Why did I go through with this? I should have stayed home! Instead, I am here amongst rusted cages and random pet supplies. Hiding from it. Trying to subdue my heavy breathing. Trying to ignore the plaintive wails. Trying to scrub my mind’s eye clean of what it saw mere moments ago. I now understand why the owner abandoned his beloved shop. Abandoned? Did anyone ever see him after Pet Paradise shut down? Maybe it got him?
I remember everyone’s surprise on that odd Monday morning when the successful pet shop did not open on time, something that had never happened since Eric had opened his Paradise. We all figured he went looking for one final adventure. I am not so sure about that anymore.
I know what I saw back in his office, and yet I will not acknowledge it. That lampshade was so intricate and the detailed stitching, a marvel to behold. It did not matter that the electricity had been shut off over three years ago, it was warm to the touch. It felt alive. It should not have been warm. Did I really feel it tremble under my fingers? Everything had been wrong as soon as we walked in. I should have told Zaara to forget that stupid dare. I should have dragged her out. Unfortunately, I had not and judging from the sudden eerie silence, she was no more.
My breath becomes visible as the temperature drops and drops and drops. My lungs become painful as the weight of the atmosphere around me becomes tangible like a lead curtain. The room is assaulted by angry murmurs that were incomprehensible, getting louder and louder with every beat of my heart.
Out of the thick shadows a voice bellowed distinctively, “Come back to me! Leave that flaky dry-husked human. The skin on this one here is supple and the quantity of it will be more than sufficient to achieve our quota. Come back to me so we can complete our labor.”
I heard the chatter fade away in the direction from whence it came. The chill gripping my bones relaxed its hold on me, my lungs expanded to their original size and horror seized my frantic heart as the words sank in my fogged mind.
There is no one other than me and Zaara in this shop. There is no one! Yet, I saw what I saw, and I heard that bellow as clear as a spring day. I fight my natural instincts as I force my body into motion. I must witness what is happening, I need to know Zaara’s condition. Her situation might be less dire than my memory is suggesting. In silence, I make my way towards the manager’s office. I sense the chill before too long. As the heavy oppressiveness in the air bears down on me, I push forward. Nearly at the door, I exhale, glad that Eric left behind so many pet supplies. I now have a wealth of hiding places because of this. I turn the corner and I am confused to see brightness seeping out of the office. What is going on? I lean on the wall besides the doorway awash in the unnatural glow, resting a moment, finding the courage to look.
Just as I begin to look at the scene held in that room; the wails rise once more against the awful silence. I am equal parts relieved and terrified to realize she is alive. I peered through the opening and the sight before me broke what was left of my logic. Zaara was floating in the air, her limbs flailing in a macabre dance to an unheard melody. The sounds emanating from her throat made the hair on my body rise. She was alone, and yet I could feel other beings in there with her. I must have been accurate in my assessment because what came next required someone’s (something’s) intervention. Her dermis was being peeled in a gruesome display of skills. It was a slow methodical separation of the skin from the muscle mass.
The glow cast by the lampshade was sinister and uncanny, it was possessed by a spectral life made all too evident by the luminous veins that trembled in excitement. A guttural rumble rising from within seemed to tell it to intensify the glow and the pace in which Zaara was being mutilated. The atrocity of this scene proved to be too much for me, and I crumpled to the ground, my conscious-self disappearing in darkness.
I hear a pounding against my skull, what a wild dream that was. I will have to call Zaara as soon as I can open my eyes. Tell her all about it and we will laugh. My nose is telling me that I am not home and as the world comes into focus in front of me, I realize that it was not a dream. Zaara! I jump up and investigate the dim office. I lock my gaze on her form. She is nothing more than a wretched pile of gore slumped in a puddle of viscous dark liquid. The ghastly light and eerie sounds and the oppressing atmosphere were all gone and, in its place, resting serenely on each end of a massive writing desk, were TWO beautiful wooden lamps covered by twin intricate lampshades decorated with the most amazing stitching. Stitching so vibrant that they looked alive.