For those who don’t know, or those who read yesterday or however long it’s been, here’s part one of my accounts.
It’s incredible how quickly someone’s world can be changed. In just one night I’d lost the sense of comfort my isolated home had once provided. Comfort was exchanged for fear. Solace in isolation replaced with a need for company. However, for someone like me, company is hard to come by.
The flip-phone Dr. Bryning had so generously gifted me served as my alarm the morning after my experience in the theater. Not that I’d slept much. I couldn’t stop thinking about that thing, wondering if it somehow followed me home without me knowing. I also kept the light on. I had suddenly regained my childlike fear of something grabbing me from under the bed.
In order to avoid further traumatizing, permanently mind-altering experiences, I grabbed the phone and flipped it open. I was hoping to see a number, something I could jot down for the police or just for myself, but of course there was no caller-ID. I answered.
“Hello?” I only got the first “L” of hello before the clearly software generated voice began speaking.
“Marco,” my name was separated from the rest of the sentence, like it had been inserted afterwards. “We will arrive in approximately 10 minutes, please be ready.” The message ended with a gentle click. I suppose I wouldn’t have time to call James until later.
For the third day in a row, I was acting out of fear. What an awful feeling it is. I’m writing this some weeks or days later wishing to go back to a time when I acted out of desire instead of fear. Is that still possible when your world has changed so much to include things you never thought it could? I wonder.
I suppose the worst part of fear is how slow the world seems to move by when you’re always looking behind you checking for monsters. The probably 5 minutes it took to get ready to go felt like eternal damnation. Then the 5 minutes more standing outside in a zip up hoodie, jeans, and skate shoes in the cold for fear of being in a confined space felt like a different kind of eternal damnation.
During those moments of icy hell another equally terrifying thought occurred. “What if whatever they have planned for me is worse than whatever that monster could do?”
In those next few moments I had a childlike fit of rage. Something I hadn’t done in a very long time, but couldn’t stop.
I realized that yet again, I’d put myself in what felt like a worst case scenario. I know most reading this don’t know me, but in my life I’ve made some very poor choices. I’ve chosen to work in a movie theater instead of going with my parents to another state and live in their house. When presented with the opportunity to get my associates degree while in college, I simply declined. I sold my investment portfolio to buy a gaming PC, right before my former investments skyrocketed.
I’ve sent embarrassing amounts of personal information to an organization with no name, and didn’t run when I might have had the chance. I didn’t just say no when a contract was shoved in my face. All of that frustration, those stupid choices, were taken out on my porch that day, manifesting themselves into a broken bench handcrafted by my grandfather, bloody knuckles, a sore throat from screaming obscenities, and a lot of potential embarrassment if somehow someone saw that.
Thankfully for me and what little reputation I might have, I’m not very good at destroying things and I ran out of breath pretty fast.
Just as I was calming down and thinking “Oh god what if James was right what if I need to run?” A black SUV not unlike the one Dr. Bryning drove, pulled into my driveway. “Too late now.”
I entered the back seat of the van. It was caged off from the front like a police cruiser. I expected men in suits to greet me, but I suppose by now the status quo should be the last thing on my mind.
Instead, the man driving was, of course—James—Fucking—Vox.
I wanted to talk to him, but not right now. Especially not while he was kidnapping me, or whatever he was planning.
Out of instinct I had my bad on the door handle. The handle wouldn’t budge. Its rhythmic plastic slamming was like laughter.
“Dude! Seriously if I don’t make it today they’re gonna kill me!” I couldn’t seem to get a reaction out of him. I couldn’t shake my bad feeling about him either. He just rubs me the wrong way, even though he’s so clearly trying to help.
I had to act. Had to do something, but what? The car was already moving. Already going too fast to jump out, even if I could open the door.
Maybe I could just be insane and annoying enough to get him to help me here. “Dude if you’ve really been involved with these guys somehow and they actually took your family you should know that leaving the city won’t do shit! They’ve got—“ I choked on my words, not wanting to say it aloud, fearing the admission that monsters were somehow real, and I’d seen one. “Things! Things that don’t care about doors or walls because if they did—“
I was crying by this point. Vocalizing all this made me feel insane and lost. Life had suddenly become a maze of things most aren’t even aware exist. My breaths were rapid inhales that did little good to fill my lungs which had been drained by fear. Or maybe it was just sadness.
“Sam!” Vox, of all people, pulled me out of a mental breakdown. “I’m taking you there. Don’t know who exactly you think I am, but my job is driving from point A to point B! So if you don’t shut up and let me do my job, I’ll have to tell them you’re still not cooperating! Got it?” He spat those last words out.
An authoritarian glare shot at me in the rear view mirror. He was sending me a message. What it was I’m still not exactly sure, but I think it was something along the lines of “Shut the fuck up.”
Despite my concerns about the man who currently controlled the course of the 80 miles per hunk of metal speeding down a highway which contained my fragile human body, he controlled the 80 mile per hour hunk of metal which contained my fragile human body.
Even if he was lying, and he wasn’t going undercover or whatever former cops do when they go insane and their family no one remembers existing dies, I had no choice but to listen. For the 2nd time too many in 24 hours, I was being strong armed.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I found out he wasn’t lying. In some twisted circumstance he was working for the very organization he desperately wanted me to avoid. Quickly, like he wanted to get as far away as possible from here, he rushed out of his seat, opening my door.
“Follow me.” That glare of his was calculated, but lively. His voice is commanding. Was he really crazy? I was suddenly left to second guess my usually correct gut feeling.
“O-okay” I stuttered out. At this point I almost wanted directions, no matter what they were. All roads felt like they led to death or scary shit. At least wherever I was being taken seemed to have a greater chance of survival.
Exiting the vehicle, I saw before me what would otherwise be considered an ordinary office building. Its walls were beige. The two oversized portals on the front were clearly more than just glass, they obscured my vision into blotches, not letting me see exactly what was ahead. It casted a shadow over the thick, uncut grass.
“Grass?” I thought aloud. I hadn’t even realized it, but I was standing on soil. Not on parking lot pavement. Where I should have heard cars driving on unkempt roads or whatever sounds you hear in a small town, I heard birds chirping and bushes rustling. I took in my surroundings even deeper. We were somewhere much deeper into the woods, in a direction I hadn’t bothered noticing on the ride here.
Before my trickling questions had further time to soak in or provide my mind with further discomfort, they were silenced by the rattling of a man fumbling with keys.
“Listen kid,” he said while faking a search for the right key, “There aren’t any cameras around here, no mics either. They can hear us in the car. Too late to run. No time for explaining anything. Just play along until we can make a game plan.”
As he quote unquote found the key he needed, his order had ended. He pressed on the bars to open the door with a satisfying clack. For a moment I was reminded of a million other normal places I’d heard that sound. It made me yearn even more for a time when I wasn’t here.
With a burning curiosity, and an equal dread, I peered inside while he opened the doors. Maybe it was just the bizarre things that had happened the night before and that day, but I was taken aback by how normal that lobby was.
First, revealed in the center of the room was a large oak desk. As the doors opened further, a well shined marble floor was shown. Pristine beige walls boxed in this well kept, normal looking office on all four sides. When I stepped inside, my tennis shoes creating a familiar squeak, I noticed there were 3 doors in the room.
One door stood directly behind the oak desk, it was made of a similar sturdy looking wood. Its frame, body, and shiny golden knob was just as well kept as the rest of the room. It had two smaller siblings perfectly spaced either side of similar build and material, but made to be clearly less significant, lacking the grandiose scale and ornate label that read “Richard S. Abbey, DIRECTOR”.
It was in a bold font, with the position of director accentuated by capital letters, and its size dwarfing the man’s name despite being below it. Almost as if his name were a mere formality.
“The door on the left.” Was all I was told before Vox left. I guess he didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to. I had no desire to snoop around right then. Too much had happened too quickly that day. I was stressed. Just wanted to get it over with.
Entering the door I found myself in a pretty barren room. The walls were the same, but the floors were that scratchy dark carpet you find in almost any workplace. A gentle waft of chemicals floated through the air, reminiscent of a dentist’s office. Other than 4 walls, the room was adorned with cheap plastic chairs. Truly was an orientation. At least for now, I was alone.
Taking a seat I waited. Took entirely too long but finally, Dr. Bryning entered the room. A line of people followed him like ducks in a row. I recognized some of them from around town. Among the faces in that crowd, however, one I didn’t expect to see was Milton.
I think I might have forgotten to mention this earlier, but Milton was a coworker of mine. He wasn’t really my friend, but he was another regular installment in my life I’d rather not see go crazy. Guess I should stop saying Vox is crazy. I mean he is crazy, but not as crazy as I thought. With the way things are going, I might just turn out like him.
I would like to say the best and brightest of my hometown would see the crimson red flags on the hilltop of horror we were all currently standing atop, but the best and brightest of my hometown tend to be pretty stupid.
I wanted to keep my eyes out for something else in that sea of faces. Curiosity. Fear. I needed to find more people like me and fast. I already had a feeling at that moment that my, and anyone else involved in this, best bet was strength in numbers. Unfortunately, at that moment, all I could find were people who probably just thought they were in this for some good money. Hell, some of them probably won’t question much of anything that happens here.
There wasn’t much of an orientation for me. Dr. Bryning skipped all that in favor of a thick packet he insisted I read later, though I had the funny feeling it wouldn’t contain any sort of truth to it. I couldn’t believe he was acting so normal after sending that thing after me just the night before. There wasn’t much interesting to gleam from the day’s start, either. It was just a boring presentation on mental effects we should report to our doctor in case we experienced them.
If it weren’t for the attack, I’d almost feel this was a run of the mill thing. At that moment, I almost did. I started to convince myself the night prior was a dream and nothing more. That I had simply hallucinated all of it. Even now, I remain unsure if that’s what I wanted.
Then before I knew it I was led through a door that I never quite registered subconsciously, down a hall as ordinary as any other. The others were led off into their own doors, private. Separated.
The doors here were not like those in the lobby, not fancy or welcoming. The flooring wasn’t either. It was all white, clean as a surgeon’s workstation; except today’s surgery was an alteration of minds and a violation of nature.
Finally, I was escorted into my own chamber. It seemed I was lucky enough to have the very man who recruited, or I guess forced, me into this operation as my “facilitator” as they were called.
Behind that sterile door was a room just as sterile. It was some 7 feet tall, which I only noticed because of the throne-like seats in the middle of the room that both stretched towards the ceiling.
Those thrones in the middle more closely resembled massive computers with their innards exposed. Wires of all shapes and sizes were carefully strung out all over the ceiling like a display of Christmas lights, they went into the walls, going somewhere unknown, presumably to a much larger machine somewhere else in the building.
That machine in the middle had an ominous hum to it. Calling out to me, it whirred and droned onward. Maybe the hum was made more ominous by the man strapped to one of the two available very uncomfortable looking seats.
The man had about as many wires coming from him as the machine he was strapped into. Or were they rubber tubes? It was hard to tell until I was in the seat opposite him, strapped in the same. I can confirm after some unpleasant needle sticks and vein misses, a lot of those were tubes both removing fluid and pumping it in. I couldn’t keep track of which was which.
Neither Dr. Bryning or I had said a word to that point, other than simple instructions and affirmations. After the other night, there was no need for formalities.
His last words to me before leaving the room and leaving me to pass out after a cocktail of different chemicals was injected into me were, “oh, and when you wake up, try and remember who you are. It’s always confusing the first time.”
Then the world was gone and back in mere moments.
Opposite from me was the man from before, except now we were across from each other instead of back to back. We were both suspended in midair in a seated position. It was obvious this was a dream of some kind. Wasn’t sure if it was normal because to be honest, I wasn’t paying attention to most of what Dr. Bryning said.
I’d been given the opportunity to take in the man across from me properly now. He was young, but probably a little older than me. Maybe 20, wearing a way-too-big band tee. In his eyes I saw the same look I imagined I wore. The “not again” that came with eyes stung by welling tears, a lump in my throat, and a breathtaking fear.
That look got more intense as we drifted towards each other. I began to feel like I was looking into a mirror. His thoughts started to bounce around in my skull, only distant echoes that felt so distinctly foreign.
Once we got within a meter of one another, those distant echoes became more than typical thoughts of the moment.
“Where the hell am I? What’s my name again? Sam. Right. Why am I floating? How am I floating? Who was that doctor? Am I in hell?”
I began to, for that moment, lose myself. Slowly, his thoughts became mine. Now recalling those moments, it feels like a dream.
Our faces were touching. I thought it would stop there. One could only be so lucky.
A searing sensation slowly took over any of my skin in contact with his. Feeling as though I was being cooked alive was bad enough, but was made exponentially worse when that skin was eventually melted away to leave our bones to touch.
Eventually, our bones gave way. They fractured, and caved into our skulls. Oddly enough, by then it didn’t hurt. Not much did. In fact I couldn’t feel much at all. Our eyes were touching by then. Our eyes, fractured skulls, and cooked skins formed together like mushy soup. How I perceived any of that happening I do not know, so don’t ask. Then the real process started.
We began melding. Eventually we did. All sense of self was lost then. Sam was me. I was Sam. Before becoming the other man entirely, before forgetting entirely that I was in a chair, participating in an experiment, I had one thought I couldn’t get out of my head.
“Is he reliving one of my memories right now? Is he gonna become me, too?” Then it was all gone.
The world went black. Less in a passing out or dying kinda way and more in a “T.V. is on but nothing is playing” kinda way. After an amount of time I’ll never be sure was a few hundred years or a few seconds, the T.V. that was my fever dream turned on.
There was a humming in the air. Blue and white splotches were all I could see as I looked around. There was something in my hand. It was that super loud plastic on a chip bag. As my vision focused I realized it was a bag of barbeque chips. Behind it I could see a cart carelessly stuffed with chips, cookies, and ice cream that was probably gonna melt on the way home.
“Sam? Bro are you high, too? Drink too much last night or something? Or are you just going brain dead?” I had not, in fact, drank too much last night. Wasn’t high either And I’m pretty sure Lucy, my stoner roommate knew I wasn’t going brain dead. Or maybe she didn’t.
“No. You know I only drink when we’re doing fun shit. Otherwise I get all feely.” I reminded her.
“Are you gonna get feely at Steve’s 21st tonight? Or are you gonna keep your–whatever’s wrong with you in check?” She retorted. I knew it was just banter, but it kinda stung.
“Anyways,” I pivoted the subject, “What else do we need for tonight? We’ve got plenty of junk food,” I said, gesturing to the air with my list. Our list actually only had junk food on it.
“All we need is junk food. Frozen pizza is the food of modern day kings, and I’m pretty sure Steve isn’t one for decorations.” I guess she had a point. I’d never really done anything like this, so I had no way of knowing. My 21st was just me and my Dad drinking. Lucy was the one that introduced me to casual drinking. And partying. And friends.
“Well I’m gonna go try and find him a last minute gift,” I had forgotten it was his birthday, despite his status as one of my two actual friends, I still couldn’t remember anything important about him, “Wanna make a quick last run through and see if we missed anything?”
She gave me a quick nod, hitting her vape pen and heading back into the chip isle.
I ran off to grab whatever the newest game was. Steve wasn’t really a sentimental guy, never expecting some thoughtful gift. He usually didn’t expect a gift to be given at all, actually. I always wondered if the dude didn’t value gifts or if he just didn’t value himself. Either way, I’d feel bad if I didn’t get him anything. I grabbed the newest shooter for a console I knew he had, checked out, and hurried back over to Lucy and the cart.
The entire time I was away from her I had a feeling she was shoving as much food as she could into the cart, knowing I was paying for this whole party. I was surprised when I got back. Uncharacteristically, she’d actually put quite a bit of food back, most notably the frozen stuff, though weirdly enough she was still grabbing more. Well actually, she was more just staring at the food she’d been holding.
“You change your mind on frozen pizza being the food of kings?” She jumped.
“Hey man, can we go or something. I think I greened out. I really don’t feel good.” She caught me off guard with that one. Lucy was the last person to green out. Ever. And if she did, it wasn’t on a pen you could buy at a local gas station.
Either way, I obliged her, happy to leave the store spending significantly less money than I expected to. I was a little disappointed to leave without the frozen pizza, but that was drunk me’s problem. The entire time I was scanning items in self checkout Lucy was concerningly present, whereas she’d normally be so absorbed by her phone it would be hard to get her attention at all.
On the car ride home, I asked the question she hated the most in this world. “Hey Luce, you alright?” Unexpectedly, I got a pretty solid answer.
“Not really.” I could hear a hint of fear replacing her usually supreme levels of confidence.
“Wanna talk about it?” I tried to dig a little deeper.
“Not really. I’ll just can it for now.” Of course she would. Nothing new here. Unfortunately, the drive was just too short for me to try and get her talking. She wasn’t wrong anyways, tonight probably wasn’t the night for therapy.
Maybe if we were better friends and Steve and all of our other guests weren’t waiting outside on the steps for us to show up to the thing we planned, I would have had more time to crack her shell. The old apartment was a good place to drink, and so drink they did.
I called it an apartment but it was more akin to a whole bunch of duplexes smashed together. I’m not sure what you would call that. A super-duplex? Anyways.
I struggled with the keys while holding as many grocery bags as I could, and un-did the dead bolt with a satisfying “clack” after a frankly embarrassing amount of time. Following what I could only assume was an inside joke, Steve and his friends clapped and cheered for me as we all entered my humble abode.
Humble of course being the polite word for messy and shitty. Steve and his nameless friends didn’t seem to mind much in their pre-gamed and drunken state. They just wandered in and flopped on the brown couch that looked like it belonged on the curb, setting their beer and other alcohol I couldn’t name on the table. In the kitchen, that was attached to the dining room, that was attached to the living room, Lucy and I started getting food ready and tried to catch up with the others on drinks.
I saw her going to preheat the oven, and immediately wondered why, since she’d put back basically anything of nutritional value at the store, that being all of the frozen food.
“You know we don’t have anything to cook, right?” I’d assumed she remembered putting back all of that food, but I guess she could have been high on something other than pot.
Her face went white. Was the implication that she of all people had forgotten something like that while on whatever concoction of drugs she did every opportunity really that shocking?
“Luce?” I dragged her name out while she starred off into space. “You good?” I was snapping my fingers in her face now. Eventually, she snapped out of her trance.
“Yeah; I guess I just put it all back without realizing it at the store. Sorry.” She turned the oven off with a click, mumbling her words like a child in trouble.
“Do you happen to be on anything other than your usual, Lucy?” I asked, trying to get more to the point. That was always hard with her. Usually, she’ll leave you to beat around the bush until she feels like talking about whatever is on her mind.
“No.” Her reply to a direct question was, as usual, short and annoyed.
“Then what the hell-“ in typical ‘there is a problem I’d like to solve’ fashion I was cut off by Steve and his now much drunker friends. In the moment, I think both Lucy and I forgot we came in here to catch up with the others.
Stuttering over his words, one of Steve’s friends, one in a way-too-tight green shirt that emphasized his skinny body, asked “are you two gonna drink or just be a bunch of sober-tards?”
I still don’t remember most of their names, so for now, and I guess forever, he’s Green Shirt.
Now I had to ask Green Shirt what a “sober-tard” was exactly. As soon as he wanted to explain by pulling out his phone to show me memes, I decided my best bet at finding whatever this was funny was to drink first.
I half ignored the videos and pictures he was showing me, fake chuckling as I poured myself and Lucy double shots of the closest bottle to me. I handed one over to her. We both choked
down the cheap booze, coughing and in my case almost throwing up. I didn’t drink often, so 2 shots was probably enough to get me at least drunk.
As the night went onward and everyone drank more, the strange events from before and Lucy’s strange reaction to her poor memory or whatever it was faded away into a blur of events. As being drunk goes, until something funny or significant happened moments were not etched into my memory.
I want to interrupt my story real quick to clarify something. If any of you are wondering why I haven’t written anything about Steve, it’s because up till this point, he hasn’t said a single word that night. Not one, until he made an observation to those of us out of the 8 or 10 or so still awake.
It was Green Shirt, Lucy, Steve, and I left halfway to the time the rest of the world wakes up, drunk off our asses, listening to music and having those odd half conversations drunk people have. The kind where you laugh and make jokes even if it’s a deathly serious topic. The kind I never had to itch anyone if I could avoid it.
“Guys?” Steve broke our incoherent ramblings to each other with a somewhat sober sounding concern in his voice. “Where did all the food go?” He almost had a point. None of us had actually eaten much, at least not that I remember. The Cookies and Candy were relatively untouched until then, when they were just gone. Not gone like empty boxes, gone like no boxes, bags, or foily loud containers. Left behind were stragglers, mostly those fun sized chips and some candy bars.
It was still odd to hear a question like that on a night like this, so Green Shirt and I had to point out that we probably just ate it and threw the stuff away. “I mean really dude you think it just vanished?”
“Maybe.” Lucy interjected, then she blurted out, “I think it happened at the store.” Her face was white again.
“I’m sorry, what?” I slurred at Lucy.
“When I wasn’t looking it all vanished. It wasn’t slow, either, like someone wasn’t taking it. It was just like poof and it was gone.” I thought she’d stop there, but I guess alcohol has a funny way of getting someone to talk. “And it’s been happening all week. All the stuff in the house is just like, getting up and walking away.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I laughed out my earlier question again, getting even Steve to chuckle but not giving her time to respond. “You realize how crazy you sound, right?”
“Hey asshat you’re the one that keeps asking me what’s wrong!” She spoke just loud enough to make the others stir but not quite loud enough to wake them completely.
She had a point. She finally told me what was bugging her, even if it was complete insanity. I still felt somewhat inclined to laugh.
“Alright, I’m sorry I laughed at you.” I’m sure there was some sarcasm between my chuckles. “But I’m sure there’s some reasonable explanation. Stuff doesn’t just grow legs and walk away!” Again, we’d pushed the limit to how loud one can be before disturbing a drunks slumber.
That threshold, however, was absolutely demolished by the absurdly loud scream coming from the other room. I just realized then one of the people was left unaccounted for in the disorganized pile of drunks that conveniently popped up like meerkats screaming. I think his name was John, but I mostly remember his 40-year-old looking face poking out from the covers when we went to check on him.
His muscular body and square jaw didn’t fit the overwhelming fear in his eyes.
“Bro what the fuck was that?” Steve asked.
“T-there was a spider!” He choked out.
“Okay a spider, big deal. Since when are you afraid of bugs? Or much of anything for that matter?” Steve pressed.
“I’m not but that wasn’t a normal bug!” He half cried at us.
“What kind of bug was it? A black widow, brown recluse, do we need to go to the ER?” Steve was growing increasingly concerned.
“No we need the cops, or a fucking priest or something. I couldn’t see good in the dark but I felt it! It felt like a hand! It felt fucking wrong man! And it looked massive, too!”
It didn’t take long for his face to get even more pale than before. He stopped choking and sputtering out his words, he could only point. Thinking back on it, he looked more confused than scared. Still scared, just confused too. Weird feeling, that one.
One I would feel very soon after; because when we all turned around something that didn’t make any sense was waiting for us in the doorway. Two hands were desperately trying to pull a wide frame through the door to no avail. Not arms, just hands. Just hands, and feet, trying to pull our old, boxy, heavy refrigerator into the room.
And after that Sam’s memories get really cloudy. I remember arms. A lot of them. more than should ever be in one place without an appropriate number of torsos to go with them.
I didn’t expect the whole living through people’s memories to be so literal, and I didn’t think it would cram my brain so much. It’s like there’s a completely different person in my skull trying to tell me what to think and feel, but that person is also me.
I’m not sure how to feel yet, but as soon as the rest of Sam’s memories show up, I’ll update you all. Or if something happens before then Lucy or Buck will.
Right! I almost forgot. So Lucy is here too. Guess after all that weird shit she wanted to know more about the supernatural and this seemed like a good place to look.
I recognized her on the way home. I told her about my blog and she thought it was cool and asked if I died if she could take it over… You know, the usual stuff people ask. So we’ve got sort of a “suffered together” thing going I guess. But I’ll get to that next time.
Until then, I have a civic duty to fulfill…