicked.

Thick, brick-like teeth jutted in every direction. It was hard to look anywhere else.

"Oh yeah—I'm Dave." I reached out my hand to shake his. He ignored the gesture and pulled back the door to let me inside.

I stepped into the dimly lit entrance.

"So the job said you needed a uh…tooth pulled?" I asked anxiously.

He started down the hall in front of me and waved me to follow.

The entrance was bare like the outside. The walls were a cold grey. Light from silver fixtures illuminated dark tile beneath us. There were no pictures, decor, or furniture of any kind. The aesthetic was surgical—clean and cold.

"Let's talk when we get to the room," he said very calmly.

His voice was chirpy like a cricket.

I was starting to feel the pressure now. Every step further down the creepy hallway was a step further from safety. Everything about this felt wrong.

We continued for a few long minutes before turning the corner into a room.

Plastic wrap crunched under my feet as I entered.

It looked like a scene out of Dexter.

The room was grey like the rest of the house. Bare except for an old chair sitting at the center and a cracked porcelain bathtub in the corner.

Beside the chair sat a tall metal desk. An array of surgical tools glinted under the fluorescent lighting.

"Oh shit—"

I started backing out before he interrupted me.

"I know, I know—my apologies. This must appear sinister."

He plopped himself in the chair and started adjusting against the seat back.

"I'll cut to the chase. I need dental work."

A chuckle escaped me.

"Uh, I'm no dentist, sir—"

He chuckled in response.

"Yes, of course not. You see, I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm an immigrant. I came here a long, long time ago from a place I'm sure you've never heard of." His voice was chittery, like an insect. I couldn't pin down the accent.

He pressed a small lever beneath the chair and leaned back. The fluorescent light dilated his pupils until his eyes were nearly completely black.

"I've been tardy on my citizenship and have gotten myself on your government's radar. I'd prefer to save myself a doctor's visit if I can. At least until my citizenship issue is dealt with. No need to raise any more eyebrows."

Nothing about his rationale made sense. Even if all of this were true, why would anyone pay a random guy to do dental work?

"So you're willing to pay me ten thousand dollars just to pull a tooth?"

I tried to quietly step back but the crunch of plastic wrap gave away my unease.

He laughed this time. A long, hearty laugh.

"No no dear boy, I'm going to pay you twenty thousand dollars to pull my tooth."

My heart nearly skipped a beat.

Twenty thousand dollars?

Don't need to tell me twice.

I quickly walked up to the metal tray beside him and picked up a small pair of surgical pliers.

"Which tooth?"

He grinned.

"Top left. All the way back. It's infected and I'd prefer to just take out the whole thing. I have lots more after all."

He laughed again then opened his mouth wide. It was unnatural, like a serpent welcoming its next meal.

I didn't waste any time. Within seconds I was clamping the pliers down on his large brick-tooth.

The tooth wasn't loose or discolored at all. It felt firm under the pliers. That's when I got a good look at the rest of his mouth.

How many teeth does a normal adult have? Thirty-something?

I counted thirty on the top alone. They were crowded. Some branched out of the gums like gnarled porcelain while others simply budded between larger teeth. But they weren't dirty. They were clean.

Pearly white.

I was stuck in a trance until I heard him say "go ahead." The words were muffled from my hand in his mouth but he sounded sure of himself.

I clamped down and pulled.

Nothing.

I thought I must've hurt him but he simply offered a thumbs up and returned to staring at the ceiling with his mouth agape.

I yanked again.

No luck.

Again.

A little more give that time.

One more—

Plop.

I almost fell backwards but caught my balance at the last moment. The large tooth was finally out. Bits of gum tissue and nerve endings hung loosely at the base.

I dropped it on the metal table beside the chair and decided it was time to talk business.

"So about the money—"

"Forty thousand." He muttered. His body remained fixed in the chair. His eyes were glazed and blood dribbled down his chin from my handiwork.

"Forty thousand? For one tooth?"

He chuckled, blood spraying across my shirt and catching me in the face. I started frantically wiping it off.

"No, forty thousand for you to keep going."

I smeared what remained of the blood off my forehead and took another step back.

"How many teeth?"

He spat a clot of blood onto the plastic wrapping below and sunk back into the operating chair.

"Until I say stop."

He shot me a bloody grin and opened his mouth once more.

A rational man would've ran.

For some reason I couldn't bring myself to.

Maybe the other jobs just desensitized me. Maybe the money was too good to pass up. Whatever the reason, I decided to let it play out.

I got to work on the other side of the mouth. This next tooth was smaller and round, not bricky like the first one. It popped out with a loud click. The blood really started to flow now.

He didn't even wince. Same as the first time.

I pulled the tooth beside it. Working my way around the morbid ring of enamel.

Two.

Three.

Four teeth.

The blood was getting unmanageable. He kept having to take spit breaks just so I could see what I was doing.

The swelling in his head was gnarly. Then came the pain. Small whimpers and groans escaped the strange man. His hands were tight and pale as he gripped the armrests at his sides.

The sight was unbearable.

The bloody pliers were heavy in my shaky hand. Bile was building in the back of my throat. I took a shallow breath and started backing away but he gripped me by the forearm before I could get far.

"Si…sick…" his mouth was so swollen he could barely speak at this point. "sixty-thousand…don stop."

Sixty thousand.

There's no way he's telling the truth. Sixty thousand for this?

And yet, I chose to believe.

I swallowed hard and got back to work. The next hour is hard to remember. I just kept going. I was on autopilot.

Mechanical.

Emotionless.

His whole head was twice its original size now. He was choking and moaning in pain as I tore through whatever remained.

I must've gone through forty teeth at this point. About halfway through I stopped collecting them on the metal tray. I let them fall to the waxy plastic-covered floor.

I tried to remain focused but questions kept bubbling up in my mind. What kind of being chooses this? Who would pay thousands of dollars to have his own teeth torn out?

I reached for the next tooth with my pliers but nothing remained.

I removed them all.

Every single one.

I turned away from the mess in front of me and vomited onto the floor. I was trying to compose myself when the man began to stir.

He stumbled out of the chair and began making his way toward the porcelain tub in the corner of the room. His whole body from the nose down was covered in crimson. The pain crippled him, pressing his broken body to the floor. He got on his knees and felt his way to the rim of the tub. His eyes were swollen shut so he could no longer see.

I watched in horror as he dropped the blood-stained robe and practically fell into the tub. Ice water splashed onto the wrapped floor, sending a wave of teeth and gore lapping at my feet. The broken enamel chattered at my blood-stained boots as if they were still anchored to a mouth.

He sat himself up and rested his large head against the back of the tub. It was surreal watching this bobble-headed thing try to collect itself. Its eyes were swollen shut, gums spilling out of the middle of its stretched lips like loose intestines.

Then I heard a sound. A wheezy laugh. His body jerked and spasmed as chuckles escaped the small gaps in his face.

Just then, I heard loud raps upstairs. Tiny footprints were approaching from somewhere above.

None of this was making any sense.

I had to get out.

I sprinted back the way I came. The fluorescent lights above pulsed overhead as I made my way to the exit. I could still hear the laugh. The sound of many things making their way to the bloody mess I helped create.

I was a few strides from the front door when something snagged my foot and sent me tumbling into the doorframe. I shook the fall off and frantically ripped the culprit off my foot.

It was a bag. A dark bag that blended into the black tile floor so well I could barely see it. Stacks of bills were spilling out the top.

This was my payment. Someone—or something—arranged for me to have it.

I grabbed the two black duffels and made my way out the door. Before I knew it, I was peeling down the long cement road under the cover of sycamores.

I'm not sure what to think about what happened that night. I haven't even bothered to check the bags of cash. They're still in the back of my car. A bloody reminder of the hell I put myself through for money.

When I close my eyes I still see him. I can't get the image out of my head. The toothless laughing thing convulsing in the bathtub.

As I sit here in bed, a sound startles me.

It's SideGigz.

I received a new message.

It's the man from yesterday.

Just a single line of text. An ominous four words.

"Same time next week?"

"$10,000 for pulling teeth."

That was the job description.

I don't think the words even registered before I clicked "accept." I saw the pay and booked the gig as fast as my thumb could move. Within minutes I was in my mom's pickup, heading out toward the address listed in the app.

The infamous SideGigz app. The latest craze in the gig economy we've come to know and love. The jobs aren't always as weird and cryptic as this one. But the tame ones don't pay as well either.

When I first signed up, I started with conventional stuff—food delivery, taxi service, amateur landscaping. Not a lot of effort if you're willing to accept minimal pay. But if you really want to make a living, you gotta scroll all the way to the bottom. That's where the good stuff lives.

The odd jobs.

The jobs that pay well because nobody is willing to do them. Now, it's not what you think. The app does its best to filter out the sexual stuff. The jobs are just…odd.

The first one I took had a heading that read: "Big pile of rocks need moving." No other details. $500 offer.

$500 to move rocks?

I could hardly believe it.

The address alone was enough to scare off a casual browser. I showed up to a dusty trailer park with a wheelbarrow and some gloves in the back of my car. I thought I'd be met with some pet project. A new driveway perhaps?

Nope.

A fidgety man with two teeth greeted me in dusty blue overalls. He packed his lip and pointed to the pile of boulders in his front lawn. Said I just needed to move them to the back. When I asked "where" he simply replied "wherever" before hobbling back inside.

I didn't understand but I obliged. The job took about an hour. I offered to do more but the man refused. He tossed me a stack of bills and waved me off.

I sat in the truck in silence. The money felt heavy in my hand as I tried to make sense of what I'd just done. Just when I thought it couldn't get any stranger, the man came back out of his house.

He must've thought I already left. Probably best he didn't see me lingering. I pulled out slow as he walked in a hurry to the back of his trailer. He approached the new pile of rubble and began carrying one of the boulders back to the same spot I moved it from.

I couldn't believe it. What was the point? Why pay so much to move the pile? Did he just like watching dudes carry rocks to his backyard? I spent the whole drive home turning it over in my head and came up with nothing. Some jobs don't make sense. I learned to live with that.

I didn't fret over this interaction for long. I took another job shortly after that made me forget all about it.

A woman paid me to come name her kittens. She claimed she made a deal with an entity a long time ago that would "lay waste to all that she claimed" in exchange for some heroin. Having someone else name her belongings was a way to circumvent that—or so she said. I sat on her shag carpet for an hour with a litter of six kittens, trying out names until she felt safe. I left with six hundred bucks and the smell of kitty litter on my clothes.

That same day I was picking up a bouquet of flowers for someone's mom.

You really never know what you're gonna get.

Sure, the gigs can get a little creepy. But it honestly doesn't bother me. I'm making a good living and my days are interesting. That's good enough for me.

Unfortunately my family doesn't see it the same way. When they found out I flunked out of college and "didn't have a real job," they had a lot to say about it.

Shameless. Disgraceful. My mom called me a loser during one of her wine-induced tirades.

I'll admit, I'm not the son you brag about to your friends. I don't have a snazzy degree and trophy family like my siblings. But hey, I'm happy with who I am. That's more than most people can say.

Sure, the work I do is strange, but its not like I am doing anything dangerous.

Or so I thought.

I was scrolling SideGigz on my couch when I came across the job.

Ten thousand dollars to pull a tooth?

I drove to the address as quick as I could. Didn't want to risk someone trying to double book the gig. The house was nestled out in the woods on the nice part of town. A wall of sycamores opened up to reveal a white two-story sitting atop a grassy hill.

The house was fancy-looking, but the vibes were off. No cars in the driveway. Not a single light on outside. And yet, everything was clean and well-kept—the yard, the exterior, the driveway.

It just felt empty.

I tried to knock three times but the door cracked open on the second rap.

"Are you here for the job?" The man was short, pasty, and wearing a robe. He had a small ring of hair around his head and the bushiest eyebrows I think I've ever seen. His eyes were almost as large as his smile.

Yeah that smile was wicked.

Thick, brick-like teeth jutted in every direction. It was hard to look anywhere else.

"Oh yeah—I'm Dave." I reached out my hand to shake his. He ignored the gesture and pulled back the door to let me inside.

I stepped into the dimly lit entrance.

"So the job said you needed a uh…tooth pulled?" I asked anxiously.

He started down the hall in front of me and waved me to follow.

The entrance was bare like the outside. The walls were a cold grey. Light from silver fixtures illuminated dark tile beneath us. There were no pictures, decor, or furniture of any kind. The aesthetic was surgical—clean and cold.

"Let's talk when we get to the room," he said very calmly.

His voice was chirpy like a cricket.

I was starting to feel the pressure now. Every step further down the creepy hallway was a step further from safety. Everything about this felt wrong.

We continued for a few long minutes before turning the corner into a room.

Plastic wrap crunched under my feet as I entered.

It looked like a scene out of Dexter.

The room was grey like the rest of the house. Bare except for an old chair sitting at the center and a cracked porcelain bathtub in the corner.

Beside the chair sat a tall metal desk. An array of surgical tools glinted under the fluorescent lighting.

"Oh shit—"

I started backing out before he interrupted me.

"I know, I know—my apologies. This must appear sinister."

He plopped himself in the chair and started adjusting against the seat back.

"I'll cut to the chase. I need dental work."

A chuckle escaped me.

"Uh, I'm no dentist, sir—"

He chuckled in response.

"Yes, of course not. You see, I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm an immigrant. I came here a long, long time ago from a place I'm sure you've never heard of." His voice was chittery, like an insect. I couldn't pin down the accent.

He pressed a small lever beneath the chair and leaned back. The fluorescent light dilated his pupils until his eyes were nearly completely black.

"I've been tardy on my citizenship and have gotten myself on your government's radar. I'd prefer to save myself a doctor's visit if I can. At least until my citizenship issue is dealt with. No need to raise any more eyebrows."

Nothing about his rationale made sense. Even if all of this were true, why would anyone pay a random guy to do dental work?

"So you're willing to pay me ten thousand dollars just to pull a tooth?"

I tried to quietly step back but the crunch of plastic wrap gave away my unease.

He laughed this time. A long, hearty laugh.

"No no dear boy, I'm going to pay you twenty thousand dollars to pull my tooth."

My heart nearly skipped a beat.

Twenty thousand dollars?

Don't need to tell me twice.

I quickly walked up to the metal tray beside him and picked up a small pair of surgical pliers.

"Which tooth?"

He grinned.

"Top left. All the way back. It's infected and I'd prefer to just take out the whole thing. I have lots more after all."

He laughed again then opened his mouth wide. It was unnatural, like a serpent welcoming its next meal.

I didn't waste any time. Within seconds I was clamping the pliers down on his large brick-tooth.

The tooth wasn't loose or discolored at all. It felt firm under the pliers. That's when I got a good look at the rest of his mouth.

How many teeth does a normal adult have? Thirty-something?

I counted thirty on the top alone. They were crowded. Some branched out of the gums like gnarled porcelain while others simply budded between larger teeth. But they weren't dirty. They were clean.

Pearly white.

I was stuck in a trance until I heard him say "go ahead." The words were muffled from my hand in his mouth but he sounded sure of himself.

I clamped down and pulled.

Nothing.

I thought I must've hurt him but he simply offered a thumbs up and returned to staring at the ceiling with his mouth agape.

I yanked again.

No luck.

Again.

A little more give that time.

One more—

Plop.

I almost fell backwards but caught my balance at the last moment. The large tooth was finally out. Bits of gum tissue and nerve endings hung loosely at the base.

I dropped it on the metal table beside the chair and decided it was time to talk business.

"So about the money—"

"Forty thousand." He muttered. His body remained fixed in the chair. His eyes were glazed and blood dribbled down his chin from my handiwork.

"Forty thousand? For one tooth?"

He chuckled, blood spraying across my shirt and catching me in the face. I started frantically wiping it off.

"No, forty thousand for you to keep going."

I smeared what remained of the blood off my forehead and took another step back.

"How many teeth?"

He spat a clot of blood onto the plastic wrapping below and sunk back into the operating chair.

"Until I say stop."

He shot me a bloody grin and opened his mouth once more.

A rational man would've ran.

For some reason I couldn't bring myself to.

Maybe the other jobs just desensitized me. Maybe the money was too good to pass up. Whatever the reason, I decided to let it play out.

I got to work on the other side of the mouth. This next tooth was smaller and round, not bricky like the first one. It popped out with a loud click. The blood really started to flow now.

He didn't even wince. Same as the first time.

I pulled the tooth beside it. Working my way around the morbid ring of enamel.

Two.

Three.

Four teeth.

The blood was getting unmanageable. He kept having to take spit breaks just so I could see what I was doing.

The swelling in his head was gnarly. Then came the pain. Small whimpers and groans escaped the strange man. His hands were tight and pale as he gripped the armrests at his sides.

The sight was unbearable.

The bloody pliers were heavy in my shaky hand. Bile was building in the back of my throat. I took a shallow breath and started backing away but he gripped me by the forearm before I could get far.

"Si…sick…" his mouth was so swollen he could barely speak at this point. "sixty-thousand…don stop."

Sixty thousand.

There's no way he's telling the truth. Sixty thousand for this?

And yet, I chose to believe.

I swallowed hard and got back to work. The next hour is hard to remember. I just kept going. I was on autopilot.

Mechanical.

Emotionless.

His whole head was twice its original size now. He was choking and moaning in pain as I tore through whatever remained.

I must've gone through forty teeth at this point. About halfway through I stopped collecting them on the metal tray. I let them fall to the waxy plastic-covered floor.

I tried to remain focused but questions kept bubbling up in my mind. What kind of being chooses this? Who would pay thousands of dollars to have his own teeth torn out?

I reached for the next tooth with my pliers but nothing remained.

I removed them all.

Every single one.

I turned away from the mess in front of me and vomited onto the floor. I was trying to compose myself when the man began to stir.

He stumbled out of the chair and began making his way toward the porcelain tub in the corner of the room. His whole body from the nose down was covered in crimson. The pain crippled him, pressing his broken body to the floor. He got on his knees and felt his way to the rim of the tub. His eyes were swollen shut so he could no longer see.

I watched in horror as he dropped the blood-stained robe and practically fell into the tub. Ice water splashed onto the wrapped floor, sending a wave of teeth and gore lapping at my feet. The broken enamel chattered at my blood-stained boots as if they were still anchored to a mouth.

He sat himself up and rested his large head against the back of the tub. It was surreal watching this bobble-headed thing try to collect itself. Its eyes were swollen shut, gums spilling out of the middle of its stretched lips like loose intestines.

Then I heard a sound. A wheezy laugh. His body jerked and spasmed as chuckles escaped the small gaps in his face.

Just then, I heard loud raps upstairs. Tiny footprints were approaching from somewhere above.

None of this was making any sense.

I had to get out.

I sprinted back the way I came. The fluorescent lights above pulsed overhead as I made my way to the exit. I could still hear the laugh. The sound of many things making their way to the bloody mess I helped create.

I was a few strides from the front door when something snagged my foot and sent me tumbling into the doorframe. I shook the fall off and frantically ripped the culprit off my foot.

It was a bag. A dark bag that blended into the black tile floor so well I could barely see it. Stacks of bills were spilling out the top.

This was my payment. Someone—or something—arranged for me to have it.

I grabbed the two black duffels and made my way out the door. Before I knew it, I was peeling down the long cement road under the cover of sycamores.

I'm not sure what to think about what happened that night. I haven't even bothered to check the bags of cash. They're still in the back of my car. A bloody reminder of the hell I put myself through for money.

When I close my eyes I still see him. I can't get the image out of my head. The toothless laughing thing convulsing in the bathtub.

As I sit here in bed, a sound startles me.

It's SideGigz.

I received a new message.

It's the man from yesterday.

Just a single line of text. An ominous four words.

"Same time next week?"