Steer clear of Murhamies. As much fun as bigfoot hunts or Atlantis searches are, this gated community takes a little too kindly to new faces. Most newcomers disappear, or rather, disappear from their normal lives only to show up as residents inside.
Little is known about how the community operates, though that’s no surprise. I’d be surprised if a single person had even heard of it. Honestly, you’re better off not knowing.
Right off the bat, the weirdness warmly welcomed us.
“Oi,” I called to the guard station.
The newspaper fell from her face, revealing sunken eyes that put the Titanic to shame. “What?” She growled in a throat scratchier than a bathing cat.
“We’re slated to move in, Ronald and Alexander Lockhart. Number 1534,” I stated, pushing a folder through the slit in the booth. She snatched the documents, scanned through them, then flung the folder back. Without another word, the gate slid open. I didn’t question when the newspaper returned, Al and I knew some questions were better left unanswered.
Each mini-manshion was eerily similar to the last. There were a few things to note, which Al scrawled as I drove.
First, each house was an optical illusion. When you could just make out the building, it appeared impossibly thin. The closer you got, the wider they would stretch. As you approach, movement would also become increasingly challenging. This slowing effect only seemed to apply when focusing on the buildings, though.
I’ve gotta admit, hearing Al sluggishly slide his pen across his pad was equal parts concerning, as they were annoying.
Something else, the amount of time passed like normal. It was almost like time itself warped, the closer you were to the property you were focusing on, the slower time would flow. It left an incredible headache, let me tell ya.
Second thing of note, the families. Not a single feature showed signs of life, so long as they were within eyesight. Imagine a game of wax museum, but a dog was frozen midair, a frisbee inches away from crashing into a massive window, the young boy watching with amusement, horror, and regret. A chimney held a dense cloud of smoke, unmoving in the light breeze. The moment they left eyeshot, everything would move at once. The window shattered, the dog was posed, pointing at the window, the kid covered his mouth. The only living thing, the only sound besides the hum of our Nissan Titan and Al writing was the third thing to note.
Third was the rocking chair. Neither Al nor I actually saw it, but the mental image we both remember seemed to be far too similar to be coincidence. Every few seconds, a rickety old chair would sway. We both saw her in our mind. The wrinkled, slouched, ancient woman, sliding her withered, gnarled fingers down her calico’s back. Her petting matched the pace of her rocking chair, creating this hypnotic, unsettling sense that she would always be watching. We were already on trial.
We found our way to our new abode. Pulling into our driveway, something was immediately alarming.
“Ronnie?” Al cocked his head, one brow lowered while the other was raised.
“Maybe it’s some sort of vampire rule?” I shrugged. “I mean, we are supposed to be here, so maybe that slowed effect only applies where we aren’t meant to be.”
“Right, but doesn’t that create an advantage? More time to process a situation?” Al prodded, stroking his freshly shaven chin.
“Better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, let’s get a move on.”
Together, we hauled our equipment inside. We’d been outfitted with protective gear, disguised as old firefighter suits, among other handy tools. Al was to assume the identity of a firefighter, with a forged background and fake contacts just in case. Meanwhile, I had a laptop, provided to both back up my identity as an up and coming author, as well as enable for outside communication. Calls were monitored, internet usage, mail, messages in bottles too. Hopefully disguising Al and my analyses as a scary story will bypass those restrictions.
Al and I both have long pasts, to sum it up, Al is quite possible among the greatest explorers of history. I, myself, can perform escapes Houdini would pale at. While I mapped out the floor plan, circled trapdoors and fake walls, and highlighted where I suspected the hidden cameras were placed, Al took to inspecting the nooks and crannies where he would hopefully find useful tips.
I cannot directly say who sent us here, partly for confidentiality, partly because they operate without a name, but Al and I are here to investigate. Dozens of agents had already disappeared into this anomaly, not to mention the hundreds, maybe thousands of stragglers and hitchhikers who have vanished in the area. Unlike the others who had been lost, Al and I weren’t agents. We were, well, it’s complicated… At one point we were agents, but running didn’t go so well… so here we are. Disposable test subjects thrown into a massive, unknown territory.
At least Al and I had each other.
Al and I convened in the bathroom, the only place free of unwanted eyes and ears. As Al started the shower, I crammed a towel under the crack in the door. This would have to do for now, as far as muffling sound.
Whispering, Al said “it’s bad.”
“There are claw marks on every doorframe, and they’re deep. I don’t know of anything with twenty claws, so there’s that.” I dropped my head, shivering slightly as I imagined what hellspawn would be unleashed on us.
“The laundry room is layered in blood. Thankfully, I found these in the lint collector,” Al chuckled dryly, producing crinkled toilet paper, with messy handwritten notes.
Just a little note, Al has a blacklight. The laundry room was not visibly covered in blood, the blacklight and commonsense led to that conclusion.
After scanning through the messages, I voiced my concerns.
“We don’t have a pet…?” I cocked my head, feeling my stomach drop slightly as I recalled the claw marks.
“I think that’ll change relatively soon, babe,” Al grimaced.
“How are we supposed to be ‘good neighbors?’” I made air quotes.
“I imagine we’ll have to get to know them… and stuff?” Al shrugged, biting his lip. He held up his watch so I could see it.
“Lights out is coming, huh. We might be better off hiding in one of the trapdoors. I think our ‘pet’ will come out after lights out, and I don’t like our odds against an unknown beast.”
“Well, your luck is better than mine. Let’s grab our gear and get going,” Al huffed, pushed himself to his feet, and turned off the shower.
—
Descending our makeshift sheet rope, Al and I were swallowed by an absolute, inky darkness. Though our flashlights wouldn’t work, we didn’t have time to second guess ourselves.
Just as my feet found solid ground, a high pitched chirp pierced the silence. I jumped, and unfortunately, Al did too. Crashing to the ground, I could hear the sheet tear.
There goes our escape rope.
“You okay baby?” I whispered, feeling around for my husband. I reached a right angle, feeling my way up the wall until my hand sank into something cold and oozing. I shot my hand back, but didn’t have to wonder what I had touched for long.
An orange glow illuminated the area, revealing the meaty cube that still had the impression from my hand. I frantically looked for Al, ignoring the light pink blobs floating through the air.
Across from me, Al was shivering in the fetal position.
I crawled over to him, swatting the glowing things away from us as I held his cheeks. “Look, Al, I know you’re struggling right now. I know, I’m sorry for the fall, but we need to move. Please!” I shook him, then slapped his cheek.
He lurched in my arms, as though I had just powered him on. He shot to his feet, scanned the area, then delivered his expert opinion. “It’s a conductor. Those things in the air, they’re amygdalas. Those things in the walls are likely bodies, conductors love to keep some sort of order to their work. Our best bet is to follow the opposite direction the floaters are headed. It uses the brain bits to track us, so we need to move quickly, before it closes us in.”
My mouth hung limply, digesting that as fast as possible. We took off, finding an ant maze of corridors. The floaters thinned out after a while, and my hopes began to grow, only for them to be dashed in an instant.
All at once, Al stopped in his tracks. I slid to a stop, almost crashing into him.
“What’s up-?” I panted, fighting the urge to slump over and catch my breath.
“It’s got us,” Al choked, swiveling his head for an escape.
I took in our surroundings. The cuboid meat chunks lined the walls. To our left, right, front, and behind us, pink meat blocked our advancement. And they were closing in.
“Is it going to crush us?!” I squeaked, retreating to the center, back to back with Al.
“Each one is different, but that’s more than likely.”
We pressed against each other, holding out till the very last moment, until the fleshy blanket covered us. I couldn’t help but imagine we looked like the most revolting chrysalis if someone could see us.
Breathing became impossible, the pink layer squeezing tight. The pressure became too great, encompassing our entire thoughts. Then, like a banana, the brains peeled away.
Al and I dropped to our knees, heaving for air. After a few seconds, we were back to back, taking in our situation.
We were now in a perfectly carved cavern. In the middle, a hole was hollowed out. The pink bits flowed in and out from whatever laid below it.
“What do you want?!” Al demanded, with far more bravado than I expected.
I trembled, grasping his hand and savoring the small comfort his grip provided.
It spoke… but not verbally. It was almost like it could relay information directly into our minds. And no, it was none too pleasant of an experience.
“You aren’t like the others?” It said, in an almost inquisitive tone.
“What, that we’re gay or…?” Al stuttered incredulously.
“You don’t beg for them to save them,” the thing said coldly, not very appreciative of the attempt at humor.
“Well yeah, they suck,” I coughed out, unsure of where I found the courage to speak.
Al shot a quick glare my way, silently commanding I stay silent. “Yes, conductor. We may be here on their behalf, but it is very much against our wishes.”
“It seems we have that in common,” the thing sighed, sending a gust of stale, rancid wind up through the hole, and flinging floaters everywhere. One slapped my cheek with a wet squick.
I flinched, but was too frozen to wipe my face clean.
“What do you propose?” Al asked.
“Cooperation. My tunnels extend through a fifth of the community. I can answer any questions you may have, so long as my snacks have answers. I can offer sanctuary, though this may not last. The HOA inspects my domain frequently. Hiding you two would be impossible.”
Al slowly turned his head from the hole, to meet my gaze. “Better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?”