Now let me go ahead and explain this right from the start. I’m not a cop, reporter, or any other such thing. What I am though… is quite simply curious. So I guess a private investigator seemed like a fine description.
Ever since I was young I always just had to have answers. If something didn’t make sense to me it lead to what my parents called “Episodes” The days would progress as normal but nights are when problems started. I would sweat uncontrollably and the same recurring nightmare.
I would be seated in a sterilized white room in front of a large table, on said table there is a puzzle, a Jigsaw puzzle that must consist of probably a couple thousand pieces. This puzzle is almost entirely put together. What is missing is exactly one corner piece, right in the top left part of the puzzle. But there are no more pieces to be seen. None on the table, none on the floor.
I begin to panic then. I would turn my pockets out, knowing full well that nothing was in them. I would begin to hyperventilate and my vision would blur. The room itself suddenly becomes a blinding bright white and then I scream.
That’s how I woke up every night for almost two years.
Let me clarify, this wasn’t just based on emotions I could not process. I remember vividly the first time that it happened, my father was changing the batteries out of the television remote. I asked him why the batteries were the shape that they were. He simply told me that it didn’t matter, so I shrugged and went out to play.
I went to sleep after complaining to my parents that it hurt to stay awake. They tucked me in and told me the morning would bring better times. The very next thing that I remember was thrashing upon our cold wooden floor. My nails were digging into the wood, my face was wet with tears and vomit. I had thrown up and it hadn’t even woken me up.
My parents, bless their souls, did their best to handle the situation. We tried every single solution that seemed to be viable after that. Medication, hypnosis, therapy. You name it and we gave it a shot. Nothing worked.
This continued until I was almost nine years old and there was a sudden change.The dream began as it always did. I fell asleep and the moment my head hit the pillow, the very next second my eyes flipped open in the white room.
Well, not my eyes, someone else’s. I knew this because sitting right there in front of me, was myself. I looked calm and collected, not how I usually felt in the dream at all. I fidgeted awkwardly and that seemed to alert myself to my presence.
The boy that was not me turned to me before opening his mouth. He reached in with his fingers and pulled out a small object, an object that I recognized immediately. His face broke into a smile and I felt myself smile back.
Suddenly, I was him again and in my hand was the final piece of the puzzle. I placed it into its resting place before sitting down and letting a wave of relaxation crash over me.
The dream was never the same after that, my sleep became more regular and I would still end up in that room, but now the puzzle was always different, also never put together, that was what I had the pleasure of doing as my physical self lay resting.
So that’s how I ended up with this job, if you would like to call it that. People call me when they have a puzzle that needs sorting. I will do my very best to work through it, it’s like getting two of me for the price of one.
My office, if you could call it that, was a small room that I rented above a bakery, right in the center of town. I didn’t have a sign because I didn’t need one. Everyone knew about the detective above the bakery, especially because he was cheap considering he was by no means considered a professional.
It wasn’t a luxurious job, not by any means. Nine out of ten jobs that I ended up taking had to do with the usual bullshit, cheating spouses or due diligence on a missing family member. More often than not it was paperwork honestly, so that’s how I filled my days.
It was an exceptionally dull day when my phone rang and a cool robotic voice on the other end asked if I would like to have a job. I almost thought it was a scam or something of the sort, until there was a knock on my door, not three seconds later.
A young man, impeccably dressed and with tired eyes walked into the room. At that very same moment the voice on the phone directed me to press one if I wished to accept this case on their behalf. It stated that the man in front of me would pass on the relevant information.
I pressed the button before I even knew why and the man opened his shoulder bag and pulled out a file folder that he placed neatly on my desk. Before I even had a chance to say anything other than thank you, he was already halfway out my door.
So, I guess that was so much for explaining anything. I stared at the file folder and weighed the pros and cons of accepting a bullshit job from a telephone call and a file folder.
Well, let’s start with the pros. I mean that is an obvious list. Life could be dull and monotonous, but this here was a chance to shake things up a bit. How did these people even find me though?
Cons…
Let’s see, it could be dangerous, also there was no mention of payment. It could also just be a joke or a trick of some sort. That would be a waste of time for everyone and I didn’t get that vibe.
My fingers had started trembling. Whilst I was going over the pros and cons in my head my unconscious mind had damn near decided it desperately needed to see inside that folder.
Alright, it was settled then.
I opened the folder and immediately made eye contact with a picture of a dead man hanging from a ceiling fan. I remember throwing the folder down and making a sound of disgust, nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
The folder made a sound…. A grunt. Like it had been hurt. I stared at it for what felt like hours. I must have been hallucinating, folders don’t make sounds.
“Dead men do though,” said a hoarse voice.
I recognized that voice…. Also perhaps more importantly. Dead men aren’t supposed to make a sound, especially not if they are just pictures. Pictures or dead men were still, quiet.
But that voice…
I walked over to where the folder had landed in the corner of the room. I had begun to sweat and I was simply afraid. If this was a trick it had gone too far.
“Running out of time,” said the familiar voice.
I needed answers. Of course I did. I always had to know. The puzzle needed to make sense, and as of right now, it obviously didn’t.
I opened the folder and stared at the dead man. His face was bloated and rotting off, his left eye was gone as he swung in the picture.
Pictures aren’t supposed to move.
He grinned and used his left hand to point upwards towards the fan. My gaze followed his finger and that’s when things suddenly got much worse. I would recognize that fan from anywhere. I should considering that all I had to do was look up for reference.
That was the fan in my office.
“Six minutes before you die.” I said, whilst hung in a photograph, from my office fan.
I stared down at the picture and tried to figure out what was happening. I recognized myself now, the makeover that I had been given made it damn near impossible to tell that it was me.
“Puzzle pieces aren’t normal for people, and neither is this.” he said to me, before cackling.
I don’t know what it was about mentioning the puzzles, but that made the situation click into place for me. I was in danger, and I shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“You walked to work today, which means that you are going to have to run. Not your strong suit, so better get warmed up.”
I needed a plan, the picture wasn’t helpful. I appreciated the warning, but besides that, really wasn’t much help at all.
I hadn’t done anything to anyone as far as I knew. Why was I being targeted? The panic was slowly starting to set in and I felt my stomach turning itself into knots. I was going to throw up.
I made it to the window just in time and my eyes watered as my lunch sprayed out of my mouth onto the sidewalk. It burned coming out and I felt like it wouldn’t end.
Then the shouting started.
I figured I must have hit someone who had been standing under the window with my vomit, but that quickly became obviously not the case. The young woman was screeching and was clearly terrified.
My eyes were still watering and my vision was blurry, but I looked down the street and realized that I should have run three minutes ago.
There was a thick blue fog rolling in from what seemed like nowhere. It wasn’t to the other side and it clearly had a direction. It seemed to hover off the ground and terrifyingly enough it seemed to be…. Electrical?
Small bursts of electricity were visible inside of it along with… I do not know. There was shadows in the fog. Creating it? Moving with it? I don’t know and I really felt as if I shouldn’t stay to find out.
“The fire escape, other window, now.” said me, dead in a photograph.
There was no time to argue, especially because of the urgency in his voice. Gone was the playful cackle and the attitude with which he had arrived. He was scared, like I was.
I hobbled over to the window and pulled it open before stepping out onto the fire escape. I wasn’t prepared for the sound that was coming with the fog.
It was like a symphony of noise… But there was a pattern, it was like being hypnotized. The sound of drums rolled with the fog. I looked down and saw my knuckles turning white from holding onto the rail.
The percussion reverberated throughout the alley and I realized that I couldn’t move. The speed of the music increasing as it made its way closer. It was a medley of noise mashed together into a perfect tune. It shouldn’t have worked but it did, it should have just been noise, but it wasn’t. It was the most perfect sound that I had ever heard.
Then I heard myself apologize.
The next thing I knew I had tumbled over the rail and was on my way down. There was a split second in the air where I was simultaneously furious yet grateful to a photograph that had somehow just pushed me off a ledge.
Whatever was in the fog would have killed me, for some reason was coming for me. There’s no way that ended well. But this didn’t have a very good outlook either. I hated heights.
I hit the ground with a crack and on my left wrist which I felt basically shatter underneath my weight as I immediately howled in pain. It had been better than landing directly on my head, but not by much.
The drums came back with a vengeance, the pattern louder and more pronounced from the ground level. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could. I needed to move faster if I was going make it out of here.
I hobbled out of the alley and made a mistake. I knew the fog was pulling in from the left, all I had to do was go right. All I had to do was not look. But I was too curious. Always too curious. The puzzle wouldn’t fit if I didn’t look.
I turned my head and the moment I made eye contact the pace of the drums perfectly aligned, every single beat perfection as I watched carnage unfold.
I could see a shadow in the fog, the silhouette of a body, creating it, maneuvering it. It was indecipherable, it was neither man nor beast and its limbs moved irregularly.
As it moved closer I saw the young woman who had been screaming, she was in the same trance as me. She was never going to escape.
I wanted to help but I knew that it was too late. All my energy was being used to try and move my legs again. They felt as if they were in quicksand. I wanted to close my eyes, but a part of me had to see, had to know what was coming.
The fog hit her and she evaporated almost instantly. In a split second she had become a fine pink mist, that was simply the end of her story. No chance to scream, no chance to be in pain, to actually feel her death. A simple touch by the electric mist and she was floating red specks of matter. Just like that she was gone.
But the drums, oh, how the drums responded to the blood. Gone was the hypnotic beat, replaced by something so much worse. It was fast, entirely too fast, I felt my heart begin to pump, if I stayed it was going to explode.
I turned and ran faster than I ever have in my entire life. I ran until my muscles burned and cramped up, and then I ran some more. I don’t know how far I ended up going, but I know now that it’s never quite far enough.
The worst part is the damn picture never shuts his goddamn mouth. I should get rid of it, but I feel like I owe him a debt. He cackles constantly until he eventually chokes. I know he chokes because I can feel it around my neck too. Somehow we are connected and I don’t understand how.
I am holed up in a small cabin now, and have been for a few days. I don’t know how I got here, or where here even is. All I know is that is time to move already.
I can hear the drums again.