Um, hi, I don’t know if anybody’s getting this. My name’s Rhea Wallace, and I need help. I don’t know where I am, just that I’ve been here for about two hundred and seventy-three days, and I only know that because of Them. I call Them that because of the robes they wear, dark as night and hiding everything from Their faces to Their genders. Every week a new one come into my little concrete prison and checks on me, runs tests to…fuck, okay, I need to go back or this won’t make any sense. Hell, it still might not make any sense after.
I’m thirty-one. I’ve lived in my hometown all my life, and I’m completely average with average hobbies and an average job, and I don’t know why I was chosen, but They took me. They strapped me down, and one of Them…It hurt, and I was so scared, and, and, and…fuck.
They told me that I was lucky, that I was the seven hundredth person They chose in a long, long line of carriers. I might even be the perfect host for the fucking devil spawn or alien baby or parasite They’d implanted in me, and wasn’t I just so glad that They’d been working tirelessly to ensure everything would go smoothly?After all, I might have been kidnapped, but my room had a television, a nice bed, and They even let me keep my phone, even though They deleted all of my contacts. The first thing I did was call the police and, to my surprise, it went through! And then the dispatcher told me repeatedly that nothing was wrong, that this was legal, that I should be so lucky to carry the next step in human evolution, that I should be honored to make this sacrifice, so yeah, not a lot of luck in that department. I’ve tried to escape on seventy-three different occasion, each failing spectacularly with a pitying look and a “We know what’s best for you” from whichever one catches me, and then I began to get desperate.
Look, I’m not proud to admit it, but I reached a breaking point. The feeling of numb acceptance enveloped me, and I tried to slash my wrists with twisted shards of metal I’d ripped from the television. Obviously, that didn’t work, given how I’m alive to send this message, but I didn’t expect the utter disdain from Them. No, not disdain, disgust. Their typically cheerful demeanor melted as two of Them held me down, a third working on my wounds, a fourth checked my stomach as if I had already killed Their sick little experiment, and the fifth screamed. Mostly at me, I think, although it was all kind of a blur, and I mostly remember pleading for Them to just let me die. They didn’t listen, and dragged me to what they referred to as their birthing chamber once They determined me a survivor. It wasn’t much more than a concrete room scarred with desperate scratch marks and flaking blood, massive claw marks scoring the stone in deep gouges.
After that, I was left with nothing but my phone, unable to do much but feel the agonizing growth of whatever monster they’d inserted within me, and it was growing. I can feel its talons tearing my innards to shreds every time it shifts, and I began coughing up blood a few days ago. I’m pretty sure it’s broken two of my ribs, I can feel them grinding together, threatening to puncture my lungs with every gasping, gurgling breath I take. I begged Them for help, but I’ve come to realize that I’m just the vessel. In fact, the pain seemed to delight them, as if it was my fault, and my punishment for a crime I wasn’t aware that I’d committed.
I started this off as a cry for help, but I know in reality that there will be no help for me. I’m too far gone, and I can’t do anything to stop it from digging its way out of me, so I guess I’m posting to warn people. I’m obviously not the first one They’ve done this to, and I don’t think I’ll be the last, or that I’ll give life to Their perfect savior. I don’t know the criteria They look at when selecting Their victims, so just…fight like Hell if you see Them coming for you. If you can’t get away, I recommend slicing your throat open, or maybe sticking a gun in your mouth. After all, if there’s truly a fate worse than death, I’ve already experienced it.