Marco and I have been living together for over two years now. We never had any issues with our arrangement. We work together to keep the apartment clean, rent gets paid on time and in full every month, and I believe we’ve actually evolved into being friends over time. Therefore, these problems we’ve been having really threw me off guard.
It started when Marco staunchly refused to leave his room. I wasn’t exactly worried at first. Our area has recently been hit by an extreme heatwave, and since we don’t have an AC, I figured Marco locked himself in with a bunch of electric fans. When I went to knock on his door, I could hear them whirring on the other side. It weirded me out that he didn’t answer immediately, though. After waiting a couple seconds, I chalked it up to him being asleep, but just as I was about to turn and leave, he called out to me.
“Jen?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t dead. “Yeah, it’s me! Just wanted to ask if everything’s alright.”
“Sure, I’m, uh… great.”
His voice gave me pause. It sounded unusual, un*like* him. It was garbled and had an almost hissy quality to it.
“You going to the store?”
“Yeah,” I answered, trying not to make my discomfort known. “Need anything?”
“Can you get me a sixpack and a bag of ice, maybe?”
I told him I would and upon my return, I found a twenty lying on the floor by his doorframe. “Keep the change,” Marco shouted. I placed the items he’d ordered where his money had been and left, hoping things would be back to normal the following day. Perhaps Marco had caught a heatstroke working outside and that’s all there was to it. Temperatures aren’t normally that high where we live, so nobody’s used to this kind of weather.
The day after was a Sunday, and I made breakfast for the two of us like I did every week. Unlike every week, however, Marco wasn’t waiting in the kitchen for it to be finished. At first, I hollered for him to come out and eat with me, but when he didn’t answer, I carried a plate of pancakes over to his room. I knocked, then asked into the silence whether he wanted any. I received no response, so I set aside the plate and banged both fists against his door. Still nothing. Both irritated and uneasy, I tried the doorhandle. My roommate and I are very respectful of each other’s privacy, and I would never do so if it wasn’t a pressing matter. It didn’t amount to anything either way. Marco had locked himself in. He was definitely there, though. I heard his chair squeak.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “I can call a doctor, or…”
I trailed off when I saw a note being slid through the crack beneath the door right at my feet. I bent down to pick it up. It was in Marco’s handwriting, but decidedly messy; like he’d been in a great hurry and practically spewed ink onto the paper.
*Hey Jen, I’m fine but my throat hurts so I can’t talk. I’m sorry but I’m not coming out, I don’t want to pass it on to you. I don’t need a doctor, I bet I’ll be fine in a couple days. Don’t worry, ok?*
I frowned at the note, but took the news in stride. What else could I do? I told Marco I’d leave the pancakes outside for him, and not long after I’d returned to the living room, I could hear him dragging the plate inside.
I found myself rather missing Marco’s presence around the apartment. Three days went by without me catching so much as a glimpse of him. I’d have to walk past his door to get to the bathroom, and I would hear him playing the weather report on his little TV inside every time. On the fourth morning, I found another note, this time on the fridge.
*Hey Jen, I’m going out to see my mom. Be back in a week.*
What the fuck? First he’s sick, now he’s going on a trip. I was beyond confused. I tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. That wasn’t really a surprise. Marco is one of those people who don’t ever really use their cell phone. Most of the time, he doesn’t even have it on him. Nevertheless, it only added to my growing concerns. Another two days passed and I didn’t hear a thing from my roommate. I tried once more to call him when I got off work, just in case. It was already nighttime and Marco normally went to bed quite early, so I didn’t really expect him to pick up. And he didn’t.
Instead I heard a familiar ringtone coming from his room. It only lasted a few seconds before stopping abruptly, like it had been turned off in a hurry. My stomach sank when the realization set in.
Why in the world would he lie to me? This didn’t make any sense. The whole situation had the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but despite this, I began heading towards Marco’s room. His door looked eerie in the dim lamplight of the hallway. I inched closer, hand outstretched to jiggle the handle. Locked. Of course.
“Marco?” I tried, pressing my ear up to the wood. “What’s going on?”
No answer. I could hear a squeaking noise coming from inside, like a chair being moved.
“What the fuck, man,” I said, stifling the tremor in my voice. “You’re clearly in there, I don’t understand…”
That’s when I had an idea. There were spare keys to all the rooms in a drawer in the living room cabinet. Neither of us had ever used them before, but there they were.
“Marco, if you’re not gonna talk to me, then I’m coming in,” I declared with all the determination I could muster. He didn’t respond.
“I’m serious, I’m getting the spare and then I’m coming in.”
Silence.
I bit my lip, turned on my heel and headed for the living room. My heart was thundering in my chest when I returned with the key. I crammed it into the hole with shaking fingers, turning it once, then twice. *Click.* I swallowed, steeling myself before I pushed down the handle and nudged the door open. The motion was accompanied by a drawn-out creaking noise that reminded me I should oil the hinges sometime. With my pulse thrumming in my ears, I entered the darkness beyond the threshold. I couldn’t see anything except the limited areas that were illuminated by the ceiling lamp shining in from the hallway. In vain I groped around for the lightswitch, then I decided to give up and just proceed. Something stopped me from going back and grabbing a flashlight. I simply had a feeling I shouldn’t turn my back on that room.
Both arms outstretched, I ventured further inside, feeling around for Marco’s desk. Soon enough, my palms met with the smooth, hard wood and I braced myself against it almost desperately. “Marco?” I asked, an intangible fear compelling me to whisper. My hands started roaming the surface in front of me. I could feel his laptop, powered off and shut, his mousepad and a set of pens and pencils. Then I moved on to the chair. I flinched when I made contact with something dry and soft hanging over it. At first I thought it was a t-shirt, but the fabric felt almost like extremely thin baking paper. I continued to stroke it, and as my hand went down what was presumably the neckhole, I found that it was warm and damp. Disgusted, I withdrew from the surely sweat-soaked piece of clothing. Remembering Marco’s small desk lamp, I mentally palmed my face for not looking for it sooner.
It didn’t take me long to locate the switch. As the small light came on, its beam fell onto what I’d *thought* to be a shirt, causing me to recoil in shock.
It was skin.
There was an entire fucking skinsuit slung over the back of the chair. It was like a snake’s shedding, except tan and pink and human-shaped, with two arms and two legs and a tear in the back from which its wearer must have emerged. The remnants of the face dangled from the ragged neck-scrap, and it looked like the dried remains of one of those cosmetic gel masks. I stared at it for a moment, my eyes bulging and my heart in my throat before I started to violently gag. I clung to the edge of the desk for dear life, trying to keep my thoughts in order.
And that’s when I heard it. A garbled, distorted hiss coming from right above me.
I whipped my head up just in time to catch a glimpse of a figure scuttling across the ceiling and disappearing into the hallway at an inhuman speed. My mind raced, but before I could think of anything better to do, my feet were already carrying me out the door. I burst into the living room, my face burning as panic spread throughout my body. Inwardly, I was yelling at myself to get out, to leave this place while I still could. Despite this, I followed the sound of dishes rattling into the kitchen. I hastily flicked on the lights and started looking around for the source of the noise.
My stomach was churning and beads of cold sweat ran down my face. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that whatever had been hiding in the shadows could be none other than Marco. Marco, who was somehow able to walk on the ceiling, who had shed his skin and deposited it on the chair at his desk. Marco, who I’d been living with for two years, who had always been kind and friendly and open, who never argued when it was his turn to clean or take the trash out. Marco, who most definitely wasn’t human.
Marco… Marco was staring at me. I could feel his gaze burning holes into my side. I turned to the right, slowly raising my eyes to the kitchen cupboard. Cowering on top of it, not unlike a wild cat, was my roommate. He had pressed himself against the wall, flattening himself to the cabinet on all fours like a master contortionist. His entire body was of a dripping, aggravated scarlet. His face was bright red, his eyes bulging out of his head; it looked as though the lids were missing. Marco’s lips had thinned and receded so his gums were on display—I’d never realized how large his teeth were. Dampened brown curls clung to his neck and temples. Rooted to the spot, all I could do was stare at this thing that my friend had turned into. He—it—stared back, that same hissing sound emanating from somewhere deep in its throat.
Slowly but surely, it loosened from its rigidity and began crawling towards me, sticking to the ceiling like an enormous anthropomorphic gecko. The fluids coating Marco’s pink body dripped onto the floor in front of me. I must have forgotten how to breathe altogether. My tongue was bone dry, like a dead leaf lying limp inside my mouth.
“Marco,” I muttered. “Marco, this is you, right?”
A rumble rolled from his chest, something akin to a growl.
I raised both my hands, taking a step back as he advanced. “You’re okay! I swear,” I stammered. “I’m not gonna tell. Whatever this is, I promise I’m not gonna tell.”
He stopped and cocked his head, neck cracking. His mouth fell open and his tongue dropped out. It was twice as long as humanly possible. I stifled a shudder, keeping my hands up and forcing myself to assume a soothing expression. “Everything’s okay. Stop growling. You know me. We live together. I make you breakfast on Sundays and it’s your turn to take the trash out tomorrow.”
Marco closed his mouth. He crept over to the left wall and began descending, movements fast and spider-like. Once more standing on two feet, he started walking towards me, step by step, the soles of his skin-stripped feet creating a wet slapping sound on the smooth clean floor. I dropped my arms, focusing on keeping my breathing steady until he finally came to a stop in front of me. “You’re okay,” I repeated. “You’re alright. Can you still hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A nod. Then, he opened his mouth, forcibly shaping the growls and hissing noises into distorted, almost intelligible words.
“My kind is sensitive to heat.”