There was something wrong in the air that morning.
I knew it from the moment I woke. Before I had even opened my eyes.
It wasn’t a smell.
It wasn’t the cold, or the humidity, or the barometric pressure.
It was something beyond what my normal senses could describe.
But it was there.
As I walked down the stairs to the kitchen, I felt it surrounding me like ashes and dust, clinging to me, invading my body as I breathed, entering my mouth, my nostrils, and my eyes.
It was in my hair, and on my skin.
It wasn’t tacky or sticky or damp or slimy.
But it was there, as I sat quietly at my kitchen table in the autumn gloom, sipping my tea.
And through the windows, I could see in the haze of the morning light, it waited for me outside.
It wasn’t rain or fog, clouds or smoke.
But I could see that something had changed.
I did not know what it was, but I was sure of it.
The water tasted wrong today, so I poured it down the drain, and watched as the faintly discolored, brown liquid trickled down the stainless steel basin into the black, fowl smelling hole.
I looked up to the window above the sink, as the creeping feeling that I was being spectated tickled at the back of my neck.
Before me was only the green grass and trees.
I pulled my shirt quickly over my head, for fear of being caught unaware in the darkness of the thick fabric, constricted and confined in the torso of the garment.
My shoes… something comfortable. Something I can run in.
I grabbed the sneakers and laced them tight to my feet, pulling on the laces until a slight pain bit into the top of my foot before double knotting them into place.
I looked up from my feet to the open closet door across from my bed, only darkness could be seen within.
Standing, I walked slowly across the room, staring into the dark crevice between the door and frame, I felt myself brace.
I closed the door firmly, but it would not latch.
I walked back to where a single wooden chair, aged and weary, covered in jackets and once worn clothes, sat beside my bed.
Taking the chair by the back, I slid it across the hard wood, its feet squeaking and grinding across the dry, dirty planks, then placed the back below the doorknob of the closet.
I hoped it was enough.
Standing with my back to the locked door of my room, I inspected the disarray before me. The bed was tossed and unmade, the window shades drawn closed, the closet door blocked. A single dresser stood in the corner, all drawers still open, clothes hanging from them.
A trash bin sat overflowing in the corner.
I unlocked my bedroom door, stepped into the hall, and locked the door once more behind me.
Then slowly walked down the creaking stairs, to my front door.
I raised my index finger to begin punching the combination into the safe beside the door. With each new number, I flipper and contorted my hand, masking which buttons I was pressing with the odd movements, using a different finger for each key.
The safe beeped, a green light flashed, and I opened the door to retrieve my key.
Slowly, I unlocked the deadbolt with a chunky thunk. The chain zipped free and jinglee against the door. The standard door lock clicked open, and the block holding the door shut slid out with a metallic ring, then opened the door to the world outside.
The foul air rushed around me, hurrying inside as I closed the door, eliminating its intrusion into my sanctum.
Turning, I began resetting the locks behind me, quickly, fastidiously.
My palms began to sweat, and my hands shook, causing me to miss as the key made its way to the keyhole and struck the door instead.
Cursing, i looked around at my yard, checking, but nothing was there.
I turned back to the door, inserting my key into the deadbolt, and securing the door shut, before walking to my car.
A 1997 Saturn SC2.
It was an older car with no remotes, no electric door locks, no remote starter, or powered windows. It was traditional, and safe.
I slid the key into the lock, and felt it disengage as I turned, then swung the door open.
The familiar smell of aged, stale car upholstery greeted me, chasing away the smell of the outside air.
I closed the door behind me and locked it, then inserted my key into the ignition.
That’s when the blanket of darkness fell over the windows of the vehicle.
“Not today.” The voice told me.
“I have to go.” I responded in frustration.
“Not today. This isn’t the way.” The voice proclaimed with authority.
“I have to go to work.” I answered, my voice shaking with fear and anger.
“Today we take the bus.” The voice explained.
“No! I’m going to be late!” I shouted back, on the verge of tears.
“You must.” The voice answered.
“Why!?” I shouted my question.
My arms began to itch. I scratched at my forearm with my short, ineffective, heavily chewed fingernails.
Pulling back my jacket sleeve, I could see a warm, red rash was spreading.
“Please! Not today!” I shouted.
“Today we take the bus.” The voice repeated once more.
“GOD DAMMIT!” I screamed, tears in my eyes.
I removed my key from the ignition and the darkness faded, replaced once more by the early morning sun, shrouded by heavy clouds and mist.
Five minutes passed while I shook and whimpered, wiping the tears and snot from my face with the sleeves of my jacket.
Why today?
Why me?
I got out of the car, locking the door behind me, and headed down the driveway to the street.
I never took the bus, I wasn’t even sure where I was going. I knew there was a stop on the corner two blocks over.
A car passed by, seeming to slow down as it did so, but I dare not look inside the tinted windows of the white sedan.
I kept my eyes on the woods to both sides of the road, and walked wide of the sewer drains that dotted the road every couple hundred feet.
The woods seemed to shake and tremble as I passed by, as if something walked just within them, just beside me, yet beyond my ability to see in the thick brush.
A rustling of wet leaves, shaking violently as if some large body strode through them.
I picked up my pace, increasing my power walk to a steady trot, but the rustling kept pace with me.
My trot became a jog, and so did the speed of my pursuer, and so I took to a sprint, barreling down the road in my jeans and sneakers.
I was not in shape for this, and could already feel the stitch in my side, and burn in my lungs and calves.
The end of the street drew closer in a shaking, jerky view, where the woods broke to houses.
I just needed to make it…
Faster, I needed to go faster.
I felt burning fear, like hot breath against my neck.
I dare not look back to see if my pursuer drew near.
I moved to the center of the road, my footsteps echoing down the empty road in damp slaps against the dark, dew moistened asphalt, until at last I reached the end of the street.
Without looking, I sprinted across the road to the sidewalk opposite, and stopped to catch my breath.
A car horn sounded from a driver who had screeched to a halt at my passing.
I placed my hands on my knees and stared down the street from which I had just come.
The tunnel of overgrown trees swayed ominously in the morning breeze, threatening to unleash the hidden terrors from within their branches.
Down the street further I found the bus stop, with two women and an older gentlemen waiting already.
They looked at me with uneasiness as I approached.
Maybe it was the sweat that ran down my forehead, or the puffiness of my eyes from crying.
Or perhaps they could sense the darkness that followed me.
You could always tell.
At least, I could, when I passed another afflicted.
You could see it upon their body; the exhaustion in their eyes, the dryness of their skin, the weakness of their posture.
It took so much…
I stood apart from them, giving them their space, for both of our sakes.
Minutes passed…
The bus arrived with the screech of brakes and a hiss, the door swinging open.
I waited until the others had boarded before stepping onto the bus.
I looked at the driver anxiously, “How do I pay?” I asked anxiously.
I could feel the eyes of all within the bus upon me, waiting for me to take my seat so they could leave.
Their anger burned into me as I stood before them, shrinking into a slouch to appear smaller, but somehow still feeling uncomfortably visible, like a roadblock to them, preventing each from going about their day.
I felt the cold sweat of fear upon my neck; the tremor found its way into my hands.
“It’s going to be three fifty, cash.” The bus driver announced.
I reached into my wallet and pulled out the cash I had on hand.
“Can you break a five?” I asked, my voice shaking.
The bus driver’s eyes lingered on me with frustration for a moment then he nodded to the machine beside me.
I saw the obvious slot for cash, lit up in green with a diagram.
Pushing my bill into the slot, I waited until my change was dispensed, then quickly pocketed it and walked onto the path between the seats.
Eyes watched me wearily, guarding themselves. They held in them a clear message, firm and obstinate.
Do not sit beside me.
Do not bring your darkness into my world.
I continued back, meeting one gaze after another of apprehension, until at last I found an empty seat to take refuge in.
Another hiss sounded as the bus left the stop, and I could feel myself being propelled forward within my seat.
Why the bus?
Why today?
I stared out the window as we passed by woods and houses, until it became more houses then woods, and soon no woods at all.
A voice crackled over the intercom, “We will be taking a slight detour from our usual. This section of 84 west has been shut down due to a jackknifed tractor trailer. It just happened a few minutes ago. We will be delayed slightly.”
Jackknifed tractor trailer?
That’s the way I usually go…
Just happened?
I could have been involved in that…
Why did they save me?
I looked back out the window, and in the reflection of the glass could see a shadow looming behind me.
I turned quickly, but nothing was there.
Thirty minutes passed, and the bus arrived downtown, only a few blocks from my work.
I pulled the handle to announce my stop as I’d seen the other passengers do before me.
The bus slowed, and I got up and walked to the front.
I could feel the eyes upon me again as I walked forward, and began quickening my pace.
I bumped into someone and heard them grumble as I raced for the front, then tumbled down the stairs onto the sidewalk outside.
I could feel their eyes upon me as the door closed, and the bus hissed and drove off down the street.
The darkness returned, the world beyond my reach was shrouded in a thick blanket of night.
“Go left.” The voice hissed in my ear.
“Can’t go left. Work is right.” I replied, covering my ears.
Even with my hands over my ears, the voice hissed louder, “Go left.” In a long, breathy raspy.
“I can’t, I need to go to work or I’ll be fired!” I whined back quietly.
I could feel the burning itch on my arm again. I had to pull my hands from my ears to scratch at the unbearable discomfort.
“That is not the way. The way is left. Go left or bad things will happen.” The voice hissed.
“Go away!” I shouted.
My arm felt like it was on fire. I looked at the skin around my wrist and it was now bright red with bumpy eruptions.
“The path forward is your salvation. Listen and be spared from pain.” The voice boomed in my ears.
“I’m going to work!” I shouted.
The voice became a deafening roar, growing louder and louder, like a freight train driving over my head. It felt like my ear drums were going to rupture.
I looked at my arm, the bumps began to squirm and pulsate, and on closer inspection, it appeared as if something was writhing within each one.
The roar peaked in volume, then receded into the distance as the darkness lifted.
People in the street were giving me strange looks and walking wide to avoid coming near me.
I pulled my sleeve back over my arm and turned right, heading toward my workplace.
Was it gone?
I was twenty minutes late for work, this wasn’t going to be good.
Stepping inside I could feel the eyes of the other workers on me.
The decrepit office building was painted a yellowing cream color, with dreary yellow lights set into the drop ceiling, some of which were burned out or flickering.
The center of the room was a maze of grey cubicles, with tan support columns. The smell of stale paper, ozone from copiers, and brewing coffee wafted through the air, with a faint aroma of cologne and perfume.
The receptionist said nothing as I walked by her desk. She only looked up briefly with a knowing glare from beneath her reading glasses.
Heading past the sprawl of cubicles, I found my way to the far wall where my office door stood, wooden with a single window covered by blinds.
I unlocked the door quickly and stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.
With a sigh, I stared at the windowless wall behind my desk.
Facing away from me was the monitor of my workstation computer.
I could see the faint blue glow reflected upon the wall opposite me.
I reached down with my left hand and locked the door behind me, then slowly walked over to my desk.
As I rounded the corner to face the monitor, I took a deep breath and was greeted only by the Windows login screen.
Relaxation began to find its way into my body and I sat in the leather chair, feeling exhausted already.
I stared at the login screen.
Username
Password
I typed them in and hit enter.
Password incorrect.
Not possible, that’s definitely my password.
I tried again.
Password incorrect.
I pulled out my key and unlocked the top left drawer of my desk, pulling out a spiral bound notebook.
On the first page of the book was a key that only I understood, and within the book were my passwords by account and date, ciphered according to the key on the front.
I began following the cipher, just to be sure, for the PC login password under the most recent date.
G
That’s funny, I didn’t typically use a password starting with G…
O
What did I go with next?
L
I continued solving until I looked down on the page in terror at the words GOL3FT!
I entered the password into my station, and the login screen faded away to my desktop.
They had gotten to my workstation, but how? I had locked the door to my office, my desk, and computer.
It was even in my own handwriting…
That’s when I heard the laughter from the nearby closet.
It echoed through the room, inhuman, and empty.
The shadow seemed to grow from around the edges of the closet door, stretching out into the room, like tendrils, crawling onto the ceiling, over the carpeted floor, and the cream, eggshell textured walls.
“Go away!” I hissed.
The laughter grew louder as the shadows extended towards me.
My arm burned again, and itched terribly.
I pulled back my sleeve to see the rash had spread to my whole arm, covered in white pustules.
“You should have listened.” The voice began.
But it wasn’t one voice.
It was many voices, in a chorus, repeating over and over, “You should have listened.”
The shadows reached my foot and I felt my chair being dragged towards the closet door.
The handle jiggled and the door opened just a crack.
A shadow extended from the door the same way light would shine from a lit room into a dark one.
“I won’t be controlled anymore.” I hissed.
I stood and walked into the shadow to close the door, and as I did, I felt a terror envelop me, starting at me feet. It rose up through my legs, into my torso, tickling at my heart and filling my lungs with heavy dread.
“No! All you have are sensations!” I grunted, reaching for the doorknob.
“Are you sure? Would you like to find out?” The voices asked.
“I’ve had enough of your lies.” I grabbed the doorknob, but I couldn’t budge the door.
“Are you strong enough?” The voiced asked, “None who have fought back have succeeded. It’s much easier to simply listen.”
“Listening has got me nowhere!” I growled.
“Listening saved you this morning. You could have been in that crash, but you were busy running to catch your bus.” The voices argued.
“You have no proof! I could have been long gone by the time it happened, or stuck behind it!” I countered.
“Would you stake your life on it?” The chorus of voices asked.
“FUCK YOU!” I growled, throwing my weight against the door, but it still would not budge.
Laughter grew louder and louder from within the door, a raging, raucous cacophony. It was deafening, oppressing, terrifying.
Then a high pitch noise split the chaos, and the shadows withdrew as the closet door slammed shut.
I turned and answered the phone, “Mister Walder would like to see you in his office.” The secretary’s voice explained.
“I’ll be right there.” I replied, and hung up. I hung my head and cursed at the desk below me, turning to look at the closet, which stood firmly shut, shadows hidden within as usual.
I left my room, locking the door behind me, and headed across the maze of cubicles towards Mister Walder’s office the the corner of the two walls.
As I drew near I could hear him speaking on the phone loudly, so I knocked on the door gently.
“I’ll call you back…” his voice concluded, then he called out, “Come in, come in!”
I opened the door to the golden, sun-lit room, edged with tall, dark wood bookshelves stacked with all sorts of legal books, encyclopedias, thesauruses and more.
It smelled of leather-bound books, expensive cologne and espresso from the machine along the left wall.
“Please, have a seat.” Mister Walder gestured to one of the two, fine wooden chairs before his desk.
I slowly walked across the room, slouching with anxiety as I approached his desk.
“My secretary tells me you were late again.” Mister Walder explained.
“Sorry sir, car problems.” I answered.
“You know if you had a cell phone…” he began.
“I know, I know, I would be able to call.” I answered.
“Why do you loathe cell phones so much? And why do you insist on driving that old piece of junk?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I was raised to be frugal. I’ll get it fixed.” I answered.
“No, no, no, Sam. I’ll tell you what. I will give you a two thousand dollar bonus if you use it as a down-payment on a good car.” Mister Walder took out a checkbook and placed it upon the desk before him, then drew a gold and rosewood pen from the top, center drawer of his desk and clicked it on.
“I appreciate it, Mister Walder, but it’s fine, really. I don’t like all the new electronics they put in the cars these days, there’s more to go wrong. These old cars, it’s always the battery, the alternator, the spark plugs.
It’s never the power windows, the keyless entry, the dash lights, or whatever else.
Much cheaper and easier to fix.” I explained.
“Sam, I pay you well. You’re a good worker and I think you deserve it.
But when you don’t show up on time, I need to do something, or it sets a bad precedent.
We can’t just have people coming whenever they choose.
Can you promise me that this is the last time that old car will be the reason you’re late?” He asked me.
I looked at him, looked at the pen, then down at the check.
Mister Walder tilted his head down toward the check, his eyes still on me, and raised his eyebrows together.
Stepping back into my office I looked down at the two thousand dollar check.
What was I going to do? He would expect me to show him what I bought with it. I had to buy a car now, and I would have to drive it, or he would be upset.
But what if they used it…
It was just more ways for them to control me.
I sighed and walked back to my desk, sinking into my chair, and tapping the check upon the wooden desktop.
“Now you must!” The voices whispered from the closet.
“Buy the car! Buy the car!” A chorus of mischievous, disembodied voices called out to me.
“I’ll buy the goddamned car!” I growled at the closet.
I stared into the blue glow of my monitor and clicked open my email and began my daily ritual of answering questions, redirecting tasks, and the other mundanities that compromised my employment.
I popped open an email, “You should have gone left.”
I froze.
There was no sender.
How was there an email with no sender?
I hit the delete button, and the message disappeared from my inbox.
I clicked onto the next email, a client complaint.
I quickly typed out a response and told the complainant I would call them soon to touch base, then hit send.
Next email.
“Your home isn’t safe.”
I felt cold sweat beading on my forehead.
No sender.
I deleted the email and went on to the next one.
Dave in accounting had requested an itemization of last month’s billing.
He should already have all that, why was he asking me?
I chose to ignore it, I wasn’t going to do his math for him.
Not my job.
Next email.
“Check your closet.”
No sender.
I looked to the closet again; it was shut, and quiet.
I stood and approached the lightly stained wooden door, looking at the aged, gold doorknob.
I was tired.
I reached down and grasped the knob, I’m not sure why, but I expected it to be icy cold, or burning hot, but as my flesh came into contact with the age-scarred surface, it felt just like the normal coolness of metal beneath my palm.
I turned the doorknob, then slowly opened the door.
Within was just the usual, my sports jacket hanging from the coat hanger with a spare tie.
An old keyboard collected dust in the corner next to some snack boxes.
And on top of one of the boxes, a note.
“Not this closet.”
I closed the door and returned to my computer.
They were in my home.
How did they get in my home?
I made sure they couldn’t!
It was safe!
Eight more hours!
Eight more hours of torture until I could find out.
I clicked through the emails faster, as if the hours would go faster if I got through my work faster.
I finally reached the end of my inbox and checked my clock.
Two hours. Only two hours had passed.
My foot began shaking up and down. I looked around my office, as if hoping there would be some kind of excuse or answer, but there was nothing for me.
I couldn’t leave early, not after showing up late.
The clock ticked away slowly.
Twenty minutes passed, and another email showed up.
Another client with a question. I grumbled and began preparing my response when another email showed up.
“Lunch break seems like a good time to listen.” No sender.
“What do you MEAN!” I slammed my fist onto my desk.
I counted down the hours to lunch break, and as soon as it was noon, I left the building and headed across the street to the diner.
I stepped inside, walked up to the counter, and a young boy walked over and asked, “What can I get for you?”
“Oh hey, no Alex today?” I asked, looking around in back.
“Oh, no. Alex didn’t come in today. Didn’t call either. Not sure why not.” The cashier answered.
I felt the cold sweat of fear beading on my neck.
“Oh, I see. I’ll just grab a large coke.” I answered, not wanting to act strange, but I had lost all appetite to fear.
I looked at the time, the bus ride home was too long.
I would have to endure another four hours of not knowing…
I raised the straw to my lips and drank in the sweet, chemical taste of the cola. There was something sickening about it, a foulness.
But I needed it, so I drank more.
Forty minutes to kill…
I sat on the bench outside and sipped more of the cola, watching the people go about their lives.
What was it like to be normal?
To not have this shadow chasing you?
To not be forced to look over your shoulder every moment of every day, to check every lock, and structure every aspect of your life around safety and survival.
I reached the bottom of my cola, slurping up the watery dregs from around the ice, and sighed.
I should get back to work…
The following four hours passed torturously slow. I watched the clock, waiting for each rotation of the second hand, answering each email.
The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder, like Chinese water torture. It grew and it grew, until it was thundering in my ears.
Two o’clock.
Tick tick tick tick
Two O-one.
Tick tick tick tick.
Finally, after what felt an eternity, it was five o’clock. I changed the password on my workstation, then converted it using my cipher, noting it in my notebook, before locking it in my top drawer, and locking my workstation after.
I stood and walked to the door of my office, shutting off the light, I stepped out into the empty maze of cubicles and locked my office door behind me before hurrying out to the front door.
On my way I ran into Mister Walder. He stood before me and opened the door for me, “Remember our deal, Sam.” He commented as I walked through.
“I will, Mister Walder.” I replied, then headed out onto the sidewalk, toward the bus stop.
As I passed an alleyway, a figure of darkness hovered in the shadows, faceless, featureless, its voice rasped, “The closet. Check your closet.” When I turned to look, it was gone.
I joined the group of five waiting for the bus, once again keeping my distance.
As the bus arrived with a screech and the hiss of escaping air, I waited for everyone else to board before stepping in and paying.
There was a new driver this time, I felt thankful.
I found a seat on my own, in the back.
The bus hissed, and began to move, much slower than I would have liked.
What had they done to my home?
How had they gotten inside?
I was so careful…
Why did the bus keep stopping?
People getting on.
People getting off.
I needed to be home!
I could feel the impotent rage building inside of me as each stop delayed me another minute.
The traffic only added to my frustration, as swathes of cars clogged the intersections before us.
I needed to be home.
I needed to know.
The red lights hung for ages, like gazing red eyes, staring me down; watching me squirm in my unavoidable discomfort.
And after more than forty minutes, at last the bus turned onto the street with the stop nearest my house.
I pulled the handle as we approached, and the bus screeched to a stop, and hissed.
I rushed down the aisle, bumping through the crowd of commuters. Storming down the stairs, looked both ways before taking off down the street lined with woods at a brisk jog.
Once again, I could hear the rustle of the bushes as something within the thick undergrowth followed me.
I ran straight down the middle of the street, my feet landing on the yellow lines, slapping against the dry asphalt, the setting sun to my back.
What horrors awaited me?
The bushes rustled and slashed about as my pursuer continued along side me, until at last I turned down my driveway, and sprinted past my car, to the side door.
And there, on the welcome mat, was a letter.
An unmarked envelope, square, not like one you’d find at the store. It didn’t have any branding or watermarks. It was a thick, bone colored paper, almost fabric like, with a single, red, circular sticker sealing it shut.
Scrawled on the front in handwritten ink was only, “To Sam.”
I picked it up and pulled open the envelope from the sticker, and a card made of similar material fell out.
I caught it, and upon it, hand written in the same black ink, were the words, “You should have listened.”
I reached up to the door handle. It was unlocked.
The door opened easily.
“Dear god…” I whispered.
The kitchen was dark in the twilight sun, so I flicked on the light.
There was no immediate sign of intruders. Everything was in its place, as I so meticulously ensured every day before bed.
I walked over to the sink and grabbed the kitchen knife from the butcher block.
Why?
I knew I couldn’t fight them…
But it made me feel safe anyway…
I stepped into the living room. The windows all faced east, away from the setting sun, casting the room into darkness.
I reached inside and flipped on the switch.
Again, everything was how it should be.
I walked to the stairs and looked up.
For a moment, I thought I saw a shadow pass the top of the stairs.
I flicked on the light switch at the bottom and began making my way up, the kitchen knife clutched tightly in my hand.
“I’m done playing your games!” I shouted up the stairs.
A rustling came from behind me.
I turned, and thought I saw a shadow pass at the bottom of the stairs towards the front door foyer.
I turned back up and continued to ascend.
At the top, the hallway was dark, having no windows directly connected, and all the doors to the rooms were shut.
I looked to my bedroom door and began to walk toward it, knife held at the ready.
What was it this time?
What punishment had they devised for me?
I reached down for my doorknob, once again it was unlocked.
As I opened the door, I was greeted by a foul smell, and saw flies in the air around my closet.
Not again…
This time INSIDE my house…
I couldn’t keep doing this.
I walked across the room to the closet.
The chair had been moved aside, the door cracked slightly.
In my room, of all places. Not just the sanctity of my home, but my room…
Was nowhere safe?
Was nowhere sacred?
It couldn’t be…
Please don’t let it be…
“Alex…” I whispered as I opened the closet door.
The body was hung from the coat rod by its neck, blood dripping from its mouth and empty eyesockets, and running down its bare arms, droplets falling from the fingertips.
A note was fixed upon its breast, “Next time, it will be Alex.”
I tore the note off the body and threw it to the floor.
“You fuckers!” I screamed, and fell to my knees sobbing. “You motherfuckers. I don’t want to play your games anymore!” I croaked through tears.
I grabbed a rug from the room next door, then lay it out on the floor in front of my closet.
With the butcher knife, I cut the rope that held the body’s neck to the coat rod, and caught it as it fell, slowly lowering it onto the carpet. I could feel the sticky, coagulating blood on my fingertips, and against my cheek, dampening my clothed where the body leaned against me as I placed it down.
I then dragged the rolled up rug down the stairs and out into the back yard.
From inside my shed I grabbed the rusty old shovel, the blade covered in dirt and grime, the wooden handle beginning to splinter, and dragged the carpet out into the woods.
If anyone ever came out here looking…
It was too late for that now.
Too many already lay out here.
I had no way of moving them all.
It was all part of their game. If they wanted them discovered, it would have happened.
They needed this one last ace in the hole, the final punishment, should I ever truly stop playing their games.
I began shoveling next to another dirt mound, no more than ten feet apart.
There were so many now.
Twenty?
Thirty?
I had lost count.
I didn’t want to count.
I shoveled and shoveled, as a chorus of disembodied laughter echoed through the dark woods.
The crunch of dirt.
The sliding of metal over soil.
The crumble as it landed upon the pile.
My back ached from the strain as I dug deeper and deeper, throwing shovelfulls of dirt behind me, as if I could dig my way free of my problems.
At last, it was up to my chest, so I dropped the rug into the hole, and covered it up with the dirt I had just removed.
Blood and dirt clung to my body, and sweat soaked through my shirt, tears stained my cheeks.
I was so tired.
So tired of doing this.
Tired of playing this horrible game.
I walked back to my house slowly, the pains in my soul echoing those in my body.
Who were they?
Some had names.
Some didn’t.
Sometimes they took those I knew.
Sometimes, strangers.
I reached my house, and the side door was still open.
I closed it behind me and began locking all the locks.
But why?
Now I knew… it didn’t help.
I had to…
It felt safe, even if I knew better.
As the last lock slotted into place, I kicked off my muddy boots onto the rubber floor mat, took off my jacket and threw it on the floor beside them.
Foul dirt rained onto the tile floor, a task for tomorrow.
And I headed upstairs to the bathroom.
A shower. I needed a shower.
The light was already on in the bathroom.
Why?
I stepped inside.
Scrawled in soap upon the mirror were the words, “Clean up, Sam. We have more fun planned in the morning. Alex is depending on you.”
I turned on the shower as hot as it would go.
Steam filled the room around me, like a warm blanket of clouds, wrapping itself around me.
I pulled off my jeans and let the warm air dance around my naked body.
Could I finally relax?
I stepped into the water.
The pain of the stinging hot spray felt cleansing.
Burning away my sins and impurities.
Burning away the blood and shame.
I looked at my arm, the rash was receding.
I smiled and breathed a deep sigh, letting myself enjoy this one moment.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s when I felt the darkness.
My eyes shot open again, and the curtain of darkness now surrounded my shower.
“A test!” A chorus of voices chanted together.
“No. Please. Just let me have this moment of peace!” I whimpered, defeated as the hot water turned cold.
Goosebumps shot up my arms.
“For Alex!” The voices chanted.
“Please… what?” Tears welled in my eyes.
“Look down!”
The voices chanted.
I looked down to the floor of the tub, but all that was there was the clean, white plastic of the tub, leading down to the drain.
“What? What am I looking for?”
“The drain.” The voices spoke deeply.
“What about the drain?” I asked, looking at the curtain of darkness around me. I began shivering in the cold water of the shower.
“Touch it!” A higher pitch voice hissed, elated.
“Grasp it!” A deeper voice rumbled.
I bent over, my hand shaking, my vision blurred with tears.
My two fingers sank into the shower drain, and I felt the clog of hair and shower scum squish beneath my fingertips.
“Grasp it!” The deep voice repeated in a growing boom.
I pinched the clump of hair in between my two fingers and thumb, lifting the dripping, slime-covered rat of hair from the drain.
I knew what came next. The tears rolled down my face, as I shook in the cold rain of the shower.
“Eat it.” A third voice commanded from the darkness.
“Please…” I pleaded into the void.
“Alex is depending on you.” The voices echoed together.
“Leave her alone!” I shrieked into the darkness.
“The choice is yours.” The voices answered and a chorus of laughter surrounded me, growing louder and louder as I placed the slimy piece of hair in my mouth.
I was broken.
There was nothing left to do but submit.
As I chewed the flopping, bitter, soapy clump of hair, and felt the strands upon my tongue, I gagged.
“For Alex.” The voices continued, mockingly.
“FUCK YOU!” I screamed, swallowing the lump of hair and soap.
The darkness receded, the lights came back, and the heat came back, burning hot upon my skin, as I wretched into the tub and cried.