anmanarrative

[anmanarrative]

Pastra's Jeff the Killer

Chapter 1: Jay Douglas

Rain poured down on Carpenter’s Landing relentlessly. It was one of the worst storms the town had seen in years, and it showed no signs of stopping. Lightning flashed throughout the sky in massive bursts, with booming thunder following soon after. 

Following yet another long night of drinking alone in his dingy apartment, Jay Douglas tried to sleep despite the storm. Long black curtains covered his window to shield his eyes from the bright flashes that came and went, but he was left defenseless to the explosive sounds that always followed. His digital clock struck two in the morning when one such sound woke him from his deep sleep.

The thunder was louder than before, reverberating through his entire room so loudly he could feel it shaking. The sound startled him awake, shooting up from his bed and swinging out his arms in such a fashion that it knocked over an empty bottle that sat on the nightstand next to him. It fell to the ground loudly, hitting first against the lamp that sat next to it and then rattling against the floorboards, aggravating the hangover he could already feel coming on. 

“Aaaw fuck,” he mumbled to himself as he put his hand to his forehead and stared at the clock next to him. The pain in his head came in short, stinging bursts. It felt like at any moment it might split open. As his hand touched his forehead he could also feel the cold sweat that had collected there. 

That was when he felt the draft. He slowly looked around his room, trying to identify the source of the mild breeze that brushed across his body. The window remained closed, the black curtain over it maintaining its stillness. The old, dusty fan he kept in the far right corner of his room was turned off, just as he left it-

He jumped suddenly at the sight of a dark silhouette in the corner of his room. Quickly, he turned his body over on its side, turning on the lamp next to him. It illuminated the room in an instant, revealing the shadow to be nothing more than the pile of dirty laundry he had let sit there for well over a week now.

“God damnit,” he said to himself, letting out a weak, sarcastic chuckle as he continued to observe his surroundings. The lamp helped him identify the origin of the breeze, with his sights finally locking on the left side of his room. The door was left ajar, slowly pushing open as if something had made contact with it.

This was odd. Jay lived alone and he could have sworn that he closed the door behind him when he got home from work that night. He threw the thin blankets he was covering himself with off his bed, getting up to investigate. He nearly tripped over the bottle left on the floor as he made his way towards the door, cursing to himself as he struggled to regain balance. 

As he made his way to the door, he grabbed ahold of it to stop its movement, peering out into the darkness of his apartment to see what could have caused it to be left open. He turned to the left, being greeted only by the darkness of the hallways before him, then to the right, staring into his living room.

That was when he noticed something else that seemed off. The window to his living room was left wide open, allowing the rain to pour in all over his furniture. The wind pushed around more bottles left on the floor, being heard clinking together faintly.

Jay opened the door fully and made his way out of the room, stopping for a moment to lean against the wall and once again grab at his forehead. The longer he was awake the worse the throbbing in his head got. It felt like someone was grabbing at his brain and squeezing, a sensation that was nearly enough to make him vomit.

He stumbled his way to the window, making an effort not to trip over any of the miscellaneous bottles left about or his coffee table that sat right next to it, covered in burnt cigarette butts and ash. The carpet he had under his couch was drenched, combining with the frigid winds coming through the window to make Jay feel as though he were freezing. He shivered as he used all the energy he had to slam the window closed, and then he stood there for a moment.

Did I open the window when I came home…? He thought to himself, trying and failing to recollect the events that transpired only hours before. Jay came home in a drunken state, barely even able to walk through the door as he made his way to bed. Nights like this were common for him, it was just his way of working through the day to day life that was Carptenter’s Landing. The town wasn’t kind to him, nor the majority of people that made the mistake of calling it home. Sometimes it was easier just to spend the night drinking, hoping you’d forget everything the next morning.

Eventually Jay decided that it was for the best that he just go back to bed, not worrying about whatever it was he got up to hours before. His headache wasn’t going away for a while and the last thing he wanted was to stay awake any longer for it to get worse.

He mustered up the strength to make the short trek back to his room, nearly falling over at one point and using the wall for support. As he arrived there, he practically collapsed onto his bed, not even being bothered to pull his blanket back over himself. Jay tried to drift back to sleep, but that was when he noticed something else that was odd. A smell that now permeated through his room.

Burnt cigarettes. He knew that smell better than any, and it was strong. Not even bothering to open his eyes again, he felt around his bed blindly to see if maybe he had left any out in the open. Nothing. Perhaps if he were completely sober or in less of a tired state, he would have given the smell more thought. But the grogginess of sleep was washing over him once more, and the accompanying headache now felt like a hammer continuously hitting against the front of his skull.

All Jay wanted was to sleep, and so despite his suspicions he soon drifted off once more. He was found dead the next morning.

Chapter 2: Samuel Morgan

The storm from the night prior persisted into the early hours of the morning when Samuel Morgan got the call. Another victim of the Ghost Stalker, found dead in his apartment on Cable Crescent. He was barely awake, shaking off the grogginess as he assured his partner over the phone that he would be there soon. He slowly shuffled his way out of bed, making an effort not to wake his wife who was still fast asleep. 

Samuel made his way to the washroom, inspecting himself in the mirror to see if he was presentable enough to go to the crime scene as he was. The many sleepless nights were not kind to him. His already wrinkled face now had the addition of dark bags that hung low beneath his eyes. His mustache was unkempt, with new gray hairs flecked in alongside the brown. The same could be seen from his hair, with what was left of it shifting to a similar shade from age and stress.

“Good enough,” He mumbled to himself, making no attempt to tidy his appearance before getting ready. He simply slipped into his uniform from the day prior, grabbed whatever quick breakfast meal was left in the fridge for him, and stepped out the door before his wife could wake.

The storm had somehow gotten worse than it was during the night. The sky was stained a deep shade of gray, bringing down cascades of dark water which flooded the streets like a river. Driving to the crime scene was a nightmare in that weather. Samuel had to take several detours due to his usual route being blocked off from flooding, turning a ten minute drive into twenty. By the time he finally got there, paramedics were seen carrying the body out of the dilapidated apartment complex on a large stretcher.

Samuel could see his partner, Norman Keller, waiting outside for him. The kid looked shaken up, as if this were his first crime scene all over again. He nervously paced back and forth in the pouring rain, letting it soak his uniform and drench his black hair that he kept slicked back to keep it out of his eyes.

Lighting a cigarette, Samuel stepped out of his car to do the same song and dance he was used to by now. The moment Norman saw him approaching he immediately broke free from the dissociated trance he was in, calling out to Samuel before he had even gotten across the street.

“What the hell took ya so long?!” He yelled, his arms folding into his chest. Samuel completely ignored this remark as he made his way towards his partner. Up close he could now see that Norman was visibly shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or whatever happened before he’d arrived. Norman went to provide the details of the murder, but got distracted the moment he got a good, proper look at Samuel.

He pulled him aside, keeping his hand on his shoulder as he whispered to him. “Sam, I thought you told your wife you’d quit?” Norman pointed at the cigarette in Samuel’s mouth. The older cop rolled his eyes at the comment, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and stamping it on the ground.

“Norman, does that really matter right now?” Samuel said as he turned back towards the apartment, staring up at the sorry state it was in. The complex, just like every other building on Cable Crescent, looked like it should have been abandoned years ago. The building was one giant, soulless block of concrete with windows shoddily implemented into the sides of it to give the illusion of a proper living space. “Just give me the details, same as the others?” His gaze never broke from the building as he spoke.

Norman shook his head and lightly facepalmed, embarrassed that he even let himself get distracted from what was at hand. “Oh, r-right… Yeah, same as all the others. Caucasian, male, brunette, early twenties. Was found at around five in the morning by his sister who came by to check on ‘em. Poor girl found ‘em in his bed with his throat slashed.” Norman let out a long, exasperated sigh as he finished explaining.

“And what about family? Were you able to get in contact with anyone else?” Samuel asked, continuing the conversation as if he’d had it hundreds of times before.

“Only family we are currently aware of is the sister. No parents we can contact and we’re lookin’ into any friends who may have known ‘em.” Norman said as he now walked in front of Samuel, trying to grab his attention. “It’s definitely our guy. Matches his whole MO to a tee.”

“Witnesses?” Samuel responded, folding his arms as he slowly met his partner’s gaze.

“Nope… Nothing new that can ‘elp us find our guy. Just another victim to add to the list.” As Norman replied, Samuel went to speak but was interrupted as his partner suddenly piped up again, oddly excitedly. “B-but, that doesn’t mean we aren’t getting closa’!”

Samuel looked at Norman confused, raising one of his bushy eyebrows as he spoke. “Uh, yeah Norman… That is exactly what that means,” he said sarcastically.

Norman immediately continued, not letting Samuel’s snide remark stop him. “No no no you don’t get what I mean. See, last night after you went home, I started doin’ a bit of detective work myself! And after a couple hours a’ diggin’ into some old reports and talkin’ to some people, I think we might be able to figure out who our guy is!”

Samuel was surprised by the sudden conviction of his usually immature partner, but also took what he was saying with a grain of salt. Norman was by all intents and purposes, still a rookie. He made reckless decisions that Samuel usually had to clean up after, so hearing this didn’t inspire the awe that Norman had hoped. He tilted his head, waiting for Norman to continue.

“Now I can tell from yer expression that y’skeptical. But trust me, I got somethin’ good here! Last night after you left I got a call from someone claimin’ they had a run in with our guy!” as Norman explained his process he began to pace around in the rain like before, “I talked to them about it and the account they gave me sounded really oddly familiar. Like I’d heard the story before.”

“Please get on with it.” Samuel grumbled as he rubbed his hand against his head.

“I was goin’ to! Ya can’t rush me ‘ere!” Norman responded, raising his voice slightly and moving his hands in an exaggerated fashion. It took him a moment to regain his train of thought before he could continue. “Anyways, I realized after talkin’ to the guy why it sounded so familiar. Couple a guys few months back reported some really similar encounters, and what do ya know, when I decided to do a background check, all a’ these guys had the same description as our killer’s victims. Caucasian, male, brunette, early twenties.”

As he finished explaining, he stopped in his tracks completely, holding his arms in grandiose fashion, waiting for his partner’s approval. Samuel did see the merit in Norman’s research, but also couldn’t help but find himself questioning it. 

“Interesting…” He said quietly, putting his hand to his chin, lost in thought. “And what makes you think this wasn’t a coincidence? Do you have any way of proving these peoples’ stories line up with our killer?”

“Nope!” Norman said with an odd amount of confidence. “And that, my friend, is why I asked them all to come to the station today!”

“You what?” Samuel asked, now more confused than ever. “Why would you ask these people to come to the station with no proof they are even involved in this? You’re just working on a hunch!” As he spoke Samuel sounded more and more exhausted with Norman’s reckless actions, now rubbing his hand against his head as if to fight off a headache.

“Sam, buddy, look. Here’s how I see it. Right now, a hunch is the best thing we have ta’ work with. We’ve got a maniac on the loose and not a single lead as to who he could be. I figured that we could give this a shot! Let these people tell their stories, see if what they describe lines up with our guy, and if so that might give us the info we need!” Norman explained, waving his hands in all different directions as he spoke. 

There was a long pause as Samuel considered what his partner was saying. He ultimately let out a long sigh as he agreed to play along. “Fine. We’ll go to the station and see what they can tell us. But Norman, this better not be a waste of our time-” 

“It won’t be, trust me! I got a good feelin’ about this!” Norman cut off Samuel, already heading back to his car. As he swung the door open he waved to Samuel, shouting to him from a distance. “I’ll see ya back at the station! Don’t be late this time!” And with that he drove off, splashing water from the street everywhere.

Samuel soon followed his partner to the Carpenter’s Landing Police Department, pulling over on the side of the road and stepping out of his car. As he made his way inside he was greeted by Norman, who took him to where the three men were waiting to give their testimonies. Before they entered the room, Samuel voiced some concerns with his partner.

“They haven’t spoken with each other have they? The men you called? I don’t want their stories getting mixed up with each other.” He spoke sternly, making sure Norman understood what he was talking about.

“No they haven’t! Each of ‘em only arrived a little bit ago, and they’re just waitin’ at the front desk to give their testimonies. None of their stories ‘er gonna be jumbled up with each other, it’ll be fine!” Norman reassured his partner, gesturing with his hands for him to calm down. “Now if you wanna wait in there,” he pointed towards the small room they stood in front of, the window revealing an empty white room with a table in the middle, “I can go get our first guy.”

Samuel didn’t say anything else. He simply opened the door and stepped foot into the interview room to await the first of the three witnesses. A few minutes passed by in silence, with Samuel reconsidering even bothering with this when he could be investigating any other leads regarding their killer. Before he could decide to just get up and leave though, Norman arrived with the first of their witnesses.

The man who walked in with him was a tall, larger fellow with brown stubble and a large black hoodie. His head was clean shaven and he had a friendly look to him. He and Samuel shook hands before he took a seat at the table across from the officers. 

“Sam, this here is Bruce Macdonald!” Norman introduced the man now sitting with them, who gave a small, awkward wave in response. 

“I’m told, Bruce, that you had a run in with somebody who may be the guy we are currently looking for. What can you tell us about that night? We want all the details you can provide.” Samuel made sure to speak in a softer tone than his usual speaking voice, to try and make Bruce as comfortable as possible.

“Well uh… I guess I better start with what my buddies and I were doing before anything happened…” Bruce said, trailing off as he began to explain his account of what happened the night he came face to face with death.

Chapter 3: Bruce Macdonald

A couple months ago myself and a few friends went on a week long bender, traveling around the city and getting up to no good. It was something I did far more often than I liked to admit. My buddy Jay in particular enabled this behavior in me, convinced me there was nothing else to do in this city and he needed friends to keep him company while he spiraled out of control.

I don’t remember much from the bender. Most of the time they were just a blur until I would inevitably get dropped off at home, sober up, and then get ready to go on another. What I do remember clear as day though, was the night I was dropped off at my apartment. It was a stormy night like this one, rain flooded the streets so badly that Jay could barely keep his shitbox of a car on the road. Felt like a miracle when he dropped me off at my apartment late that night.

I stumbled my way up the stairs to my floor, tripping over my own feet as I got to the door. I remember being so shitfaced drunk that I could barely even grab a hold of my keys to open the door, only to find out that I had made the stupid mistake of leaving it completely unlocked. I started cursing to myself the second I realized how badly I’d messed up, storming into my house and immediately checking to see if anything was stolen.

I lived in a bad part of town, if you didn’t lock your doors someone was sure to take advantage of that the moment you stepped out of the house. My brother a while back had his whole place robbed just like that. Bunch of guys showed up when he wasn’t around and took practically everything valuable that wasn’t nailed to the floor.

I remember I looked my whole apartment up and down, checking for anything that could have been taken. I looked through my drawers, opened every closet, hell I even looked through my fridge to make sure they didn’t take any food. Maybe it was because I was so intoxicated at the time that everything was kind of a blur, but I remember being shocked to find that to my knowledge, nothing was stolen.

Maybe it was because I didn’t have anything worth stealing, maybe it was because I was just lucky, but either way the panic slowly faded from my system and all I could think about after was food. I wanted to sober up at least a little bit before I headed to bed that night.

I opened my fridge again, grabbing whatever miscellaneous items were in there to make the worst sandwich known to man, when suddenly all the lights inside of it went dark. I knew exactly what that meant, going over to the main light switch to my apartment and flicking it up and down. No lights.

The part of town I lived in was known for having shitty electricity so it was no surprise that the storm took out the power. I just let out an exhausted sigh and continued throwing together my “delicious” mustard and cheese sandwich, ate it surprisingly fast for how awful it tasted, and made my way to bed. 

I was quick to fall asleep. The rain outside was oddly soothing and the alcohol running through my system had me feeling tired already. I would have slept like a log that night if not for the stench that woke me up only hours later.

It was three in the morning when I shot awake, sitting up in my bed in a cold sweat. The smell filled my entire room. The rancid smell of burnt cigarettes and gasoline. At first I thought there had somehow been a fire, but when I frantically looked around the room it was too dark to be able to see anything. I blindly felt around the nightstand next to me for my phone, turning on the flashlight with what little battery it had left.

That was when I saw something that I still remember clear as day, even in the dark of my room, even despite the grogginess and intoxication I was fighting off at the time. A hand. A hand that for but a moment was revealed sticking out from under my bed. A hand which quickly retreated back into the darkness the moment the light of my flashlight revealed it. I froze there for a moment, staring down at the floor in a surreal form of terror I had never felt before.

I couldn’t tell if the man under my bed knew I had seen him or not, but regardless I pretended I hadn’t. I moved the light around my room with trembling hands as I tried to identify anything else that was wrong. Nothing. The smell was coming from him, it had to be.

I tried my hardest to think of what to do in the situation. I had to get out of that room but I didn’t want the intruder to know I was aware of his presence. Best I could think to do was play it off like I had woken up needing to use the washroom. I slowly shuffled my way to the foot of my bed, letting out a fake, tired yawn, and spoke under my breath something along the lines of “man I gotta piss.”

I then tried to stand up and make my way towards the door, using my phone’s flashlight to ensure I didn’t trip over anything in the dark. As I grabbed onto the doorknob, carefully turning it so as to not look as though I was in a rush, I heard something that made my blood run cold. The sound of shuffling behind me, and a raspy, whispering voice that spoke to me from under my bed.

“Where are you going?” He said to me, as I quickly turned around with the flashlight to reveal the source of the sound. The man was now climbing out from under my bed, struggling to pull himself out as his eyes locked onto mine. In that moment I could make out all the ghastly details of his face.

He was pale, pale as a ghost. His skin looked like rough leather, and a disgusting, unnatural smile crept across his face all the way up to his eyes. It looked so painful, almost like his true smile stopped at a certain point and roughly transitioned into large, infected wounds that held the shape of it. His eyes were no better. Wide and bloodshot, with dark black rings stained around them. Hair clung to his head in patches, with what was there being long, black, greasy strands that went down to his shoulders. As he struggled to pull himself out from under my bed I could see what he was wearing. A filthy white hoodie, covered in what looked like dirt and dried, dark blood. 

My phone battery died mere seconds after revealing the man, giving me only a brief glance at him before I was left to fend for myself in complete and total darkness. My fight or flight response kicked in. I let out a horrible scream, throwing my door open and sprinting through my apartment as fast as my weak legs to take me. I ran into my living room, tripping over the side of my couch and falling to the floor in the pitch black darkness.

I lied there for a moment, trying to regain my composure when I heard the sound of wet footsteps closing in behind me. That gave me enough adrenaline to get back up, booking it for the door and slamming it closed behind me.

I remember running down the halls of my apartment, slamming on the doors of my neighbors and screaming for help. Eventually one of them opened their door, a guy about my age who tried to calm me down. He asked what was wrong and I told him that someone had broken into my home. His face went pale, and he beckoned me inside, pulling out his cell phone to call the police.

It wasn’t long before officers arrived and searched the entire premises. They couldn’t find any intruders. It seemed like the man had slipped out in the time it took for them to get there. They asked me a couple of questions, finding empty beer bottles and tobacco around my house. I assured them that he was there, and that I had no idea who he was.

After that night I was paranoid. I never left the house and kept everything locked at all times. I remember my buddy Jay tried calling me to go out but I kept ignoring him, scared that if I left that man would find a way back into my house while I was away. Eventually he stopped talking to me, choosing to continue our destructive habits alone.

Months later I ended up going to rehab. The whole experience kinda scared me straight in a weird way. Seeing someone like that in my house, being that close to potentially dying, it put the state of my life into perspective in a way I never thought it would. Anytime I think about going back to my old habits now, whether it be weed or alcohol, I just think about that face staring at me from the dark and it makes me think twice. I just hope my buddy is doing alright now without me.

Anyways, the reason I came in here to talk to you two is because I’ve been hearing about the murders going on. About how this guy shows up at night and kills people in their sleep. Every time I hear someone bring it up I just can’t help but think it’s the same guy I saw that night. I hope my story helps make finding him easier. Nobody should have to go through what I did that night.

With his story finished, Bruce Macdonald let out a long, exhausted sigh. Samuel could see a great deal of relief all over the man’s face, and for a moment he broke from his “tough cop” demeanor to give him a soft smile. Norman looked over at Samuel with concern, his eyes wide since the mention of who the two assumed to be Jay Douglas. Samuel met his partner’s gaze knowingly, quietly shaking his head and hoping that Norman would get the hint not to tell the man in front of them what happened to his friend.

“Thank you, Bruce.” Samuel said with a light nod. “Your story helps us a lot with this investigation. And don’t worry, we promise that this man will be caught.”

Bruce gave Samuel the same soft smile as Norman stood to escort him out of the room. As Bruce made his way down the hall, he passed someone who appeared to be making their way to the same room he was interviewed. A smaller individual, with a skinnier build and dark bags under their eyes. Their brown hair was cut short and they wore a worn out t-shirt and jeans.

As the two passed one another, Bruce gave a small wave to the stranger. They simply passed him by with no regard, and walked into the interview room to give their own testimony.

Chapter 4: Ashley Carter

My name is Ashley Carter. I was born and raised in Carptenter’s Landing, unfortunately. Life wasn’t exactly easy for me growing up. My older brother was a deadbeat and my parents both ended up leaving us at some point when I was still young, so I had to spend the better part of my life putting up with that day by day.

I tried not to let those experiences bring me down a similar path though, you know? I saw what it brought my brother and I wanted to be better. That was why instead of getting into drugs and alcohol like every other person who lives here I tried to make the best of my situation. I did well in school, saved what little money I had, and I have been studying law at the Tremblay Community College for the last couple years now. If all goes well, I’ll be out of this town as soon as I graduate.

All that to say, my story actually started at my college campus. I was up late one night working on a project. I was studying the Woods family homicide that happened a couple years back, and completely lost track of time. The sun was setting by the time I’d noticed how long I was there. Looking at the time, I figured I’d worked hard enough and could make my way home to spend the rest of the night relaxing.

I lived close to campus, only about ten minutes away at the longest, so usually I just chose to walk instead of taking the bus or driving. That night was no different. I must’ve been halfway to my house by the time the street lights began turning on one by one around me. Each of them flickered to life pathetically, with some of them glowing dully and others burning out completely as I passed them by. 

It was as these lights began to illuminate the streets that I  noticed him following me. This guy in a white hoodie who walked on the sidewalk parallel to me. I didn’t see him until one of the lights above revealed him walking at an equal pace to mine. At first I didn’t pay him any mind. I saw plenty of guys like him on my walks home and some of them had even approached me before asking for things like spare change.

That was why I wasn’t as alarmed as I should have been when he began to make his way to my side of the sidewalk. I saw him take a sharp turn onto the middle of the street, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head low. With the closer look I now had at the guy I could see he was also wearing a white medical mask over his face that concealed most of his features. I was a bit worried by his quick approach, but rather than running or making a scene I simply called out to him.

“Hey! Can I help you man?” I shouted. The words caused him to freeze up completely, like a deer in headlights. He stood there in the middle of the street for a few seconds, until slowly tilting his head up to meet my gaze. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. I couldn’t tell if he looked high or completely insane. 

The moment we made eye contact his demeanor shifted into something completely different. Instead of quickly approaching like before, he now slowly and methodically advanced towards me with his entire body hunched over. With each step he put all of his weight onto one of his feet, and the entire time he never broke eye contact with me. Any time I would step back or move suddenly in any way, he would freeze up momentarily and begin sizing me up like a predator stalking its prey.

At this point I was thoroughly freaked out. I didn’t know what the guy wanted, and nobody was out there that night that could see what was going on. I started weighing my options. I worried that if I stayed there he would try to mug me or something, but I also feared that if I suddenly ran away he would give chase. 

You may think I am an idiot for deciding to do so, but in the moment I just decided to stand my ground and find out what this guy wanted from me. He continued his slow, animal-like advances until he was standing about three feet from me, still remaining in the middle of the road.

With how close he was, I could catch the scent of something burnt coming off of him. Like scorched hair and oil. It was foul and almost made me gag. I tried stepping back from him, folding my arms and trying to keep my distance. He stared at me like a curious child, tilting his head and eyeing me up with those wide, bloodshot eyes. I went to speak to him again, but he cut me off as he spoke in a low, raspy whisper.

“I finally found you.” He murmured. There was this shaky, excitement in his tone that freaked me out even more than I already was.

“W-what are you talking about? I don’t know you, man.” I responded, taking another step away from him. I had never seen this guy in my entire life, to this day I have no idea what he was talking about. But he persisted, and seemed almost offended by what I’d said to him.

“Y-yes, you do. How could you not recognize me? Is it because of the mask?” He continued to whisper, his voice trembling. As he spoke, he pulled one of his dirty hands from his pocket and removed the medical mask covering his face. I gagged at the sight of him.

His face was pale and covered in thick, yellow blisters that went along his cheeks and mouth, which was contorted into an uncomfortable, red smile. Yellow, crooked teeth lined his sore ridden mouth, and I could see bits of blood running from his gums all the way down his lip and chin. He had long, black greasy hair which ran down to his shoulders and partially over his face, now obscuring his large, bloodshot eyes. He looked like someone had splashed his face with acid.

When he saw my visceral reaction to his face, that bloody smile of his somehow grew wider, now stretching ear to ear. It looked so painful. I continued to walk backwards, raising my hand in front of me to keep the distance between us. I could barely speak when I choked the words “stay back” out of my mouth. He let out this small, childish giggle as if he enjoyed every second of our encounter.

“Oh come on now. That’s no way to look at your brother. What would mom and dad think?” He asked me, his voice now raising as he began advancing towards me again with that same hunched posture. I had no idea what he was talking about. This man was not my brother, I had never seen him before.

Before I had time to question him about this though, he pulled his other hand from his sweater pocket, revealing a used hunting knife that was covered in dried, crusty blood. He raised it towards me, tilting his head with that same childlike demeanor he’d previously shown, but before he could swing it at me I turned and ran down the street faster than I had ever run in my entire life. 

I could hear him give chase behind me, gaining on me as I bolted down the road. I screamed for help but nobody came, just as I’d feared. I was alone out there while that maniac hunted me down.

The one thing that kept me going aside from the adrenaline pumping through my veins was the promise that I could get to my house if I just kept running. It was closeby, I knew the route and it was only a couple minutes away when walking. If I just kept going at the pace I was, I would make it before he caught up to me. 

I continued to run, never once looking behind me. My throat burned with a searing pain, I could feel my legs giving way, but I kept going until I arrived at my house. As I made my way up the steps of the front porch, I swung the door open, turning to look behind me only to see…. Nothing.

He was completely gone. That didn’t stop me from running into my house, slamming the door behind me and locking it as quickly as I could. Not long after I called the police and reported the entire thing. I was told that they would look for the man who attacked me, but it didn’t seem like anything had come from it. 

I never did see him again, but I have spent every single night after fearing that I will. I refuse to stay on campus during those late hours anymore, only ever leaving on the community buses where I know large groups of people will be gathered. At night I never feel safe anymore. Any small sound I may hear makes me jump out of my own skin, and I always see that hideous face staring back at me when I close my eyes to sleep at night.

If the person you’re looking for is the same guy who attacked me that night, I hope to god you catch him. Not just to stop these murders, but to give me some peace of mind. I don’t want to spend every day of my life looking over my shoulder, thinking some boogeyman is hiding in the dark.

Samuel could see that Ashley was shaking as they finished their testimony. The poor kid was scared out of their mind, even when recounting an old story. He tried to the best of his ability to give them some form of comfort, leaning forward on the table with his elbows as he spoke.

“Ashley. I promise you, my partner and I will find this man. You don’t have to be afraid of him, I’ll make sure of it.” He said solemnly. Ashley seemed to calm down upon hearing those words. The shaking stopped and he took a long, deep breath.

“Thank you,” was all Ashley said in response as they pushed their chair out and left the room before Norman could even see them out.

Ashley left the police department soon after, going out to the front desk just as the next witness stood from his chair. The man was tall and built. He had long, fluffy brown hair and very distinguished, chiseled features. As Ashley tried to pass him by, the man spoke to them.

“You saw him too, right?” He said, grabbing Ashley’s attention. Ashley turned to the man, staring up at him and meeting his eyes. Despite how large the man was, when Ashley looked into his eyes they saw the same fear they’d felt, and knew they had both encountered the same boogeyman.

“Yeah, I did.” Ashley muttered before catching themself. “But they’ll catch him. I know they will.” With that, Ashley turned and left the building, letting the man make his way to the interview room to give his own testimony.

Chapter 5: Jonathan West

Every year my wife, Sherry, and I made an effort to get out of town one way or another once the summer rolled around. Our trips were never anything extravagant, usually just heading one city over to visit some family or taking a short hike, but they were enough for the two of us. Life here was hard, and any excuse we had to get away from it all for a little bit was good enough for us.

This year was no different. About a month back we planned out this big hiking trip in a forest near town. We would hike along whatever path we could, taking in all the sights of nature, and then when we were done we’d set up camp for the night and just enjoy each others’ company by the campfire.

I remember how excited the two of us were when we finally made that drive. We were joking along with each other, Sherry excitedly pointing to everywhere she wanted to visit on this map that she brought along, all the while the concrete pillars of Carpenter’s Landing got smaller and smaller in our rear view mirror. It was going to be perfect. At least that’s what we thought.

By the time we arrived at the forest clearing, the sun was already setting. We’d left late in the day, wanting to spend our first night relaxing far from the polluted air and bright lights that poisoned our lives day by day. A quiet night in the wilderness, holding each other close as the warmth of the fire flickered calmly.

We parked our car close to the forest entrance, unpacking what felt like hundreds of supplies for every situation. My wife is a worrier, she would usually plan ahead for every possible issue we’d come across no matter how small. I wasn’t exactly complaining about it, but it certainly made that first night far more exhausting than we’d ever planned.

We lugged our gear along a dirt path left behind for hikers like ourselves, making an effort to avoid any branches or shrubbery that would make us topple over and drop everything along the forest floor. Even with the path we took the forest was dense. Large oak trees surrounded us around every corner, with shrubs and other plantlife huddled beneath them, making the forest a nightmare to navigate without a map on hand. 

Combine that with the darkness that was quickly overtaking the woods, and we could barely make out where we were going. Only reason we found the clearing we were looking for was because Sherry lit the way with this large flashlight she brought, making sure to guide me as I did most of the heavy lifting with our gear.

When we got to the clearing, I immediately got to work setting up this cheap little tent we brought while my wife gathered wood and set up a fire for us. As soon as both of us were done with our tedious tasks, we both collapsed by the fire and just laid there for a while. If the story ended here then I would have remembered it as being a perfect night. Sure the trek was difficult but it was well worth it just to have those few short moments of quiet. Laying by the fire, staring up at the stars through the trees, holding the love of my life in my arms. 

But of course, it didn’t stay that way for long. As the two of us laid there, enjoying the calm sounds of the fire, the silence was suddenly broken by a loud, shrill scream being heard deep within the forest. It was a single scream, sounded like a young man. It echoed out loudly before the woods returned to that same silence we grew accustomed to in an instant. I remember Sherry and I just stared at each other for a moment in shock, clearly trying to make heads or tails of what we’d just heard.

And then another scream shattered the quiet once more, this one sounding more strained and painful than before, until abruptly stopping just as quickly as it began. Silence once more. At this point Sherry was freaking out in my arms, trembling and begging for us to leave. I tried to calm her down to no avail, when we heard another sound, this one closer than the screams ever were. The sound of soft footsteps closing in on our campsite. 

I wasted no time ushering Sherry into the tent the moment I heard the sound. We had no idea what was out there, and I wasn’t about to find out standing out in the open. We sat in that tent in near perfect silence, my wife shaking in my arms and me trying my hardest to keep both of us calm. 

The footsteps grew nearer and nearer until they were right outside our tent, and then they suddenly stopped. The fire outside illuminated the figure, casting its shadow overtop the translucent tent and revealing to us what it was. A man. A tall man that looked to be wearing baggy clothes, now just standing outside the tent like a statue. I could hear him start mumbling something to himself out there, and his shadow began swaying back and forth.

He stood out there for what felt like an eternity, whispering to nobody like he was in some kind of catatonic state. Eventually I had enough of it. I rummaged around in our tent for some kind of weapon, settling on a hunting knife we had brought. As I went to open the tent, Sherry grabbed at my shirt sleeve, mouthing the words “no” to me over and over, but I assured her I would be ok, and slowly unzipped the tent to get a better look at the man outside.

I peered my head out of the small entrance I created, just enough to be able to see him. He was facing away from our tent, staring deeply into the campfire as he continued his quiet rambling. He wore a large, baggy white hoodie and black cargo pants. The hoodie was filthy, covered in all kinds of dirt, grime, and most strikingly, what looked like blood. The same blood could be seen running through his dark hair and all over his hands which tightly clutched his shoulders as if he were cold.

The light from the fire reflected off the blood stains, creating a glare which told me it was fresh. My mind began to race with all the horrible implications of his appearance. What were those screams we heard? Did he… did he kill someone before arriving here? Before I had long to think about it, I caught something the man said while transfixed by the fire. Something I could actually make out between the gibberish he was speaking in.

“There’s…” he said in his raspy, shrill voice, “There’s been a fire… Get- get mom and dad….” I had no idea what he was talking about, but hearing him speak properly was enough to snap me out of the confused state I was in and step out of the tent, now holding the hunting knife in my right hand for him to see.

“Hey!” I said to him sternly. “What the fuck do you want?” I tried to make myself as imposing as possible to this man despite my fear. I puffed out my chest and spoke as confidently as I could, but even then it was clear that the encounter had me shaken up.

When he heard my words his head suddenly snapped in my direction, making immediate eye contact with me. One look at his face was enough for all my fake bravado to shatter. 

He looked burnt, badly burnt. His face was scarred and misshapen, with a large burn mark creeping up his cheek towards his left eye which looked to be blind. At first glance it looked like half of a large, painful smile. He was missing almost all of his hair on the left side of his head as well, with what was still there barely clinging to his scalp in small black patches. The other side of his face would have looked fine by comparison, if not for the blood that covered it almost completely.

I stepped back at the sight of him, my heart sinking to my stomach and my breaths becoming sporadic. The moment he saw me a flash of recognition suddenly appeared on his face, breaking him free from the strange trance he was in.

“Is that you?” He asked me in an excited voice. “I can’t believe you’re here! I finally found you!” As he said those words to me, he opened his arms and began to slowly walk towards me, his hands and arms still dripping with that fresh, thick blood. I didn’t know what he wanted or who he thought I was, but I wasn’t having any of it. I took one step back and firmly planted my feet into the dirt, pointing the hunting knife at him as I shouted.

“Get the hell away from me you freak! You take one step closer and I’ll kill you!” That time I meant it. I was not about to let this guy get anywhere close to me or my wife, no matter how scared I was. The moment he heard those words something about his demeanor changed. He looked shocked, his eyes going wide and bloodshot and his arms slowly lowering.

“H-how could you say that to me…?” He whispered, tears beginning to roll down his face. That was when I saw him reach into his pocket and pull out an old box cutter, covered in the same blood as his hands and sweater. He suddenly hunched forward, and lunged at me faster than I ever could have expected from a man his size. He tackled me to the ground, raising the box cutter above his head and preparing to swing down at me. In that instant I acted fast, stabbing him in the side of the torso with the hunting knife and kicking him off of me as he screamed in pain.

He barreled backwards into the campfire, his hoodie catching on fire as he tried to regain his composure. I screamed for Sherry to run, and soon after her and I were bolting through the dark forest together, tripping over branches and shrubbery but continuing forward regardless. That moment, running through the dark of the woods, knowing that maniac may be trailing behind us, was the most scared I have ever been in my entire life.

My mind was racing, my eyes darted in every direction, mistaking the shapes of the oak trees around us for the man. It felt like a miracle when we saw the moonlight piercing through the trees, revealing the forest exit to us. We got to our car, and I frantically rummaged through my pockets trying to get my hands on the keys. I constantly checked behind myself, making sure he didn’t follow us. The man was nowhere to be seen.

When I got my hands on the keys, I opened the doors to our car and next thing you know my wife and I floored it out of there. I remember that ride home so vividly. The sobbing, the arguing about what to do next, the questioning about who that man was and what he wanted, it was the worst night of my entire life.

After we got home I called the cops and reported the whole thing. I remember I was told that they’d check the forest out to try and find any bodies, but I don’t think anything came of it. Ever since then things have been different between my wife and I. I’ve tried to help her work through what we experienced, but she’s become so paranoid ever since that she barely even wants to leave the house. It’s gotten especially bad now that word has gotten out about “The Ghost Stalker” or whatever else people are calling him. She is absolutely convinced the guy we saw that night and the killer you’re looking for are the same guy.

That’s why I am here. I hope that by telling you this, maybe you’ll be able to piece things together and catch him. I want that more than anything, for the victims, and so Sherry doesn’t have to be afraid to leave the house anymore. I just wanna see her happy again. 

As Jonathan finished giving his account, tears ran down his face and his head hung low. Norman glanced over at his partner, clearly unequipped to deal with this kind of situation. Samuel caught his glance, taking in a deep breath before saying “don’t worry Jonathan, we will catch him. No matter what, I promise you we will.”

Jonathan lifted his head to look at Samuel, sniffling and saying “thank you” before standing up and getting ready to leave. “Will that be all? I gotta make sure I get home before Sherry starts to worry.” He asked, pointing to the door. Samuel and Norman both nodded, and Jonathan left with newfound hope that the man who attacked him and his wife that night would be brought to justice.

Chapter 6: Norman Keller

With all the witnesses having provided their testimonies, Norman and Samuel were left in the interview room to stew over everything they were told. The accounts of each witness only left them with more questions about their killer than when they began. Samuel sat at the table, his head resting in his hands as he pondered every possibility. Meanwhile, Norman paced back and forth, talking out loud to himself much to his partner’s dismay.

“So we can at least agree they all encountered the same guy, right? I-I mean, the descriptions were a bit off but… But they were close enough that there is no way this wasn’t the same guy, right?” Norman asked, taking a brief pause from his pacing and turning to Samuel for reassurance. Samuel simply let out an affirmative grunt, nodding his head slowly.

“The stories had more in common than just his appearance too.” Samuel added, now resting his hands on the table and leaning back in his chair. “This stalker behaves just like our killer does. Follows his victims at night, chooses them wisely too it seems-” before Samuel could finish his sentence, Norman cut him off, thinking aloud once more.

“Yeah what is up with that?! Guy acted like those last two witnesses were part of his family or somethin’, and he clearly wasn’t just toyin’ with ‘em either! No, no he really believed it from the way they explained it.” Norman began making large gestures with his hands, as if trying to paint a picture in the air to illustrate his point and failing.

“I noticed that too. Makes the patterns with his victims make more sense when we look at it that way. Perhaps he is looking for one specific person he can’t find? Someone who matches the victim’s descriptions that he could mistaken them for. A family member, or a close friend?” Samuel continued, now sharing his thoughts more closely with his partner as they worked things out. 

“An’ what about all that mention of fire? First two guys said that he reeked of oil or burnt cigarettes or whatever, and the third guy mentioned that fire. What is that guys’ deal with…” Before Norman could finish his thought, he suddenly paused, a flash of recognition appearing on his face as his eyes widened. “Hold on, w-wait a minute!” 

Samuel stared at his partner confused, raising one of his eyebrows as he waited with baited breath to hear him continue. He gestured towards him, twirling his hand as he said “well come on now, spit it out!”

“W-what was it that Ashley person said they were studyin’ at the Tremblay Community College?” Norman said quickly, pointing at his partner and waiting for him to answer like he was on some kind of bizarre game show. Samuel pondered it for a moment, playing out the story in his mind again before he remembered, chiming in.

“The Woods family homicide? Why does that matter?” Samuel folded his arms, confused but willing to hear out whatever it was Norman would say.

“Ok ok, so. I remember a few years back when that murder happened. Was treated like a big deal back here at the station. I didn’t get to investigate it or nothin’ since I was new, but a lot of the other guys ‘round here let me in on some of the little details of it.” Norman explained, beginning to walk in circles as he explained, keeping eye contact with the floor. “Apparently some kid named Jeffrey and his family moved to Carpenter’s Landing after this big fire at their old place. This Jeffrey kid was bad news Sam, a real black sheep in the family. I was told he completely snapped after being bullied by a couple a’ kids and tried to kill his whole family.”

Samuel never spoke up, letting his partner explain. He normally hated it when Norman went on these massive tangents, but for once he really felt like he was going somewhere. He could tell from confidence in his partner’s voice.

“Either way, long story short, Jeffrey ended up killin’ his mom, but his younger brotha’ Liu ended up gettin’ away! By the time police arrived, they found gasoline cans in Jeff’s closet, but he was nowhere to be seen. They looked for ‘em for a while, but it was like he vanished completely!” Norman suddenly stopped in his tracks, waiting for Samuel’s thoughts.

“So let me get this straight. You think that-” Samuel tried to humor his partner, but paid the price as he was interrupted once more.

“That Jeffrey Woods might be our guy, and he wants to finish the job by findin’ and killin’ his brotha’ once and for all!” Norman held his head high as the words came out of his mouth. Samuel had never seen him so proud.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Norman, but how can we be so sure? I mean, you’re assuming a lot here.” Samuel said, trying not to burst his partner’s bubble completely while also being the more realistic of the two.

“Oh come on don’t give me that, Sam! Think about it! The obsession with family, the burning smell, the fire, it all adds up too well! If our guy really is Jeffrey Woods, we’d be catching the Ghost Stalker and we’d be solving a cold case, it’d be two bird with one stone!” Norman was trying now more than ever to convince Samuel of his logic. He had no proof yet, only vague theories, but deep down he knew he was onto something with this. Samuel could see that, and despite his skepticism he relented.

“Fine, I’ll play along. I’ll do some digging on this and see what I can find about it.” Samuel responded, a light smile across his face as he folded his arms. He could see the joy on Norman’s face when he agreed. This was the first time that Norman did most of the heavy lifting in a case like this, and Samuel could tell that he was living for every second of it.

“A-alrighty then! I-I’ll start doing some research myself then! See what I can find!” Norman said excitedly, and the two left the room to begin their own respective detective work.

A few hours passed at the station, with Norman conducting his own research on one of the six communal computers left at the office for times like this. He was completely absorbed in his work, typing away and looking into every document he could find pertaining to the Woods family homicide, when he suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. He quickly turned around to see Samuel standing next to him, a large file in his hand.

“So, I did some digging like you asked.” Samuel said, placing the file on the desk next to Norman. “And I think you’re gonna like what I found.” Samuel gestured to the file, nodding his head as if he waited for Norman to open it.

Norman excitedly flipped the file open, instantly being greeted to something that gave him all the confirmation he needed about his theory. A photo of  Liu Woods. The boy looked to be in about his twenties. He had long brown hair that went down to his shoulders, and sported a pair of square glasses overtop his large, brown eyes. 

“Sam, he looks just like ‘em! I told you I was onto somethin’!” Norman looked up at Samuel, expecting another one of his remarks, but only saw his partner staring down at him, arms folded with a large grin across his face.

“You sure did. Good work kid, this is the best lead we’ve had yet. I did some extra digging on this Liu kid. Turns out after the murders took place he went to live with his aunt for a while, and moved into an apartment in town once he was old enough for it. I’ve got an address.” Samuel said, the smile he had never fading from his face. It wasn’t often that Norman saw his partner so proud of his deductive skills. It made him more excited about the revelation than he ever was before.

“Well what the hell are we waitin’ for then?” Norman replied in a hurry, grabbing his coat and putting it on clumsily as he stepped out the door to their car. Samuel followed slowly behind, letting out a chuckle and shaking his head at his partner’s excitement.

As the two of them stepped into their car, they noticed that the rain outside was finally coming to a stop after hours of relentlessly flooding the streets. The water now weakly ran down the pavement, finding its way into whatever pothole it could and draining away to nothing in small whirlpools. The car ride passed in an excited quiet, with the two officers believing themselves to have found a lead that would bring them one step closer to stopping the killings of the Ghost Stalker once and for all.

The car ride eventually came to a stop as they arrived at their destination. A large apartment complex located on Great Mandy Street. The apartment was like most other buildings the two had seen in Carpenter’s Landing, a great pillar of old, worn stone that tried its hardest to imitate the comfortable living spaces seen in other cities. Graffiti lined the walls at the side of the building, depicting many colorful pieces of imagery that starkly contrasted the deep grays that made up the entire town.

The two officers stepped out of their vehicle quietly, staring up at the building as Samuel pulled out a note he left for himself to remember which room they were going to. And so, they walked together to the apartment complex, ready to talk with the person who may bring them one step closer to catching their killer.

Chapter 7: Liu Woods

Liu Woods woke from another restless sleep to the sound of knocking at his door. He didn’t know what time it was, but could tell from the sunlight attempting to peek through his curtains that he was awake too early. He slowly sat up in his mattress, trying his hardest to keep himself awake as he listened intently. The knocking continued, with three more heavy slams coming to his door. 

Liu scrambled off of the mattress he kept on the floor, trampling over several empty wrappers and bottles that had amassed around it. To keep his balance, he leaned against the rickety wooden door of his closet before standing up straight. He reached under his yellow, stained pillow and pulled out a small switchblade he had kept under it for safekeeping. He stared at the knife for a moment, clutching it so tightly he could feel his hand trembling. He came for me during the day he thought to himself, playing out every single possibility of what would happen the moment he opened the door.

He stayed like that for a while, only breaking from the trance when the sounds of the door knocking outside returned quickly and loudly. Struggling to get to his feet, Liu slowly crept across his dingy apartment with the knife behind his back. As he arrived at the door, he put his back to it and gazed out the peephole, only to see two officers standing outside.

The officer who appeared to be the one knocking was an older man. His face was square and rugged, with large bags drooping beneath his eyes and a poorly maintained mustache across his top lip, littered with gray hairs that showed his age. 

The officer next to him looked like a child by comparison. He was thin and clean shaven, his large blue eyes showing a youthful enthusiasm that his older partner lacked. He had longer, black hair which looked to be slicked back.

When Liu got a good look at the officers, he let out a long sigh of relief, putting the knife on his kitchen island and speaking to them from the other side of the door.

“H-hello? Who is out there?” He said in a weak, scared voice. There was a pause outside, with the two officers being heard saying something to each other quietly. Liu couldn’t quite make out what they were discussing before the older man spoke up.

“We’re with the CLPD. We’re here to ask you a few questions about your brother.” The officer said in a stern voice. The mention of his brother filled Liu with dread. He caught himself shaking again, and began taking long, deep breaths in four second intervals to try and calm himself down. Eventually he built up the courage to reply.

“Y-you finally found him?” Liu asked, barely able to hide his own excitement at the possibility the nightmare he was living through would be over. There was a long pause outside again, with the officers being heard speaking amongst themselves once more before the younger man spoke up.

“No, we haven’t found ‘em, that’s actually why we’re here. We were hopin’ you could help us.” He replied. Liu was now confused. He thought he’d told the police everything they’d needed to know years ago about his brother. Why were they back now? What could they possibly need to know? The questions sent his mind racing, fixating on every tiny detail that could be missing until one of the voices from outside interrupted his mental spiral.

“Are you still there?” The older man said, starting to sound concerned. Liu snapped out of it, and pulled the door open a small crack, showing himself to the officers. The moment the door opened he could see the sudden looks of shock that were displayed across their faces. The officers’ eyes went wide and Liu swore he saw the younger one’s jaw drop at the sight of him. It was the first time anyone had seen him in a while. Liu rarely left home, and in those countless hours he spent laying around, waiting for his brothers’ return he barely took care of himself. 

His long brown hair was matted and greasy, his eyes drooped down with deep, purple bags hanging low beneath them from the countless nights spent awake, and he wore the same green t-shirt for countless nights on end, not even mustering the mental strength needed to change. It was no wonder the two officers looked so shocked. 

The older cop was the first of the two to actually speak up, with his younger partner still trying to find the words. He simply asked for the two of them to come inside, to which Liu agreed, opening the door completely. Their shocked reactions to Liu’s appearance extended to that of his home, which with the lights on looked nothing like a proper living space.

The apartment was practically empty, with barely any furniture in sight aside from a worn out, used couch that looked like a hand me down of a hand me down. The floor was covered in all sorts of garbage and unwashed laundry, all of which the two officers made an effort not to step over in a strange attempt to be courteous. 

Liu turned over to them, awkwardly grabbing onto his left arm and saying “sorry about the mess,” in an almost sarcastic tone before taking a seat on his couch. The entire couch let out a loud creaking sound, as if the sudden weight put onto it would cause the entire thing to shatter. The two officers looked around for any kind of chairs they could seat themselves with, and upon noticing that the couch was their only option, chose to continue standing as they spoke to Liu. The older officer spoke first, properly introducing himself.

“Liu Woods, my name is Samuel Morgan. This here is my partner Norman Keller,” The younger one, Norman, gave a small, sad wave as his name was mentioned. “We’re sorry to disturb uh… Whatever it is you have going on here, but we were hoping to ask you a few questions about your brother.”

Liu looked up at Samuel, and asked him “I thought I already told your guys everything years ago. You promised me you’d find him, and then you told me time and time again that you were still looking. What more could you possibly have to ask?” As Liu asked the question, he saw the two officers shoot each other concerned glances before Norman spoke up.

“You uh, haven’t been keepin’ up with the news at all, have you?” Norman asked, scratching at the back of his head and avoiding eye contact. Liu looked confused between the two officers. He had no idea what they were trying to imply. He’d spent months isolating himself, only ever leaving his home when it was absolutely necessary. The fear of being followed was too great. In that time he barely kept up with anything, viewing it all as a distraction that could let his guard down.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, feeling the shaking sensation flush over his entire body once more. “W-what’s happened?”

There was another pause where the officers looked at each other as if quietly deciding who would break the news, before Samuel continued.

“There’s been a string of murders that have taken place over the last month, Liu. All men who have a similar description to yourself. My partner and I have strong suspicions that the culprit is your brother, Jeffrey Woods.”

Anxiety flooded through Liu’s body at the mere mention of his name. His legs curled into his chest, and he began violently hyperventilating there on the couch. The two officers walked forward, trying their hardest to calm Liu down, but at that moment he couldn’t even hear them. Their voices turned to white noise and Liu’s vision became blurred. Jeff is back. people are dying. It’s all my fault. Why? Why did I have to survive, if I’d just died that night then none of this would have-

Liu’s thoughts were interrupted as Samuel grabbed him by the shoulders, bringing him back to his senses. “Hey,” He said in a surprisingly soft, concerned voice, “You’re going to be ok. We’ll protect you. If this killer is your brother we promise we’ll-” Samuel tried to continue to reassure Liu, but was cut off.

“How did you find them?” Liu asked, staring down at the ground as he spoke. “The victims. How were they killed?”

“They were all killed in the middle a’ the night.” Norman said, “most found with their throats slashed. We spoke to a couple a’ witnesses, all of ‘em claimed our guy was a pale man in a white, dirty sweater with a big smile.”

Liu turned his gaze to Norman before responding in a near whisper “It’s him.”

Samuel tried to continue the discussion, with Liu’s simple response now peaking his interest even further. “That description matches your brother? You are sure.”

“I’m sure.” Liu doubled down, turning his gaze back to Samuel, his eyes now wide and piercing. Samuel took his hands off Liu’s shoulder and took a step back, now seating himself on the cleanest spot of the floor he could find. He leaned forward, trying to make sure that Liu paid very close attention to what he said next.

“Now listen, and listen well. If your brother really is our culprit, the only way we’re gonna catch him is if we know what he wants. We need to know everything you can tell us, Liu. Don’t spare a single detail.” Samuel explained. The room went quiet after that, with the two officers now waiting for Liu’s reply. Liu deliberated for a while over the request. The last time he trusted the police to find Jeff the case went cold for years. He’d spent all that time living in constant fear that someday his brother would come back. Fear he was forced to live in because they couldn't help him.

But today could be different. If Jeff is still out there for a fact, if he is actively hurting people, this could’ve been his opportunity to finally see an end to it. If he just trusted these two, he could finally begin to feel like his old self.

“Fine,” he finally said, making his decision. But there was a condition, something Liu needed the officers to follow through with no matter what. “But make me a promise.”

Norman was the first to step forward, replying before his partner could even consider the request. “Anythin’! Whatever you want, we’ll make it happen so long as you tell us what we need ta’ know!” 

“Promise me you’ll kill him.” The words that came out of Liu’s mouth sounded hollow and empty. Not an ounce of emotion or compassion could be felt. The two officers didn’t know how to respond at first, merely sitting in the tense silence that came from the request. It was Samuel who spoke up this time, giving Liu exactly what he asked for.

“We promise.” He said hesitantly. Norman looked down to him with a questioning stare. It was clear the two didn’t see eye to eye, but so long as Liu was given a promise from one of them he didn’t care.

“Ok then. I’ll tell you everything.”

Chapter 8: Liu Woods Continued

Life was hard for Jeff and I after the fire. In a single night it took everything from us. Our home, our belongings… Our father. When the house went ablaze he was the first to act, escorting all of us out of there before the flames completely consumed the building. But Jeff didn’t come out with us. A piece of debris had landed on him, crushing his left leg and trapping him inside . If it wasn’t for our father running in to save him, we would have lost Jeff that night. He had just enough time to lift the wooden plank that crushed Jeff before the entire house came down on him.

Jeff survived barely, but he was never the same after. His entire body was covered in third degree burns, especially his face. Months of reconstructive surgery barely did enough to get him looking like his old self. His entire face was covered in scar tissue, with the nerves around his mouth being so severely damaged he could barely even open it. His left eye had gone completely blind, having this milky white appearance to it, and what was left of his hair hung to his scalp in long black patches.

It took a while for us to figure out what our next step was. Our mother, Margaret, barely made enough to make ends meet, and Jeff was just starting college while I was finishing up highschool. We couldn’t afford a home like the one we had before, at least not on our own. We ended up moving to Carpenter’s Landing as a solution to that problem. Our aunt Marcy owned a plot of land here and offered to give it to us in light of everything that happened. She thought it was the least she could do after losing her brother, y’know?

We weren’t picky about the offer either. Afterall beggars can’t be choosers, and despite everything we heard about this place we thought it would be a fresh start for us. A chance to get away from the lives we had before. A chance to move on.

On our very first day in Carpenter’s Landing we got a good look at the new place we’d be living in. A small, rundown bungalow that hadn’t been lived in for years. By the time we stepped foot in there the paint was peeling off the walls and it looked like some druggies used it as a crack den. Burnt cigarette butts and broken glass littered the floor, and some of the windows had to be boarded up. Only reason we were there to see it in that state was because our mom wanted to help Aunt Marcy clean the place up before we moved in. 

Since they didn’t want us getting in the way, and mom wasn’t comfortable having her two teenage sons spending the whole day cleaning up used drugs and broken glass, she gave us some spending money and let us explore the whole town. I remember being super excited about the whole thing. After everything we’d gone through it felt wonderful just to get out and explore somewhere new. Jeff on the other hand was very apprehensive about the whole thing. Ever since his accident he was scared to go out in public, especially somewhere that no one knew him. He became much more reserved, often wearing this large, white sweater with the hood up at all times to hide his face.

I assured him that things would be ok, and he tagged along with me despite his worries. We spent that whole day riding around town on our shitty little bikes, taking in all the scenery we could. Every gray building, every dingy alley, every rundown gas station. We didn’t care where we were going, anywhere was good enough. At the end of the day, we stopped our sight seeing tour at this small convenience store downtown. I wanted to get some snacks for later that night and Jeff tagged along, waiting for me at the back of the store where nobody could see him.

That was where we had our first run in with this guy named Randy and his two buddies, Troy and Keith. Randy was the textbook definition of a generic bully. Guy dressed in this black leather jacket with ripped jeans and what looked like some kind of death metal shirt underneath. His long, brown hair was slicked back with gel, and his ears were covered in all kinds of piercings. 

The two guys with him, Troy and Keith, had a similar vibe to them. Troy was a bigger guy who wore a large, red sweater and had this short stubble all over his face. Keith was a shorter, scrawnier kid. He wore large, baggy black clothes and had a rough buzzcut that nearly went down to the scalp.

When we met these guys they were causing a ruckus in the store. Apparently the cashier caught one of them trying to sneak out a pack of cigarettes, and Randy didn’t take well to being told off. After they were done arguing, Randy eventually found it in himself to pay the ten bucks that was owed and he and his guys stormed out of the store.

When I went up to pay I was told that apparently that kind of thing was the usual for Randy and his gang. They were a bunch of troublemakers that were well known in town, bullying whoever they could and causing problems wherever they went. Apparently Randy always got away with it cause his dad was an officer at the time. I paid the cashier a little bit extra for the trouble, and as I was getting ready to walk out with Jeff I noticed out the store’s window that the three of them had decided to hang around outside to smoke. 

I asked Jeff to put his hood up and avoid being seen by them, and he agreed. If these guys were as bad as I was told, there was no way in hell I was about to let them see my brother and validate all his fears of leaving the house. Fate would have a different plan for us though, because as soon as we left the store Randy in particular took notice of us. 

He called out to us, bringing attention to his two lackeys that followed him around. “Hey, don’t think I’ve ever seen you two around here before,” he said, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and stamping it out before approaching us. I remember I tried to be the one to hold a conversation with Randy, all the while Jeff nervously stood by our bikes facing away from him.

I tried to be polite, introducing myself and Jeff to Randy, but he was the kinda guy who didn’t care about that. To him we were just fresh meat to be picked on, and he particularly took an interest with Jeff.

“Why the hell won’t your brother look at me when I’m talkin’ to ‘em? Doesn’t he got any manners?” Randy asked, walking towards us with his hands in his pockets all the while Troy and Keith laughed at us behind him. During the whole conversation I would shoot these occasional glances over at Jeff to see how he was doing. 

He was shaking, staring at the ground with this wide eyed, empty stare like a deer in headlights. In his left hand was this lighter he carried around from back when he was smoking, one of his only possessions that survived the house fire. He would occasionally pull it out when he was stressed or nervous, fidgeting with the cap of it. That’s what he was doing when Randy grabbed a hold of his shoulder and turned him around, making him face him by force.

The three bullies all took turns giving their own shocked, disgusted reactions to Jeff’s appearance. Randy in particular had the strongest reaction of them all, stepping back in momentary horror which quickly devolved into mocking laughter.

“Man! No wonder you couldn’t look at me! What the fuck happened to you man?” Randy sounded amused as he asked the question, with Keith and Troy rudely laughing behind him as if to follow suit.

Before anyone could continue I spoke for Jeff, desperate to defend my brother from the situation that was now unfolding. 

“Th-there was a fire… Our old place, it burnt down. We were lucky that Jeff made it out alive!” I yelled in defiance, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Lucky?” Randy rebutted, “That’s what “lucky” looks like to you?” He pointed at Jeff, who now appeared to be boiling with rage. He clenched his open hand into a tight fist, and I saw his eyes go bloodshot.

“If I were you, I would have much preferred that fire take me out instead of making me look like some kind of-” Before Randy could even finish his insult, Jeff swung at him, hitting him cleanly across his face with a hefty punch. Randy reeled back and I immediately ran for Jeff, grabbing at his shoulders and trying to pull him back.

The whole thing turned to chaos after that, with the three guys jumping on Jeff and I, leading to this massive brawl right outside the convenience store parking lot. Whole thing got broken up when I noticed the cashier calling the cops from inside the store. I yelled that to the rest of the guys, and before I knew it Randy and his lackeys were out of there in an instant. 

Fortunately Jeff and I weren’t badly hurt by the whole thing, with only a few minor cuts and bruises being left where we were hit. When we got back to the new house that night our mom was of course concerned about the whole thing, but we just made up some lie about getting into an accident with our bikes instead of telling her what really happened. Our mom tended to worry a lot after the fire and we didn’t want her to stress too much about our new life here on our first day.

A month passed, and while our new house was properly renovated to allow us to live there decently comfortably, things did not get much easier for Jeff. He told me that Randy and his gang were relentless, especially after he started his college semester with them. They were harassing Jeff at practically every opportunity they got, with it getting so bad that one night Jeff went as far as to show me several knife wounds he had supposedly gotten from them attacking him off campus. 

He wouldn’t let me tell anyone about the bullying. He told me that it would only make mom want to get the police involved, and with the connections Randy had it would only make things worse. So I kept quiet about the whole thing, no matter how much it pained me to see my brother suffering like he did.

With all that in mind, I really should have seen the warning signs when Randy went missing only a month into our semester. I remember it as clear as day. His face was plastered on every telephone pole in town, news broadcasts were talking about it everywhere, and it was the talk of my school for weeks. If I knew then what I know now, I like to think that I would have suspected Jeff right away. But back then I just couldn’t fathom the possibility of it. After we lost our dad Jeff was the only person left in my life that I had felt like I was really close to. We still had our mom, yeah, but her and I were never particularly close by comparison.

That and I just didn’t have any reason to believe Jeff did it, y’know? Sure Randy and his guys bullied him, but Randy was also involved in some bad crowds of people. You could come up with any number of stories about what happened to him and people probably would have bought it at the time. So yeah, despite my mild suspicions of something being wrong, I buried those feelings and convinced myself it had to be someone else’s doing.

The same could not be said however for Troy and Keith, who only seemed to get worse after Randy’s death. I remember those two continued to go after Jeff long after, with the bullying going from cruel mockery to that of vengeful harassment.  Jeff told me they practically chased him down the halls of his school, calling him a murderer and yelling things like “we know what you did Woods,” any opportunity they got.

The harassment got so bad that Jeff started to completely isolate himself, missing countless days of classes and terrifying our mother. She tried to talk to him about it, but he was completely unresponsive, leading to her asking me to try and get through to him. I went to his room one night when our mom had already gone to sleep, and pushed his door open just a crack to see if he was still awake. Before I even saw him, I noticed the state that his room was in.

It looked terrible. Cardboard boxes from our move were still scattered about, their contents all over the floor in large, messy piles. Clothing, school supplies, old posters and figurines, everything cluttered the room like it had been thrown around violently. And then I noticed the smell. The entire room smelt foul, like burnt cigarettes and something else I couldn’t identify. The smell and sight of the room were so vile that I nearly missed Jeff himself, who I finally noticed at the foot of his bed, facing away from the door.

In the dark I didn’t know what it was he was doing at first, until I saw the brief flickering of his lighter burning the end of a cigarette. He would light the cigarette, staring at it for a short time like he was in some kind of trance, and then instead of smoking it like I expected he would roll up the sleeve of his white sweater and put it out on his own arm. I was so shocked by what I was watching that I just stood there in silence, mouth agape.

And that was when I heard him mumble something under his breath, something that made my heart sink to my stomach. He said in his raspy, strained voice, “Why was dad the only one who had to die…” 

The words didn’t sound right coming out of his mouth. They were empty, no, they were angry. He sounded livid as he continued to light those cigarettes, bringing them to his arm and leaving a new, disgusting burn scar where they were put out. I couldn’t bear to watch or listen anymore, so I flung the door open.

“Jeff, how could you say that!” I exclaimed. I didn’t even realize until I had entered the room that tears were streaming down my face. I must have looked like a mess. Jeff quickly turned to look at me, this look of horror plastered across his face once he realized that I had heard him. 

“Liu.. It’s, uh… It’s not what-” He tried quickly to explain himself to me but I wouldn’t let him.

“Do you know how much you mean to me? To mom? How could you go and say things like that about yourself, Jeff? I need you here, more than I have ever needed anyone! Living here I have never felt so alone, so isolated from everyone else. It was never the same without dad, you are the one thing keeping me sane right now.” I could barely keep myself together as the words flooded out of my mouth. I could see the terror on Jeff’s face slowly fade to a calmer expression as I explained myself to him, and for a little bit there was a tense silence between us as he carefully chose what to say next. I remember what he said to me as clear as day.

“I’m sorry, Liu, it’s just been hard. You and mom, I know you both lost dad too, but you… You haven’t had to deal with things like I have. You haven’t had to deal with being bullied every single day. You haven’t been accused of murder. And you don’t have to wake up every morning and see someone completely different staring back at you in the mirror. I’m sorry.” He avoided eye contact with me as he spoke, keeping his eyes trained on his lighter. He was fidgeting with it again. I could tell that what he said was something he had been bottling up for quite some time, and having to say it to me at all must have been stressful. 

I figured a change of scenery would help. He was cooped up in his room for multiple days on end and I figured some fresh air would help him.

“Do you remember when we used to sneak out at night back in middle school?” I asked him, changing the tone of our conversation drastically. He looked up at me shocked, tilting his head as he responded.

“Uh, yeah…?” He responded, humoring me.

“Well, mom is asleep right now and you and I are still up, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking!” I continued, making my way to the door and gesturing to it with my hands. 

Jeff stared at me like I was a moron, eventually rolling his eyes and getting out of bed. He knew I wasn’t about to take no for an answer, and I feel like he was also just playing along so that I wouldn’t continue worrying about him throughout the night. Regardless of why he agreed, Jeff and I snuck out that night and went around town on our bikes, making a point of sight seeing and traveling to places we’d never seen before.

I remember the rest of that night like it was yesterday. The bright city lights all around us, illuminating the streets like they were their own little suns, the massive buildings turned dark, towering silhouettes, and that cold night breeze that blew past us as we rode through the streets as fast as we wanted. 

If the night had ended right then and there, I feel like things could have been perfect. That was one of the few moments where it really felt like Jeff and I had properly bonded as brothers again. But of course, no good thing lasts forever, and our night very quickly took a turn for the worst as we realized we were being followed.

We’d stopped a couple streets from our house after making some laps around our neighborhood. I remember we’d stopped right by a stop sign on an intersection, with there being a light drizzle that signaled for us to start making our way back. Right as we were getting ready to leave though, a familiar pair of voices yelled out to us.

I quickly turned to look behind us, seeing Troy and Keith approaching. I almost didn’t recognize them at first. They’d looked so different from when we encountered them at the gas station. They both looked like they hadn’t slept in days, with Keith’s outfit looking filthy and Troy’s stubble having become a complete, poorly kept beard.

“Hey!” Troy shouted at us. “What you doin’ out here so late, Woods? Lookin’ for more victims?” When Troy spoke there was this growl to his voice. He sounded pissed, beyond pissed. He and Keith continued to approach, with Jeff and I not knowing how to respond or what to do. That was when we saw Troy reach into his pocket, and pull out a small switchblade he’d kept hidden there. 

The moment Jeff and I saw him unveil the blade, we tried to ride off on our bikes but the two guys were close enough that they were able to catch up and pull us off. There was a struggle between us, but it quickly stopped the moment I saw that Troy had the knife to Jeff's throat. I fell to my knees with Keith still firmly wrapping his arm around my throat, and I began to panic.

“P-please. Please don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything to you.” I pleaded, terrified of what Troy was planning. My begging only seemed to make him angrier as he pulled Jeff in closer to him. Jeff struggled for a moment, kicking his feet and grabbing at Troy’s arm which held him in place, but quickly stopped once the blade made contact with his neck. 

“Didn’t do anything? Is that what he told you?” Troy said, staring at me with eyes that looked more like a wild animal’s than a man’s. He then turned his attention towards Jeff. “Why don’t you tell your little brother, Jeff? Why don’t you tell him what you did?”

Jeff never looked at Troy, instead continuing to stare at me the entire time even as he spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jeff responded, which only made Troy bring the knife closer. Now the faintest bit of blood could be seen running down Jeff’s neck as the knife broke skin. Jeff had no reaction.

“Bullshit! If you won’t tell him Jeff, then I will.” Troy shouted, now pointing the knife at me. “Your older brother never told you what he got up to at night, did he? Well Randy sure told us. Before he died, Randy went to Keith and I and told us that this freak was stalking him. Said he caught him off the corner of his eye, following him outside of school. He was scared, man, and we had never seen Randy scared. He even told us a couple nights before he died that he saw your brother here standing outside his house!” 

I didn’t know what to make of what they were telling me, they sounded insane. Here they were in the middle of the night, probably stalking us, pointing a knife at my brother and accusing him of killing Randy? I couldn’t believe it, no, I REFUSED to believe it. Troy continued though, and as he did I could see the panic setting into Jeff’s eyes.

“We didn’t believe him at the time. We thought that he was messin’ with us or somethin’. But then, a couple days later he goes missin’ and we have no idea where he could have gone. If we’d just listened to ‘em, maybe he’d still be here. If we’d just listened, then this freak could be behind bars right now! But we didn’t, and now we gotta make up for it.” As he said that, Troy pointed the knife at Jeff once more who began kicking his feet and struggling again. He looked terrified. 

“Ok ok it’s true!” Jeff shouted at a volume I didn’t even think possible. “I killed him, I killed Randy. But I wasn’t stalking him! It was self defense, Liu! He attacked me in an alley when I was just trying to go home! He pulled a knife on me and tried to kill me! I only got away because I wrestled it out of his hands and stabbed him with it!” I had never heard Jeff speak that way before, even before the accident. His voice was shrill and shaken, his eyes large and dilated. 

“Self defense my ass!” Keith chimed in, “If it was self defense, then why did you run? Why didn’t they find Randy, huh?” 

“Because I was scared! I knew Randy’s dad was an officer, I didn’t think anyone would believe me! So I hid the body and I ran away!” Jeff blurted out, keeping his eyes trained on me. Despite the fact that Troy was the one threatening his life, the entire time it felt more like Jeff was trying to convince me of his innocence than anyone else out there that night. I just sat in silence, I didn’t know what to do or what to think anymore. Troy answered for me though, the look of fury never leaving his face.

“You can say whatever you want, freak, but I don’t believe you.” He said. His voice sounded calmer than before, almost a whisper, but the rage never left it. I don’t know what he was planning on doing to Jeff, but I never got to find out as police sirens could be heard quickly approaching. 

Turns out one of our neighbors saw what was going on from inside her house and she decided to call the police before anyone could get hurt. An officer quickly arrived on scene and broke up the entire thing before Troy or Keith could do anything. Everything after that passed by in a blur. Troy and Keith were arrested right then and there, and the entire time they were escorted to the car they were kicking and screaming all kinds of insults and profanity at us. Once they were taken care of, an officer stuck by to ask some questions to Jeff and I about what happened.

He asked why the two of them attacked us, and Jeff froze up completely. I could see the fear written all over his expression. He probably thought I was going to tell the officer what the other two had told me. But truth be told, I believed him. Maybe it was my naivety, or the desperation in his voice when he confessed to me, but I really, truly believed that if my brother had killed Randy, it was for a good reason.

And so I lied to the officer. Told him nothing about Jeff’s confession, about the truth of Randy’s disappearance. That night was the first night in months where I felt like I had my brother back, and I was not about to lose him again because of some massive misunderstanding. I told the officer a half truth, explaining that Troy and Keith were friends with Randy and that they blamed my brother for the disappearances. When he pressed further, all I said was that they used to bully Jeff, and convinced themselves it was his fault when Randy disappeared. 

The officer seemed to like my answers. He nodded along as I explained things, paying close attention to the words I chose, and eventually he seemed satisfied. He let us off with a warning about going out at night, and asked if he could come back in the morning to ask us some additional questions about the two bullies. Once I agreed, the officer simply tipped his hat to us and we were let go. 

I thought it was a miracle, the two of us being sent home like that after I had told such a massive lie, but I think Jeff saw things differently. Maybe it was the demeanor of the officer, perhaps his own paranoia, but Jeff was convinced that the officer was onto us. That the “additional questions” he wanted to ask in the morning had nothing to do with the bullies, but rather Jeff’s involvement in Randy’s disappearance. 

The ride home after that felt like I was walking on eggshells. I didn’t dare speak to Jeff. He was unusually quiet, even for himself, and the entire time we rode our bikes he simply stared ahead. He never looked at me, nor do I even think he was looking at the road. He just stared ahead into nothing.

When we arrived at home he stormed inside, with no regard for our sleeping mother who may be startled awake by him. I was worried, I’d never seen my brother like that, so I followed him as he made his way towards his room. What followed next was the single most horrifying moment of my entire life. 

He slammed open the door to his room, made his way inside, and began what I could only describe as an adult temper tantrum. He grabbed a hold of whatever he could get his hands on and began violently throwing them around his room, thrashing about in a near feral rage. I don’t think he was even aware of me being there to see it, he just continued doing so until he got a hold of one box in particular, which he violently threw against the wall. The contents of the box spilled out on the floor, revealing more clothing and school supplies which were haphazardly stored in it. Among this pile of random, innocuous items however, I heard something that instantly drew my attention to the floor, and made Jeff completely stop in his place.

The sound of metal rattling against the wooden floor. I looked down, and saw that buried underneath the clothing and supplies which were stored inside that box was a small switchblade, which looked to be covered in dried, crusty blood. My mind began to race at the sight of it. I had no idea why my brother would have kept Randy’s knife in our house, so poorly hidden underneath all his untouched clothing and supplies. 

“Jeff, why would you keep Randy’s knife?” I asked, and I turned my gaze from the knife to him, desperate for an answer. What I saw staring back at me was someone completely different from my brother. He stood in the center of the room, completely frozen in place, with a hollow, soulless stare I had never seen from my brother- no, from a person before. His eyes were opened unnaturally wide, almost looking as if something was forcing them to stay open. He didn’t blink, and the pupil of his right eye was so dilated that it almost made his entire eye look black.

That stare told me more than any words ever could. It told me that in this moment of weakness that Jeff had shown me something I never wanted to see, and the thought of that brought me a greater terror than anything else. I began to question him further, desperate for an answer, desperate for anything he could say to put my panicked mind to rest.

“Jeff, why did you keep this knife?” He continued to stare. “J-Jeff, this was Randy’s knife, right?” He continued to stare. “Jeff…” I was so overwhelmed I could barely get the words out, “Jeff… Those cuts on your body. Randy didn’t give them to you, did he?” He continued to stare.

At that point I didn’t even know who it was I was talking to anymore. I turned a blind eye to my suspicions for so long, but right there, in the middle of that dark room, was someone I didn’t even recognize as my brother anymore. For a brief moment, while I stood there in complete shock and terror, I could see his demeanor change to that of something inhuman. He hunched forward, and looked as though he was going to advance towards me before our mother’s tired voice could be heard from behind me.

“Boys, what’s wrong?” She asked. It was clear from the way she was rubbing her eyes and the way she spoke that we had just woken her from her sleep. Jeff never once looked away from me, not even reacting to the sound of our mother’s voice. He just continued moving towards me like some kind of animal, taking large exaggerated footsteps.

I ran out of Jeff’s room, and tried to usher our mom out of the house before I could even explain what was going on. I didn’t know what was wrong with Jeff, but there was no way I was going to spend the night in that house after what I saw. Our mother, however, stopped me dead in my tracks and demanded an explanation about what was wrong. I couldn’t offer much. I was in such a panicked state that I trampled over my own words. All I managed to muster up was “Something is wrong with Jeff,” before I noticed him standing in the darkness of the hallway behind us. He held the switchblade in his hand, and remained motionless, waiting for what our mom or I would do next.

When our mom saw him, she didn’t recognize the danger her and I were in. She tried to reason with him.

“Jeff, honey, what’s wrong? Why are you holding that knife?” She asked. I remember from the way she spoke, she sounded more concerned than afraid. I don’t think she ever imagined her own son could do anything to harm her, so in that moment, despite how it looked, she didn’t see any danger to herself. 

Jeff never responded. He simply remained frozen in place. Our mother continued trying to get through to him. I tried stopping her, but she refused to listen to my warnings. She didn’t see what I saw, she didn’t know what I knew. All she knew was that something was wrong with her son, and despite everything she wanted nothing more than to help him. And so she marched forward into what would become her own demise.

The moment she took a step forward, reaching for Jeff, he suddenly sprang into action at a speed I never thought possible for someone like him. He quickly wrestled her to the ground, overpowering her completely. Once she was down, Jeff knelt down on top of her, holding the switchblade over his head with both hands.

She pleaded with him in her last moments, yelling things like “Why are you doing this,” and “What could I have done, Jeff,” but her questions fell on deaf ears. Before she was even able to finish her thought, Jeff plunged the switchblade deep into the side of her throat. Thick, dark blood ran down the blade, pooling on the floor beneath her and slowly creeping towards me. I stood there in stunned terror.

What I saw in front of me didn’t feel real. Earlier that night was the happiest I’d been in months. It felt like I’d finally had my brother back, and the two of us could be the carefree kids we were back before our lives fell apart. And now, on that same night, I saw the man I considered my brother knelt down, knife in hand, waiting for his own mother to drown in her own blood.

The worst part of it all too, was that he didn’t even have the decency to look at her while he did it. The entire time our mother laid there, pleading to see even a semblance of the person Jeff was to her, he was looking at me. He stared at me with that same empty, soulless look I saw only moments prior. As if to tell me that somehow, by some twisted logic, what I was watching unfold before me was my fault.

When the life finally left our mother’s eyes and the gurgling and coughing came to a stop, Jeff clumsily attempted to pull the knife from her throat. He was met with a surprising amount of resistance. He’d lodged it so far in there that it took multiple, strong tugs to pull it out, so much so that when he finally did it caused him to stumble backwards for a moment. Then he began advancing towards me once more.

He moved in that same, alien way I saw in his bedroom. He slowly inched his way towards me, taking long exaggerated steps, only stopping briefly when I would show any sudden movements. I was so shocked by what I had just seen that my legs turned to jelly, and I crumbled to the floor. As I pathetically attempted to crawl away from Jeff, I desperately tried to say something, anything that would make him explain to me why he was doing this. 

The only thing I could muster was the word “why?” which I choked out between my tears. It was enough to make him stop, as if the very question offended him. He then said something that changed everything for me.

“Why..?” He replied sarcastically, his eyes twitching. “Because you ruined everything, Liu.” He knelt down next to me as he spoke, blocking the exit to the house with his body. “You just had to survive that night, didn’t you? You just had to smell the fire. You just had to wake mom and dad. All those months of planning, ruined. It would have been perfect, Liu, we all could have died together. But no. You and mom survived, and I was stuck like this.” 

It was then that I understood the true depths of what my brother was. As I sat mere feet away from my own mother’s corpse, Jeff crouched over top of me, it finally dawned on me why this was all happening. I’d spent so long trying to pin a reason on it. To find what the inciting incident was, the moment that bent my brother’s life out of shape. But there never was one. It wasn’t the bullies, it wasn’t our dad, it wasn’t the fire. It was Jeff. It was always Jeff. I was living with a monster wearing human skin for my whole life, and only when it was too late did I finally realize it.

He continued his depraved rant, as if he’d rehearsed it for months on end. “Do you know what it’s like? To spend every single day trapped in a shell of your own body, being babied by the people you couldn’t kill? Do you understand how humiliating that is? It’s like there really is a god up there, mocking me for my failure. Well, I didn’t plan on failing this time. I spent months thinking about that night, what I could have done differently, how much it hurt. Reliving that pain, even in the smallest of ways, helped me figure it out though.

It was going to be perfect, Liu. But you ruined it again. You just had to keep babying me. You just had to be such a shitty liar. You made me do this. You made me act early, and sloppily. That’s ok though. This is still going to be the happiest night of my life! Oh if I could smile right now, Liu, I’d be grinning ear to ear!” 

After he finished his rant, he stood again and wrapped his arms around himself in pure ecstasy, rocking back and forth. Over and over again he said to himself “if only I could smile, if only I could smile,” before he suddenly stopped, a look of realization plastered all over his face. He glanced down at the knife in his hand, our mother’s fresh blood still trickling off of it, then he glanced back at me before saying, “I can smile.”

That was when he took the knife to his own face, and I was forced to watch him crudely carve a disgusting smile of blood across it. He was clumsy with the knife, tugging across each of his cheeks like a child carving a pumpkin. There were moments where he’d stop, gagging and coughing on his own blood, but he continued regardless until a vile, painful smile stretched across his face, ear to ear.

The sight of such a horrific act of self mutilation was enough for me to break free from the shocked trance I was in. I sprinted in the opposite direction of Jeff, towards the hall where our bedrooms were. Jeff gave me a head start, distracted by the euphoria of his new face, and I took that opportunity to run into his room. Jeff’s room was the first one you would see when entering the hallway, and I believed that if I hid in there I could find something, anything to defend myself with.

I flung the door open, nearly trampled over all of the miscellaneous items strewn about on the floor, and made my way into his closet to hide. At that point I could hear him beginning to walk around the house again, calling out my name in a voice that barely sounded human. 

I began to frantically look around the dark closet, pushing aside whatever clothing or boxes were in my way. That was when I noticed the smell again. That same stench I smelt earlier that night when I’d walked into Jeff’s room. I thought it was just the smell of the cigarettes before, but inside that closet it was much stronger. I pushed aside more unclean laundry, hoping to discover the origin of the smell, when I found it buried deep within a corner of the closet. Multiple, small cans of gasoline which were neatly hidden away. Around them were several boxes of matches, as well as some burnt out cigarette butts. 

The sight and smell of them were enough to make me gag, a sound that I feared revealed my hiding place to Jeff. I needed to be quick, to find something, anything that I could use to fight back once he found me. I kept searching until I got my hands on his old backpack, opening it and looking through whatever supplies he kept in there. I found old notebooks, unopened packs of cigarettes, and what ended up catching my attention, what looked to be a box cutter.

I took the box cutter out, opening it and turning to the closet door to wait for Jeff’s arrival. What I was greeted with however, was something from my worst nightmares. Jeff was already there, standing at the entrance to the closet, the door opened just enough that I could see one of his bloodshot eyes peering in at me from the darkness. When I saw him I let out a shrill scream, and he began laughing to himself as he flung the door open and attempted to pin me to the ground right then and there. 

I struggled against him, swinging the box cutter wildly before he overpowered me, holding down my arm with his right hand and dancing the switchblade against my face with his left. I remember how I was screaming and crying in that moment, all the while the man trying to kill me attempted to soothe me like a mother would their child.

He got right up close to me, the blood from his fresh wounds dripping onto my face causing me to gag, and said something to me that I still hear in the back of my mind every night.

“Shhhhhh, it’ll be alright, Liu. When you next wake up, we’re gonna see mom and dad again. Just go to sleep.” He then raised the switchblade over his head like he did before when he killed our mother, but right before he could swing down to finish me I kicked him off of me with all the strength I could muster, and I stabbed him in the side of the throat with the box cutter. 

As soon as I’d done that, I made a mad dash for the door to our home, running out into the night and screaming for someone, anyone to help me. I never bothered to check if Jeff was alive or still following me, I just ran and ran until my legs gave way and one of our neighbors found me. 

The police were called soon after. They went to our old home to investigate and found no signs of Jeff anywhere. I was told that they would find him. That he would be brought to justice. But two years have passed and Jeff was never caught. I’ve spent those two years living in constant fear that he will return and find me. I’ve begun sleeping during the day, I don’t talk to anybody, I sleep with a knife beneath my pillow. It seemed like all you officers moved on from finding my brother, but I never could. And now you come to my doorstep, telling me that he could be back and he’s killing people that look just like me. Now we’re all suffering because he wasn’t caught.

When Liu finished his story, the entire room fell dreadfully quiet. The two officers clearly didn’t know what to say, simply taking in all the details and trying to process them. Samuel was the first to speak, making what Liu saw as a weak attempt at reassurance.

“Liu, I’m sorry we never found your brother. I promise you though, no matter what, that we will find him. You won’t have to live like this anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of him coming back. Soon, all of that will be over.” The two officers stood after that, asking Liu if he had anything else to tell them. He simply shook his head, and not long after they made their way out. 

Liu wanted to believe what Samuel had to say. It was clear the man cared. But after two years of Jeff having never been found, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Once the two men were gone from his house, the tiredness hit Liu all at once. He was woken after only two hours of sleep, and he had no intentions of waiting until nightfall to get his rest.

He made his way back to his room, peeking around the dark corners of his apartment one last time before opening the door to his bedroom and stepping back inside. He laid down on his old, yellowed mattress, tossing and turning as he tried his hardest to force himself back to sleep. But try as he might, he just couldn’t do it. Something just didn’t feel right.

After twenty minutes of failed attempts to force himself to sleep, Liu finally sat up in his bed and surveyed his room. He knew something was wrong but he just couldn’t pinpoint it.  He scanned his surroundings, obsessively looking for anything that could be out of place, and that was when he noticed it. The detail that he was subconsciously aware of, but didn’t take direct note of until that very moment. A mild draft that lightly pushed against his curtains. Liu always kept his windows closed. 

He tried to shuffle out of bed, immediately digging around under his pillow to grab his switchblade only to realize he had left it in the kitchen when the officers had visited. He ran over to the window, slamming it closed, when he heard something behind him. The slow, high pitched sound of a door creaking. Liu turned to see the origin of the sound, and was met with his worst fear come true.

There, peering through the small crack left by the opening of his closet door, was an eye. A bloodshot eye that stared at him from the darkness. A voice muttered in a hushed, perverted whisper, “You found me.” 

Chapter 9: Jeff the Killer

Jeff waited impatiently inside of his brother’s closet. He could hear the officers pestering Liu with question after question, completely unaware that the man they were looking for was a mere room away from them. 

They had led Jeff to his brother’s apartment. They had no idea that he was still there at the scene of his last crime. The corpse of his latest victim was still fresh, another fake Liu to add to the pile. Jeff knew if he’d followed the officers they could bring him to the real one with time. He was well aware of his own notoriety, and used it to his advantage.

He laid in wait, watching from the darkness as the two officers speculated over his murders. Apparently the fake Liu’s that got away started talking, and with that they would give the officers the lead they needed. To some this would seem like a set back, but to Jeff, this was his perfect opportunity. Those fake Lius would lead Jeff right to the real one, and they didn’t even realize it.

When he’d arrived at the apartment complex, Jeff could barely contain his own excitement. There, standing before him inside his own concrete coffin, was the brother he’d been searching for. After two painful years of hiding in the darkness, planning his next move, finally it would all come to an end.

Jeff made quick work climbing in through the window to the real Liu’s bedroom. He was lucky the officers arrived when they did. It gave him the distraction he needed to slink inside. He made his way into his brother’s closet with ease, and simply waited for the moment the officers would leave. 

As he listened through the walls intently, Jeff could hear his brother’s account of the night he failed once again to accomplish his life’s work. The very thought of it drove him mad. Jeff began fidgeting with his lighter once more, the images of beautiful burning flames dancing through his mind as he attempted to calm himself. What he would give right here, right now, to see this entire building up in flames. But he couldn’t afford something so grand, not this time.

Liu had evaded him twice now, and Jeff’s obsession with completing what he started began to eat away at him. Those fake Lius didn’t help either. They popped up around every corner, fake Liu after fake Liu, purposefully put there to throw Jeff off his brother’s trail. How selfish could he be? To sacrifice so many people just so he could live a little longer. 

He fidgeted with the lighter more, and gritted his teeth at the thought. How selfish, he repeated over and over in his mind. The thoughts nearly consumed him completely, until he was snapped out of it by what sounded like the officers finally taking their leave. Jeff could hear the door shut behind them, and soon enough his brother stumbled into the room and laid in bed.

Finally Jeff thought. His life’s work was now mere feet away from him and Liu didn’t even realize it. The excitement felt like a raging fire within Jeff’s chest. His palms sweat, his heart pounded, his eyes burned as tears of joy formed around them. But he had to contain himself. He had to wait. Wait until Liu had fallen asleep. 

But that moment never came. Jeff watched for what felt like hours as his brother tossed and turned in bed. And then he watched as he slowly sat up, glancing around the room as if something was off. Jeff was confused. What could possibly have tipped his brother off? He was completely silent, and fought off his urges to show himself right then and there for the sake of subtlety. What could it have possibly been?

Jeff deliberated over this question, until Liu, unbeknownst to himself, answered it for him. The window. Jeff was so eager to get into the house that he never closed the window. This was an oversight he’d made before, his own eagerness often being his worst enemy. How could he have done this now? How could he have made such a simple mistake when he was so close to perfection?

As his brother rose from bed to close the window, Jeff could see him looking around for something that seemingly wasn’t there. A weapon? Did his brother bring a weapon? A sharp pain suddenly jolted throughout the side of Jeff’s throat, memories from that night forcing their way back into his mind. The rage began to boil in the deepest pit of his stomach once more. He could barely control it this time, opening the closet door but a crack as his brother went to close the window.

The door let out a small, shrill, creak, and Jeff saw Liu freeze up. His cover was blown, no matter how hard he tried to recover from this. Now was his time to act. He could see Liu slowly turn to meet his gaze, and for the first time in two years, Jeff could see the terror in the real Liu’s face again. 

“You found me,” he said, barely able to contain his own excitement. This was it. The moment where everything would come to an end. The moment he’d waited so long for. Jeff slowly crept out of the closet to meet his brother face to face, and without a moment of hesitation he saw Liu fling open the door to his bedroom and run out of his room. 

Jeff gave chase, giving his brother a head start before pursuing him into the kitchen where he saw him standing over the island. Jeff turned him around, and a struggle broke out between the two. Liu put up a good fight, but Jeff was always stronger, and soon enough he had his brother pinned down in a similar manner to when they’d last seen each other two years ago. Jeff laughed to himself as Liu attempted in vain to shove his brother off of him. He pulled out the box cutter that Liu had stabbed him with all that time ago, and he raised it over his head, ready to finally end this once and for all. But something distracted him before he could swing down. The light glint of metal in Liu’s hand. A knife? When did he get his hands on that knife?

In a panic Jeff tried to finish the job, swinging down at his brother’s throat all the while Liu attempted to stab his brother with the switchblade he had concealed. When the blades connected with flesh, there was a long, drawn out silence.

That day, only one of the two brothers walked away alive.

[anmanarrative]

HAPPY 3 YEAR ANNIVERSARY CEMETERY MARY!❤️ So hard to believe it's been 3 years since the game released…that's more time than I spent working on it! Being my first published game, I was terrified no one would play it. I'm happy I was wrong! Thank you for playing❤️

[anmanarrative]

First Sale!

Made my first sale on my visual novel Nancy! If someone decided it's worth money then I must be doing something right, now I'm getting the itch to work on another one. So happy 😁

If you haven't seen it yet please check it out, need as much feedback as I can get.

[anmanarrative]

Just published my first attempt at a Visual Novel on itch.io! It's a short body horror story called Nancy, very basic stuff but I've been wanting to make one for ages so I'm really excited to share it with everybody.

[anmanarrative]

Always There

CW: Depression. Anxiety. Violence.

Sunlight streamed through the tattered curtains.

Heather groaned, swatting at the warm spots dancing over her skin. She did not want to move; it was far too comfortable in her nest of pillows and cushions. Every part of her was happily numb, her mind half-asleep and unable to think of any reason to get up.

Then her stomach gurgled, managing to make a convincing argument.

It took several minutes of stretching to relieve the stiffness in her joints, reminding her that curling up for hours wasn’t a good idea; she’d stop doing it were there any other way she could sleep. Once her bones were cooperating, she swung her legs off the four-poster bed, shakily stumbling towards the window and pulling open the curtains.

Her eyes surveyed the wide stretches of lavender below. They began at the ragged hedges surrounding the mansion, stretching all the way up to the front walls. The flowers consumed the entire yard, but there were a few dips and patches where they thinned to reveal a path. In the bright sun she could see that this path was dark, far darker than it usually was; clearly it had rained during the night.

She sighed, smiling as she leaned towards the glass. The rain was good. It had been hot and dry for a week; the lavender was due for a good watering. Any longer and she would have needed to use her personal supply to water them manually. She didn’t think the plants would die, this strain had proven resilient against all types of weather, but as her main line of defense it was important that they remain as healthy as possible.

Two months on and she still couldn’t believe her luck at finding somewhere so secure. There hadn’t been a single Nemier sighting since the day she arrived, and that one hadn’t made it further than the hedge.

A sudden movement drew her attention to a patch of lavender close to the front door. The stems shuddered as if blown by wind. Heather squinted but couldn’t see anything. The flowers shook again. A chill began to slither up her spine and she looked closer, pressing her forehead to the cool glass.

Why? She thought. Why that one patch… 

A small shriek escaped her throat when a bird burst from the flowers. The shock gave way to a flood of relief, and she mentally slapped herself for getting so worried. Even if the Nemiers did get past the hedge they could barely move in lavender. Something about the scent caused their nerves to freeze, rooting them to the spot like twitching statues. Once, when she was trapped in a hospital, a doctor managed to get a sample of Nemier blood and mixed it with fresh lavender to examine this phenomenon; the blood had coagulated into a sticky paste.

The creatures seemed to know this, and she’d seen them avoid the flowers several times. They only risked it when pursuing someone.

If she stayed unseen, she would be safe.

With a small chuckle she began walking away from the window.

Okay, what to do today. Go have breakfast, that’s a start, then maybe check the doors and windows are still secure. Heather had reached the balcony, turning towards the stairs while her mind continued running through tasks. I really should go and have a look at the hedges in case there are any gaps, but I doubt it’ll make much difference. It’s not like I’m leaving anytime soon. Perhaps I can try the radio, I haven’t used it in a while so maybe I can get a sig-

A dark figure stood on the balcony opposite her.

Heather’s body became rigid, her eyes unable to turn away from the thing staring back at her. Staring wasn’t exactly right; she’d never seen a real face on the elongated oblong of a head. Whenever she had gotten close, she thought she’d seen sunken shapes which could have been eyes. But they weren’t, they were shapes and grooves in the skin, kind of like the creases of a sheet. The whole thing reminded her of a sheet, a dark grey sheet in a humanoid shape. The head, skeletal body, stick-like legs and gorilla arms stretching nearly to the floor… these were all distinctly visible. But connecting them were long stretches of skin hanging down from the shoulders, the arms, the head, even the legs. When she first saw it, Heather had jokingly named it Blanket.

The name had stuck but it was no longer a joke… now she just wanted it gone.

Blanket took a step forward.

That motion made her own limbs respond, walking down the stairs at a brisk pace. It followed. She saw it out the corner of her eye and began speeding up. By the time she reached the foyer she was taking the steps two at a time, all but jumping onto the marble floor. Her feet skid slightly as she ran towards the kitchen, forcing herself to slow down and avoid slamming into the counter.

It would take time for Blanket to catch up, she knew that. The thing walked so slowly it could never keep up, even power walking let her stay ahead. But no matter how long it took or where she went, it always found her. If she was fast enough, she could go hours without seeing it, and on rare occasions it went into the empty attic and just stood there, unmoving. This had happened recently, and she liked those times, but they never lasted. Once she’d even tried locking the attic, only for it to spend almost a full night hitting the wood until the door gave way. The mansion may have been a safe place to live, but its size made escaping from Blanket impossible.

More than once she considered leaving and had to force herself to remember that the Nemiers were worse.

Heather shook her head, turning her attention back to breakfast.

Not only was the mansion defended by plenty of lavender, but it was also well stocked with food. Nearly all the fresh stuff had gone off before she’d arrived but there was a large pantry full of tinned and dried goods, some cured meats and various bottles of water, juice and even alcohol. Whoever lived there must have stocked up just before the world went to hell, and she wished she could have thanked them. By the time Heather had arrived the only trace of the previous occupants were a few bloodstains and scraps of cloth; if there were any bodies, she had yet to find them.

Her hand soon pulled out a tin of peaches, setting it on the counter next to the sink before pulling open a drawer to find the tin opener. The kitchen echoed with a clattering of cutlery, Heather occasionally stopping to look towards the door. Blanket hadn’t arrived yet; it must still be working its way down the stairs.

Ah, gotcha.

A hum of triumph accompanied the sounds of the tin opener cutting through metal. Within moments she was picking out pieces of syrup-soaked peaches, chewing and swallowing almost mechanically. It probably wasn’t good to have something so sweet first thing in the morning but not only was she trying to keep her rations going for as long as possible, she also found that fruit was the easiest thing for her to eat. It was ready without cooking and had some nutrients, though the syrup cancelled out most of them. That wasn’t a bad thing as sweetness from any source was more than welcome in Heather’s life.  

The world flitted between sour and bland these days; bearable but either unpleasant or monotonous.

Her fingers were now sticky with syrup, and she hissed as the edge of the metal scraped her skin. There was a burst of pain, but the scratch was not deep enough to draw blood. A part of her knew she could have prevented that scratch by using one of the many plates or bowls accumulating dust in the cupboards. Another part argued that washing them was a waste of water. A third part, quieter but somehow more insistent than the others, bemoaned the effort of eating in the first place.

All three grew silent at the sound of footsteps, and Heather became aware of a presence behind her. She knew what it was, putting the half empty tin on the counter and preparing to turn away. Then her gaze was drawn to the window above the sink, the lavender outside tall enough to be nearly at eye-level.

A clump of the scented flowers shuddered, though the rest stayed still. It was just like what she’d seen from her bedroom, making her wonder how many birds were living there. As soon as she’d noticed it the shaking stopped. She watched for several seconds, suddenly blinking as if to catch it in the act before changing tactics. Her gaze became steady, watching, willing it to move again. The more she watched the more she could swear she saw the flowers begin to twitch.

A weight pressed against her back, and a pair of long, grey arms lay across her shoulders.

Heather shrieked and twisted out of the odd embrace, side-stepping away from Blanket and dashing out of the kitchen. Her heart pounded and her breath caught in her throat, not stopping until she was back in the foyer. Heather had known it was there. She knew what would happen if Blanket got too close, and yet she let herself be distracted. She couldn’t afford that again; she had to keep aware and make sure she didn’t forget. If she let it linger too long, if she let Blanket touch her with its soft skin…

Don’t forget what comes with the softness. It is not a way out. Remember that Heather, it is not a way out.

Pressing the tips of her fingers into her forehead, she took a few deep breaths before beginning to walk again.

She made her way throughout both floors of the mansion for the next couple of hours, briefly inspecting every door, window, and wall; anywhere that could be broken into. This time she didn’t go more than a minute before looking behind her, always keeping an eye out for Blanket. When it got too close, she would dash to the opposite side of whatever room they were in at the time. This worked, and soon she was satisfied that the mansion was suitably secure from any potential Nemiers attack. Back when she had first found the mansion, she was much more thorough, lining lavender into every doorway and crack and boarding up any unneeded window, but the longer she lived here the harder it was to focus on these little details. If she’d been able to avoid discovery or attack for this long, then what difference would a few sprigs here and there make? Now she did the bare minimum, only bothering to put lavender into the main door.  These had died but considering how close the door was to the flowers outside and how fiddly the process was, Heather couldn’t bring herself to replace them. 

No harm in leaving it today. She thought. I can do it tomorrow.

Her thoughts then returned to the radio, guiltily remembering how long it had been since she last tried it.

Maybe now is a good time. It’s not like it’s that much effort.

Heather spent a few moments playing cat and mouse with Blanket, carefully maneuvering so it would be as far as physically possible from the radio room. Then, once satisfied by the distance, she ran as fast as she could up the stairs to a little door on the right balcony.

The room inside was small, a cramped space which felt more like a cupboard. The far wall was taken up by a wooden desk, a chair in front of it. Sat on top of this desk was the radio, an old thing that even now fizzled with faint static. Its age was an advantage, as it was sturdy and didn’t require much power to run. The main system was directly connected to a small generator crammed beneath the desk; fuel operated with a winch, nice and easy to use.

Heather took the time to lock the door behind her, glad this was one of the few locks that still worked. Blanket would still try and get to her, it always did, but at least this way it couldn’t interrupt her without warning. Then she sat in the chair, placing the heavy headset on her head and pulling the boxy microphone towards her. She stared at the radio, taking in each button, dial and knob individually. It was already charged, all she had to do was start searching.

But she didn’t do anything.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Still nothing.

Heather looked down at her hand and saw that it was trembling. A lump began to form in her throat, and she felt her eyes starting to itch.

Come on Heather. Just do it. You must find out if anyone else is out there.

A deep breath rattled through her chest.

And she began to twist one of the dials. The small fizzle of static erupted into a loud crackle, assaulting her ears with the noise. She gritted her teeth and turned it further.

Back and forth it turned, the static changing every so often to high pitched whines and squeals. She alternated the dials she turned, focusing in on every scrap of noise that came through. Every so often she could get a shout or a few broken words, but whatever channel she tuned into always disintegrated before she could get the full message. Her top teeth sunk into her bottom lip, deep enough to leave a mark. She continued in this manner, unsure of how long she’d been sat here; any clocks in the mansion had long-since broken, and in this windowless room there was no daylight with which she could judge the time.

No results.

Within time she became aware of the faintest of knocks at the door, barely noticeable but for the fact that she was expecting it. The knocking was constant, and soon Heather was able to ignore it.

The dial between her fingers turned clockwise.

… H… h-hello?... is any… there?...

Heather blinked, barely able to believe that she had heard right.

… are… other survivors… anyone... can you hear me?...

It’s real… That’s really a human voice!

She spluttered with sudden laughter, lips splitting into a shaky grin as she tried to focus in on the signal, flicking a few other switches to make the sound much clearer.

… need shelter… Nemiers… our co… 64 North… 73 West… repeat… coordinates are 64 North and 73 West…

Heather pulled a scrap of paper towards her, scratching at its surface with a chewed-up pen.

64 North and 73 West…

She had to check a worn map and jot down a few calculations, but Heather soon realised those coordinates were only a few miles from the mansion. She had no idea how bad the Nemiers were now, it had been weeks since she’d last checked the hedges for signs of infiltration, but she wasn’t worried considering how much lavender there was. There was enough room and supplies for a large group, and it was always safer to live in numbers. Plus, she was down to three bullets in her gun, with no way of making the lavender filled shells she relied on, so any chance of someone who knew how to make them would be beneficial. There was the issue of Blanket but maybe someone would know a way to get rid of it or lock it up.

… hello?... is anyone there?... if you can hear… please respond…

The voice snapped her out of her thoughts, Heather’s trembling fingers flicking a few switches, waiting to hear a low squeak before pulling the mike to her lips and all but gasping out “H-hello? Hello I’m here! Can you hear me?”

Static.

Then…

… Hello?... Hello we hear you!... Thank God… another survivor… where are you?... your coordinates…

“Yes hello! My coordinates are-”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Heather’s response caught in her breath as she heard the knocking, far louder than it had been before. On and on Blanket continued to knock, she’d been able to ignore it previously but for some reason now it was obnoxiously noticeable.

… hello?... there’s a thumping sound… you still there?... what’s happening?...

Heather looked back at the radio, swallowing as she tried to respond.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Her throat tightened. Her fingers started to fidget. Her eyelids blinked up and down rapidly.

… hello?... your coordinates… still there…

All she could do was stare at the machine, the words fizzling in and out as the static increased. If she didn’t act soon, she’d lose the signal, and who knew how long it would be until she got in touch with somebody like this.

KNOCK.

… hell… o… sig… signal…

KNOCK.

… hel…

Click.

The noise died away instantly, leaving a thick silence broken only by the incessant knocking. Heather stared at the now quiet machine, tears threatening to spill from her eyes the longer she watched it.

Don’t let it get to you. You made a mistake, but you can try again. If not now, then later. Don’t let this sink in. Don’t let this consume you. Don’t let this break you. Don’t.

She got up.

The chair legs scraped against the floor, and Heather fumbled at the latch of the door before wrenching it open. Blanket was still stood there, one hand raised to knock again. Its head cocked slightly upon seeing her, with Heather glaring right back.

“Fuck off!” She spat; her voice filled with as much venom as she could muster. She pushed the creature back, cringing at the fleecy softness of its skin. Blanket did not react. It did not fight or stop her from pushing it out the way. It just turned to begin its slow walk after her.

The tears were getting harder to hold back, forcing her to run to her bedroom and frantically stumbling over the threshold as she slammed the door behind her, not bothering to lock it as she didn’t want to hear that knocking again. Blanket couldn’t be kept away even if she did.

Stupid thing! It’s your fault I missed the chance to… to…

She clutched her arms, hugging herself tightly as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

Heather knew deep down that this was her fault. All she had to do was give her coordinates so they could find her, that was all she needed to do, and she’d blown it. Now she just wanted to crawl into her little nest and forget everything.

Her eyes lingered on the soft mish mash of pillows, the misshapen fabric so inviting. A memory of softness flitted across her mind, and she shuddered but couldn’t bring herself to push the thought away. She’d experienced real softness once before when Blanket had caught her. Too much softness, too heavy and too smothering. A comfortable discomfort that she never wanted to feel again. But the pillows wouldn’t do any harm, this was her bed after all.

I could lie here for a while. Just curl up and ignore everything. Blanket, the mansion and the world outside. Shut out all the creaks and knocks and moans…

“… moans?”

Now she focused Heather could make out several long, strange moans. Quiet at first but now louder.

And close.

Her feet turned from the bed to her window, and soon her forehead was once more pressed against the glass. 

What she saw made her blood run cold.

There were three of them.

The tallest of them was scratching at the wood of the front door while continuing to emit that horrible moaning sound. It was a grotesque, malformed creature with limbs that were skeletal near the torso before bloating into thick blobs of misshapen fat. The belly wide and the chest thin, with a short neck crowned by a flat head and bulging eyes.

Next to this one was a creature just as hideous but in a different way, having a very thin and flimsy looking body coloured a deep, mottled green. Its body was weighed down by bulges on the end of its arms, legs and long neck, forcing it to awkwardly crawl while the bulges made a strange jinglingsound each time they hit the ground, like bags of money. This one looked sluggish and stiff in its movements. Heather knew it must be due to the lavender but knowing this only made her question how the creatures had even got as far as they had.

Her answer came as she noticed the third creature, a centipede-like beast with a vast array of limbs along an oblong torso and the barest lump of a head. It was half in and half out of the lavender, moving in a slow, jerky manner like stop motion. It inched it’s body out from the flowers, slow as a snail.

“Oh no…” Heather whispered, the realisation sinking in her gut as if she’d swallowed a rock.

All the shudders of the lavender… she’d seen it happen before. They must have been slowly crawling through for days without giving up; she never even considered that they would try something like this.

At that point, the crawling one bent up, its tiny head pointed at her as it emitted a high-pitched scream. This made the others look up, emitting noises of their own as they saw her at the window.

Heather stepped back only to crash into Blanket, shrieking as she pulled away “I’ve got no time for you!”

Rushing past she began heading down the stairs, stumbling in her haste. There were now loud bangs and incessant scratching at the door, clearly seeing her had increased the Nemiers resolve to get in. She stumbled towards the pantry, heading to an empty, narrow cupboard and struggling to wrench the door open. It had no lock, but it always stuck, meaning anyone who tried to open it would have to struggle for at least a minute. This was what Heather was counting on, as she reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a small handgun before squeezing into the cupboard, making sure the door was closed tightly before crouching down in the blackness.

Part of her wanted to run away before the Nemiers got in, but a bigger part was loathed to give up the mansion. It was easy here, she had plenty of food and a comfortable bed to sleep in; she could live here for years. Being in such a large building with no other people wasn’t pleasant, and there were points when she felt lonely, but that meant there was only herself to worry about. Blanket had followed her long before the Nemiers, so its presence made no difference in that regard. Besides there were only three trying to get in right now, whereas there was likely to be many outside the mansion grounds. She had lived out there before, and the thought of once again suffering for survival made her skin crawl. Better to take these out now, and perhaps start thinking of what to do if more of them arrived.

If she had to run, she’d rather do it on her terms.

Her fingers flicked over the gun cartridge, clicking it out and feeling the three bullets lodged in there. One for each creature. She had to make the shots count, it had to be in the head to kill them. That wouldn’t be easy with the crawling one, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. They would track her down, then she’d have the time it took them to break in to aim her gun before she had to shoot. A shot at point blank range would let her take one out straight away; two would be easier to manage than three.

She gripped the gun tightly, adjusting her knees so she’d be ready to jump out at a moments’ notice. Already her body was beginning to cramp up in the small space.

She waited, unable to settle her breathing.

More time passed.

There was a distant crash and the unmistakable wail of the Nemiers. They were through the front door quicker than expected; maybe she should have replaced the lavender linings. Nothing she could do now, with their sense of smell, it wouldn’t be long until they found her.

A set of footsteps caught her attention, getting louder as they approached the pantry with Heather raising her gun in preparation. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, a vague shadow filtering through the bottom. Then the handle began to rattle, not much at first but then more while her hands began to shake alongside it.

Calm down Heather, calm down.

But she was unable to, having to keep both hands on the gun as she pointed it at the door.

A pull on the wood and…

The door yanked open, and instinct took over. The trigger pulled back and the gun flashed, Heather instantly pushing forward. She brushed past the creature, noticing how soft its skin was.

Soft…

Her eyes swiveled back to see Blanket stood there, off balance from the shot but otherwise unharmed. She’d just wasted a bullet because it was there instead!

Her mouth opened to yell in frustration, but at that point the malformed Nemier waddled into the kitchen and slammed its thick forearm into the wall with a roar. Heather forced her attention to it just as another limb smacked into her stomach, knocking her against the counter. Her ribs stung, but she still managed to roll away from another attack, her fingers tightening on the gun as she tried to aim between dodging attacks. Despite its awkward motions the Nemier never stood still long enough for her to take a shot, and she was acutely aware of Blanket walking towards her, idly avoiding the attacks as if they were an annoying fly. The Nemier itself seemed to move away from Blanket without acknowledging it.

After finally slipping past to the kitchen door, Heather dashed into the foyer. The front door was in shambles, even now she could smell the lavender outside. When she tried to leave, the centipede Nemier dropped down from the ceiling in a mass of flailing limbs, causing Heather to shriek again and fire off a hasty shot.

The cry of pain and the spurt of greenish blood told her she’d hit it, but nowhere near its head. Still, she took the distraction to head towards the stairs, hoping to climb down the ivy from her bedroom window. With one bullet left, her only option was to get to the lavender, maybe lure them in so she could trap them, re-supply and…

Leave? Hide? What else can I do?

A strange jingling preceded the third one moving down the stairs, legs flipping around like a cartwheeling gymnast. It was moving so quick she was losing track of where the head was, being forced to stumble back to avoid getting hit. Her feet twisted on the edge of a step, and she was sent sprawling to the ground. The back of her head smacked hard against the floor, ears ringing as the pain shuddered through her.

Heather was running out of options. The Nemiers were working to corner her, and she only had one bullet left; there was no way kill them all.

Something tugged at her hair.

She forced herself up before the centipede Nemier could drag her back, a few of her hairs getting yanked out in the process. Heather tried to stand up, only to duck from the swing of the malformed Nemier now behind her. Scrabbling away she raised her gun as the three of them moved towards her, stepping back while flicking the barrel from head to head to head.

The thumping of her heart was painful, echoed by her eardrums until all she could hear was thump thump thump. Every part of her brain fought to be heard amidst the din.

Fight back!

Run away!

Shoot them!

You can’t kill them all!

Don’t lose the mansion!

It’s not worth your life!  

Hide somewhere!

Where can you go?!

Why should you do anything?

…

Something soft was pressed over her eyes, blocking her vision while a heavy weight rested against her shoulders and back.

Soft. Warm. Soothing.

Her fingers went limp as she felt herself drop the gun; the sound was muffled by the softness now covering her entire head. Every limb trembled. Her knees buckled and she leaned forward, feeling more of her body enveloped, wrapped up like she was a baby in a blanket.

Blanket…

“Blanket…”

She knew this feeling; it wasn’t the first time Blanket had done this.

A small voice in her mind screamed at her to Get up! Run away! Don’t give in to this! You don’t need this! You don’t want this! Just move! 

Tears began to fall, her throat tightening as she choked through sobs. The softness clutched her, supported her when her own legs failed. They sank to the floor, Heather dropping to her side and curling into the fetal position. Blanket continued to wrap itself around her, the long sheets stretching until she was completely buried. She sniffed and the grip around her tightened, but this only made her cry harder.

It feels likes an escape, but it isn’t. What if you don’t get up again? Come on Heather! Don’t do this to yourself!

But Heather had already given in.

Part of her mind still thought of the Nemiers. She couldn’t hear them anymore, were they still approaching? Leaving? Waiting for her to reappear?

They would be waiting a while.

Last time she’d been wrapped up for hours.

Comfortable, safe… and trapped.

Ragged gasps left her throat, her chest growing tighter and tighter as Blanket’s weight pressed her down. No sound penetrated her strange cocoon. Everything was dark, suffocation and claustrophobia scratching at the walls of her psyche.

Despite this she nestled deeper into the embrace, feeling the softness slowly smother those feelings, replacing them with numbness. Her eyes continued to stream with tears, but she was no longer sobbing. She didn’t feel sad, or afraid… only hollow. Getting up would be a terrible struggle, but that didn’t matter; there was no reason to get up. Here she was secure, away from the difficult life stood just outside the confines of Blankets skin. 

Blanket wasn’t good.

Blanket was a problem.

But Blanket was always there for her.

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[anmanarrative]

The First Jewel To Be Saved

CW: Blood, Drugging

“Some of our jewels are light this month. Have you noticed any problems during their examinations? We should hate for them to be unwell.”

“Nothing of the sort, Demetrius. I imagine that the newer ones simply need time to adjust; you know how stress can affect the cycle.”

“Ah, of course.” Spindly fingers grasped one of the crooked, haphazardly sewn toy horses lined up on the table, pulling it forward before pressing a pair of scissors to one of the seams. “Be so kind as to remind them that they can ask for anything. Whatever the need, we will strive to fulfill it; we want our jewels to be comfortable after all.”

Yes… as comfortable as a marionette suspended by chains over a gilded stage.

My smile twitched in time with the snip, snip, snip of the scissors, watching their blades slide through the worn cotton. They curved around a thick patch of dark red, its shape a mockery of where a saddle would be. The other horses had similar blotches, matching those on the creature’s own patchwork robe.

“And what about you, friend?”

Its face was closer now, although what hovered before me was an insult to the word. More like a shuddering mass of eyes and teeth bobbing on the end of a long, goose-like neck; its skin peppered with sores and flaky scabs. A clump of teeth in the middle had contorted, which I know to be their way of smiling.  

I hate seeing them smile.

“I’m not due for a couple more days, but there have some phantom pains, so everything seems to be in working order.” Demetrius’s head bobbed up and down, the neck just out of strangling range. If it had any bones, I would happily twist that long neck until they snapped. “Is there anything else you need… friend?” I asked, the word acid on my tongue. “Only I do have an examination due to begin soon.”

“Of course, of course!” Another horse was pulled forward. “Do go ahead, we must attend to our jewels every need after all.”

Every need that lines up with yours.

“Then I shall speak to you later… friend.” I inclined my head and turned away from the toy mutilation.

My hand had barely grazed the door handle when Demetrius spoke again “We hope you know how much we appreciate all of your hard work.” Bile started to rise in my throat, but I still turned back to hear the rest of its words. “True your early days were a little… rough, and many of us were hesitant to trust you with such responsibility, yet you have proven yourself time and again.” Its voice dripped with honey-drenched venom; why must there be such sincerity in those words? “Dearest Aquamarine, you have truly become one of our most precious treasures.”

Keep smiling.

Just keep smiling and leave.

The parasite will die… but not yet.

I finally closed the door behind me, taking a moment to glance up and down the corridor.

Empty, as to be expected at this time of day. But I didn’t want to risk Demetrius hearing me, so I rounded the corner, putting some distance between me and my friend. Soon I stopped in between two paintings; one a medieval court scene, the other a Victorian family portrait. Still there was nobody around, and this should be far enough away that I won’t draw attention. Perfect, time to take a few deep breaths.

In… and out.

In… and out.

Then I punched the wall.

…

Oh dear, I didn’t think I was strong enough to leave a crack. And the skin of my knuckles has broken. Damn. At least it hasn’t stained the wall, and I have spare bandages in my office. As for the smell… well, what’s one more drop of blood in this place?  

With another deep breath, I began walking.

Aquamarine.

Demetrius picked it for me, likely because it sounds similar to my real name, Marina. That was a few months ago, and now most of the vermin refer to me by that name. Either that or friend. Both options disgust me, I hate the intimacy… the endearment behind their use. But more than that, I hate how they act liked I’ve earned it.   

No one else is referred to by name. At least, no other human is. The creatures have given themselves names in our language, though the range is ridiculous; Theodore in one room and Anubis in another. But even then, they mostly refer to each other as friend. The other captives use their own names to speak to each other, but to the creatures they’re just… jewels.

Precious little stones of all shapes and sizes, there to be kept safe and polished for as long as they give rubies.

Something caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see my reflection in one of the large windows, blackened by the night outside. Rough white dress, worn and stained in places, with a wobbly red cross sewn on the front. Black hair pulled tight, hidden under a white scarf. Grey eyes open that little bit too wide, exaggerated further by the dark circles beneath them. And of course, the permanent smile on my cracked lips.

A parody of a nurse and a friendly face here to make things easier… that’s what I need to be.

Just a little longer.

I can break character when they’re all out.

I touched the corner of my smile, feeling how hard the tension had made the muscles in my cheeks. Julia once asked how I could cope with the pain of smiling all the time, but at this stage it hurts more not to smile. My face has been moulded to fit the mask. I imagine it will  vanish once everyone has been saved.

No… it will vanish after I’ve torn those abominations to shreds.   

Hehe. Time to get back to work.

This mansion must have been nice at one point. A beautiful, classy, elegant place where the aristocracy would gather; wining, dining and dancing the night away. But now the carpets beneath my feet are worn, and the walls are adorned with a mishmash of art from all different periods and cultures. That’s what they’ve done over the years; they picked up bits and bobs from humanity, keeping what they liked and jamming it together like the ill-fitting pieces of a puzzle. The effect is uncanny, even more so when you mix humans into their twisted little world.

Speaking of which, “Good morning Gina, Sam.”

The two women looked startled, not having noticed me coming down the hall; it seems my knack for silent travel is as strong as ever.  They both gave a hesitant ‘hello’, Gina even attempting a smile. Sam only looked away, not quite quick enough to hide the flicker of anger in her eyes. As we passed, I heard a hushed whisper pass between them, too quiet to make out all but one word.

Traitor.

When did I start paying such close attention to other people’s feelings? Or what they think of me?

I never used to. And it wasn’t out of arrogance or selfishness, at least I don’t think it was, but the emotions of others just never factored in before. I lived my life; everybody else was just set dressing. Even when I was first brought here, I spent more time trying to kill those parasites and run away than I did getting to know my fellow captives. From that to what I have become now, it’s no wonder they don’t like me.

But they still trust me.

They trust me enough to be alone with them.

They trust me to examine them.

They trust me because despite all I’ve done… I’m not one of those creatures.

And that trust is all I need.

Hehe.  

Hehehehe.

The door to what was now considered my office stood slightly ajar. Clearly, Evie didn’t want to wait outside, but that’s no problem.

There was an odd sense of comfort as I entered the dingy room.

A flick of the light switch illuminated several shapes along the walls. A large wooden desk, alongside shelves and cupboards packed tight with books, sheets of paper, and various medical apparatus. As a matter of principle, I tried not to let things pile up on the floor, resulting in every available surface being filled to bursting point.  It still smelled of must no matter how often I cleaned it, and the pictures only did so much to cover up the scratch marks, but it had become the one part of this hellhole I felt remotely comfortable in. Not as overly decorated as the bedrooms nor as dank as the dungeons. I still don’t feel at home here, and I hope I never do, but at least it doesn’t make me want to slit my throat.

Evie was sat in a green armchair in front of my desk. Her dark skin had a sickly pallor to it, and she was noticeably thinner than when she first arrived, but even so she made the effort to stand and smile when she noticed me entering.

“Hi Marina. S-sorry to just let myself in but the door was unlocked-”

“It’s fine Evie, it’s fine. You know you’re welcome anytime.” I indicated for her to sit down again, closing the door behind me and walking over. “So… how are you feeling?”

She seemed to be having trouble keeping eye contact with me but managed to answer “A bit sluggish and nauseous. I have been throwing up quite a bit which is why they… made me come here.” Her head snapped up, eyes widening with the look of a child who had just sworn in front of a teacher. “N-not that I have an issue with being here! And I d-definitely appreciate you seeing me but-”

“You don’t have to apologise, Evie.” I placed a hand on the back of the chair, close to her shoulder without touching it. She still flinched, immediately looking guilty as she did so. “They’re very paranoid about our health and they don’t understand enough to trust our judgment; hence why I’m here. Have you ever had this with your period before?”

Evie nodded. “More than once, though never three months in a row. It isn’t just when I’m on the rag either. And I have felt… discomfort down there, you know? It isn’t like… what happened to your hand?”

I followed her gaze down to my knuckles, the blood having already dried into a crusty scab.

“Just a little accident. Anyway, that discomfort probably isn’t anything serious, maybe you’ve had trouble adjusting to the food here.” She wouldn’t be the first; liver and spinach aren’t exactly a standard diet for most people. “But if you’d like I can have a look and see if I can find anything. Ok?” Evie nodded again, though eyes kept going back to my hand. “Alright, if you just want to lie down on the table.”

I indicated an examination table to her left. Well, I call it an examination table. It’s really just a narrow desk with a cloth over the top and some cushions for comfort, but it serves the same purpose well enough. Evie didn’t look too convinced though, glancing between it and the door.

“Um… it is just going to be you, right? I-I mean… they’re not… they won’t…”

She’s trembling.

Poor girl, she really is struggling here. All of them are of course, but some find it much harder to cope with than others. I’m glad she’s the first to be saved; at least she won’t have to deal with this for long.

Hmm, there’s that caring about others thing again. Must be becoming a habit.

I turned to the desk, pushing a few pages of notes aside before picking up a small bead on a string, holding it up to her and saying “You may have seen one of these on some of the other doors. They use it to indicate that they don’t want to be disturbed.” I opened the door and tied the string onto the outside handle, then closed and locked it. “Better?”

“… yeah. Yeah, that’s a lot better, thanks Marina.”

Evie pulled herself onto the table, turning to sit upright as she waited for further instructions. There was a dark stain on her skirt, a result of them not allowing us to use any products, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. Once she had settled, I walked around to the other side of the desk. There’s no sense risking infection for a moment of temper, so I rummaged around for a bandage, wrapping it around my hand and pulling an old pair of gloves over the top. Satisfied, I quickly glanced over the items I would be needing.

A large jug and two glasses, the jug containing a transparent liquid.

A tray full of shiny medical instruments, ranging from basic care to invasive surgery.

And a set of biological charts, one of which I pulled forward to remind myself where to start.

“Hey, Marina?”

“Hmm?”

“You found something here… didn’t you?”

…

Well now, this is interesting. I didn’t think any of them knew what I was doing here, especially when I’ve been so careful about hiding it. Not that I think they’ll tell on me, far from it, but I’ve intentionally kept quiet while I figure out all the kinks. The plan to save them is far from perfect; there’s a risk they could misunderstand my intentions.

“What do you mean ‘found something’?”

I didn’t need to look to know how nervous she was, but to her credit, she pushed on and answered me, her voice audibly cracking as she did so.  

“I mean… t-that is… Look, I know I haven’t been here very long, but I heard from the others about what happened to you. Before you… before you started doing this. Y-you were just one of us before, and you fought back! Everyone knows the stories! Like how you tried attacking them…”

Snapping my knife as I uselessly hacked at those walking piles of cartilage.

“… a-and how you managed to get further away from the mansion than anyone else…”

Barely able to breathe with my legs skewered by thorns from that godforsaken hedge maze.

“… and even when you were brought back you still resisted!”

Chained and gagging on a tube while they forced water, soup and whatever else they could down my throat.

“Some of the older ones actually thought you’d get away… but then you changed. You became this. You started working with them.” She hesitated before continuing “Some of the others think it’s a kind of stockholm syndrome, or that you just did it to save your own skin, but the rest… they thought you knew something we didn’t. That you were just playing along with them because you had found something that could help us.”

In other words, ‘please tell me you’re not really on their side after everything you’ve been through’.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

My fingernails continued tapping on the desk as I thought, knowing that if I turned around now, I would see that hopeful glint in her eye. It didn’t show up very often, the others tended to look at me with one of three expressions: hatred, disgust… or pity. But hope sometimes snuck its way in there, just in those brief seconds. She’s right of course, this is exactly what I’m doing, and she’s the only one to ever broach the subject. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share what I’ve found… she’s the first to be saved, after all, understanding how would surely give her peace of mind for the others.

“Hehe… hehehe… hehehehehehe-”

“M-marina?”

Oops. “Did I laugh out loud?” There was no reply, but I knew the answer was yes. “Sorry. I spend a lot of time in my own mind; sometimes things slip out. But in response to your question… yes, I did find something.”

There was a rattle behind me, and I looked to see Evie gripping the edge of the table with whitened knuckles, her eyes wide and sparkling while her chest visibly rose and fell with excitement. Bless her heart; she’s trying so hard to stay calm. But it feels nice to see her light up like that.

… I think.

Everyone always describes the feeling of doing something for others as a warm sensation deep inside, but I’ve never had that. This is more like a spark of static across my brain. Hmm, maybe some people experience it differently. Either way, I know I’m doing the right thing.

“It’s not pleasant information,” I warned, moving the tray closer to her before doing the same with the jug and one of the glasses. “and it may not be what you want to hear.”

“Th-that’s fine! I just… if you know something, I want to know too. Please Marina.”

“Alright then Evie, I’ll tell you want I know. Sit up straight, I’ll give you a look over while we’re talking.” She obliged, sitting upright while I selected a thin stick off the tray and asked, “Have the others told you about the incident yet?”

Her eyebrows creased with effort. “Is that when the creatures let in a male doctor but some of the girls sealed him in a room all night an-”

“No no. That was an incident but not the incident. Open your mouth.” I pushed her tongue down examine the back of her throat. “No swelling, good. A few of the others know that something bad happened, but for a long time the details were lost; or more specifically, kept secret. Most of them I had to piece together myself from what evidence I found. The creatures have deliberately kept it quiet.” I took the stick out, pausing a moment before adding “They didn’t want to alarm us.” Her eyes widened, and a faint squeak escaped between her lips. “Do you want me to stop?”

She didn’t move for a moment, glancing between me and the door.

Then shook her head.

“Ok.” I felt her forehead, testing for signs of a fever. “You know that there are nine of them here currently? Well, there used to be ten. Actually, there used to be more than that but for our purposes, there were ten, the tenth calling itself Albion.”

Evie snorted, biting her lip in a bid to stop herself from giggling. “Albion?”

“Yes, another example of their marvellous choice of names. You want a drink?” She nodded, watching as I poured out some of the liquid from the jug into the glass. I watched as well, pleased to see nothing had gathered in the bottom of the jug. I was worried it wouldn’t dissolve completely; this solution is still quite new and I’m not confident I have the dosage right. But that’s why it needs to be tested, so I passed her the glass. “As I said most of this has been pieced together, mostly using what’s in this room, but from what I’ve been able to find Albion was interested in… learning about living creatures, and how they worked. Because of that, they started studying surgery, and eventually wanted to test what they’d learned.”

“Wait, what? Are you telling me one of those things started cutting people up?!”

“No no, they weren’t allowed to. Instead, they started on animals.”

“Ugh.” She cringed, lowering the glass just as she had been about to take a sip. “That’s not much bet… started?”

“Yes.” I turned away to consult one of my diagrams, tracing a few lines with the tip of my nail.  “For a while that’s all there was to it, just dissecting animals in an attempt to figure out what makes us all tick. I don’t know exactly how long that went on for, but things started to change when they got hold of a newspaper… from 1888.” There was a sharp intake of breath behind me; Evie must have guessed where I’m going. “In the paper was an article about the murder of Catherine Eddows. It seems Albion paid specific attention to what was removed from her body, which gave them the impression that they could do the same thing… as an alternate method to get our blood.”

“… a… an alt-…”

“They believed that a finite amount of blood is stored in the uterus, and little by little it gets released every month. By harvesting it directly, they reasoned it wouldn’t be necessary to keep us here for so long. Unfortunately, they didn’t understand that the blood and tissue are constantly getting replenished. Now, I haven’t been able to confirm exactly what happened, as none of them will talk to me about it, but it seems that one day Albion was compelled to… test out this method. Ironically, they lost about five women in the carnage and-”

My words were interrupted by a violent heaving sound, followed by a splat and a crash. I turned to see Evie doubled over, arms clutched over her stomach as vomit was chugged out, only taking breaks to gasp and cough before starting to heave again. Most of it had fallen onto the floor, shards of broken glass mixed in where she had dropped the glass. That seemed like a bit of a waste, but I couldn’t blame the poor thing, walking over and rubbing her back to help her along.

“Easy now, easy. Just let it out.”

Her eyes were already red as tears leaked out, snot starting to drip down her nose. She gripped my arm for support, heaving a few more times until my dress was decorated with a thin trail of vomit. I shushed and rubbed, letting her keep hold of me as the last few dregs dribbled out. At last, she seemed to be done, her head rocking forward to rest against me while she croaked “Agck… ugh… I’m… ugk… I’m sorry Marina…”

“There there, don’t be silly. Better out here than inside making you feel bad.”

There were a few more minutes of dry heaving and choked sobs before Evie was calm enough to lift her head. Her shaking fingers still dug into my arm, and I must admit it is strange having someone cling to me like this. I’ve never been particularly good with physical affection. Perhaps that was another mistake, another way that thinking only of myself has hampered my efforts.

And why it’s so important that I save the others first.  

“Better?”

Evie nodded, giving a small sniff before looking down at the mess of vomit and broken glass on the floor. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let me get you another drink.” Lucky I remembered to keep an extra glass handy, what’s left in the jug should still be enough. I held the glass up to her lips, keeping hold of it while she drank as her hands were still trembling. “Slowly. You don’t want to throw up again.” Evie nodded, taking a smaller sip and swallowing. “That’s better. I’m sorry I upset you.”

“N-no it’s fine. You warned me and I said to go ahead anyway. I guess… I-I guess I got my hopes up a bit. I thought that you had found something to help.” She drank again, leaning back slightly. “Suppose that was stupid of me. Stupid to… to think we could actually… sorry.” She apologised, wiping her eyes as fresh tears started to bloom. Another swig, only a few drops remaining. Good. “I must be a right state. D-do you mind if I lie down? All this silly crying is making my head swim.”

“Go ahead, get comfortable.”

I took the glass from her and moved back to the desk, setting it down before taking another look at the diagrams. Seems the time has come, and now that Evie is a bit more settled, I can start the real work. Besides which, some good news will lift her spirits.

“You weren’t wrong.”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“About finding something to help.” My fingers moved to the tray, lingering over each instrument in turn. After a few seconds, I selected a single scalpel, examining the edge of the blade before adding “While their reasoning for doing it was flawed, and their method… inelegant, Albion had a point.”

Funny, by all rights I should be nervous about this. It has taken months of worming my way into the creature’s circle of trust, finding all the equipment and medicines I’ll need not only to keep up the charade but also to enact the final plan. And this is only the first step of many, I have much work to do before all of them can be saved. Every inch of me should be trembling… yet I feel more at ease now than I have in a long time.

Euphoric almost.

I wish I could say the same for poor Evie. Her eyes bulged like a fish from where she lay, staring fixedly at the scalpel in my hand.

“Don’t worry, it’s in good condition. I’ve been keeping all of the tools well-maintained and fully sanitized for as long as I’ve had access to them. Admittedly it took a while, nobody really cleaned up after Albion’s massacre, so there were some tough old stains to deal with. Now, hehe… you’ve probably already guessed that I have no training as a surgeon. I know enough about basic health care from my mum, she was a nurse you see, but what I’m going to do here is the fruit of many hours spent studying medical texts. A few of them are a little out of date, but I think I’ve got the principle down. I promise I will do everything in my power to minimize the damage. And once I’ve had a bit of practise the results will be much more efficient, don’t you agree?”

My words elicited a squeak from Evie as she tried to sit up…try being the operative word.

I raised the glass in front of her face, idly swirling the small remnant of liquid around as her head fell back onto the cushion.  

“Looks like you didn’t need the full amount for it to become effective. That’s useful to know, I want to make sure I keep any future doses only to what is necessary for the procedure. Oh no Evie, please don’t strain yourself.” Her arms were visibly tensing, and I placed a reassuring hand on hers to try and help her relax. “You’re going to be paralysed for a little while longer; forcing your muscles now could cause long-term damage.”

My warning went unheeded as she began trembling, fighting against the stiffness that overtook her limbs. Her lips parted slightly but even then, she couldn’t get out much more than a faint squeak. Impressive how quickly it acts, and I didn’t realise it would restrict her vocal cords so much; that’s useful, can’t have anybody overhearing after all.

“You should be going numb soon, I mixed in a few painkillers. Personally, I would have preferred to put you under completely, but the only sedative I found that could do the trick is the one Emily nearly choked on. Remember? Her throat swelled up like a toad, it took a whole week before she could breathe normally again. And even with smaller doses that swelling still occurs; they know to look for that. I won’t be able to save any of you if they know what I’m doing.”

There was a slight twitch in her cheek, but it appeared Evie had lost complete control of her body. I waited a few moments. There was always the chance that the effects were temporary, but the longer I watched the plainer it became that she was not going anywhere. Now to start the tricky bit. I moved one of the cushions so it rested under her knees, keeping her legs slightly elevated. Then I lifted the hem of her skirt, pulling it all the way up to expose her belly. Tears were streaming down her frozen cheek as her eyes followed the scalpel now hovering over her flesh.

“I know this seems harsh, Evie, but it’s the only way I’ll be able to save you all.”

The first incision is the most important, and it must be done in the right place.

“Fighting them doesn’t work.”

I can’t let her down.

“Running away doesn’t work.”

I can’t let any of them down.

“But this…”

Ah… hehehe, here it is.

“… this will work.”

I let the tip of the scalpel press lightly against her skin… and for the first time in months, my smile felt genuine.

“They won’t want us… if we can’t bleed.”

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[anmanarrative]

Thief Of Kuk

Royal Seal-Bearer, Sole Companion, Lector Priest, Scribe of the Royal Archives, Scribe of the Royal Works, A Man of Frightened Heart, Intef says:

I recounted the wisdoms of Thoth and shared his blessings. I acted as Scribe of the Royal Archives and was trusted with courtly writings. I was loved by the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Sobekneferu. Her majesty had me in her heart. All was good.

Regnal year 2, second month of Peret, day 2; King Sobekneferu appointed me as Scribe of the Royal Works at Mazghuna and I departed court to fulfil this duty. The Overseer treated me as his equal, and all spoke to me with reverence. I guided the tools of builders and they carved magnificence. I directed the hands of craftsmen and they made beauty. Work was excellent.

All should have been good.

Four men were tasked with excavating the burial chamber and I observed them with vigilance. We worked in the burial chamber with torches as our light. Our tools kept busy, their chisels and my pen.

I felt sudden dread though my heart was content.

I stilled my pen though I knew what to write.

I saw a fifth among those men and wished my eyes blind.  

It stood six cubits tall and was slender as a reed. Not two arms but four, reaching almost to the floor. Its skin eternal yellow. I knew it to be alive, its limbs rippled like the Nile, but it did not try to approach. It stood and stared without a face. No nose nor eyes nor ears nor mouth.

My tongue was struck dumb while my Ba screamed within me, but I was the only fearful man. The others worked with no disturbance. They did not see what stood in the shadows.

The shadows that were not there.

Our light cast darkness to each corner except the one where it stood. Its yellow skin was bright and dead and flat as paint. When shadows crept near it, they faded. The dark was erased by its unnatural light.

I was gripped by madness, my legs carrying me from the chamber. I sought out large shadows. I sought out small shadows. And I wept prayers to Thoth that he may assuage my terror.

My flight was noticed.

All men asked if I was ill and the Overseer took me to his home. His wife and sister were good to me, they gave me honeyed milk and figs. I did not return to the burial chamber and remained beside their shrine of Ptah.

My night was restless.

As morning came, I gave prayers to Ptah that work would be good and to Thoth that my mind be clear of such madness.

I returned to my work. The Overseer’s heart was glad to see me, and he welcomed me as a soldier back from war. This day I monitored the entrance to the tomb and kept record of the materials. Thoth guided my pen while the men did Ptah’s work. And Ra watched us from above, bathing us in the Aten’s light.

I felt sudden dread though my heart was content.

I stilled my pen though I knew what to write.

I saw the figure sharing our light.

It stood among the men and it did not hide. It stood in sickly yellow now ten cubits tall. No man walked near it. They did not avoid it but walked as if it were not there.

And the shadows were not there.

No shadows by its feet.

No shadows on its body.

No shadows by those who passed it.

I was gripped by madness. This time my legs became as stone. I looked to the sky, but Ra bore me no comfort. The creature’s light was a perversion of the Aten’s rays. It poisoned Maat and weakened my heart.

I closed my eyes.

A man asked if I was well.

I did not open my eyes.

Another man asked if I was well.

I did not open my eyes.

A third man asked if I was well.

I could not open my eyes.

The Overseer took me to his house again, but I could not be consoled. I begged the gods to help and sought comfort in what shadows I could find. A priest was brought, and he listened to me speak. He did not know this creature. He asked priests and priestesses, but none knew what I spoke of. Words and spells and amulets were offered. The Overseer offered his home to me.

I took all but found no comfort.

Seven days passed.

I could not return to work. I tried to work in the Overseer’s house. Shadows consumed my mind, but I feared to lose them. I feared to see that yellow light. I feared all thought me mad. The Overseer returned each day to ask after me. His wife and sister made me welcome. Priests would visit me and cast spells of protection. I was told the gods were watching me, but I could not feel their gaze.

On the eighth day I met the father of the Overseer. He was a wise man of many years and he said to me:

“Why do you linger in the house of my son and his wife? I know you are an excellent man trusted by the King. What madness pulls you from your work?”

I recounted my tale and my fears. I told him of the yellow creature that stole shadows. I shared my heart’s true terror. He listened and then said:

“You are right that others do not know him. But I know many secrets. When Ra is swallowed by Nut, I will show you what is hidden.”

We left the house that night. My heart was still frightened, but the night gave me peace. He took me to a resting place. I heard a jackal and felt joy to know Anubis was watching. He took me down eleven steps into the sand. We entered a chamber with one wall of writing. I recognised some words. Others were not complete. But I saw a king’s name inside a cartouche.

Wazner.

I did not know this king. I thought he must be old. I thought he must be one of the first. Beside his name was another cartouche. I could not read it, but I knew it. It was the creature with four arms, thin and black in our torch light.

I asked:

“How do you read this name?”

The Overseer’s father said:

“The Slender King in Yellow.”

A rage consumed my frightened heart, and I became a storm.

“I say this is no king!

What king would take such evil form?

What king would taint the Aten’s light?

What king would hide to all but one?

What king would make madness?

I say this is no king!”

The Overseer’s father said:

“You are right, he is no king. My father and his father and his father and all their fathers have chosen a different name. We call him Thief of Kuk. He steals shadows. He makes terrible light. And he has been here for many years. My father thought he was a force of Apep. That he seeks only to destroy Maat. You have seen him, but you must not speak of him.”

I said:

“Why do you say so? Why show me this if I must be silent? Why offer this goose food when the morrow brings its slaughter?”

The Overseer’s father said:

“I have spoken so you will not. I have revealed what you must forget. To speak of the Thief is to condemn us all. You are not the first to see him and you will not be the last. But you must be the only one now.

Let me tell you of one who tried to speak and what chaos it bore. It was in the time of strife, when Kings were tested, and Egypt was torn. There was fighting. There was famine. There was fear. A man known to the father of my father’s father saw the Thief.

Like you he grew frightened.

Like you he was consumed by madness.

And like you he tried to tell.

He told his family and his comrades and the priests and the governor. He told men and women and children. Soon all grew to see the Thief and feared him. They begged the gods for protection and strength. Some tried to strike him down. Others wished to warn the King. But the Thief stole all their shadows. From every corner and crevice. The light made them blind to Ra. Despair took all.

People were not themselves.

People would not wait for death.

People fell to eating each other.

It was only when enough had forgotten that they could recover and enjoy Egypt’s return to Maat. So it was said that any who saw him must keep silent, and his story must only be told to those already touched by madness. So it was said and so I say.”

I begged him for more. For some liberation from my horror. But he would only say that I must forget. That I must be silent.

With shame I wrote to her majesty and begged to return home. I cited sickness and wished only for the solace of Thoth’s wisdom. Her majesty was kind and welcomed me home. I did not stay at court. I returned to the Temple of Thoth but found no comfort in his teachings. His wisdom could not destroy this being. But what god could I beseech?

Were it a foe I would beg the strength of Seth.

Were it an affliction I would seek the care of Sekhmet.

Were it death I would ask the guidance of Anubis.

I know not who can purge the world of his terrible light.

My is heart is unburdened by my pen. I tell my life though I am far from old age. And I remain silent.   

When the Thief of Kuk invades my thoughts, death appears before me like the first drop of rain to a man consumed by thirst.   

So it is from beginning to end as found in writing by a scribe of frightened fingers.

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[anmanarrative]

You’re Really, Really Hungry

( “An Empty Plate” by Karithina is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0. )

Tiny pixies keep eating all your food. As in, before you can ever get a bite of food into your mouth, they swoop in and take it from you. They just appeared one day and nothing you do can get rid of them. Whatever you or anyone else tries, they just dart out of the way. Fly swatters, nets, bug sprays, all of them useless. They’re just too fast. You can’t get away from them. they just follow you. From the moment you wake up, to the moment you fall asleep, they’re always there, buzzing around the room just waiting for you to try and eat something.

If you try to eat a cookie, they fly in and take it. If you try to eat some soup, they spill the soup. If you try to just bite into a huge turkey, they move it right before you can close your mouth. They do let you drink things, though. However there are limits. One time, you tried to see if a smoothie counted as food to them, and you found that it does. They grabbed the straw and knocked over the glass. When you were done wiping it up, you tried to wring the paper towel into your mouth, and they took that away too.

Juice, though, seems to be fine. So that’s all you’ve had for the past three days. You feel so hungry. So weak. So tired. Your stomach hurts so much. You yell at the pixies, scream things like why are you doing this or what do you want, but all they do is giggle. People try to help, but no one can. They try flamethrowers, trained falcons, gas grenades, electric shocks and so, so, so, so much more. Nothing ever even came close to catching one, let alone all of them. Because it seemed liked there were hundreds, all hanging around on the shelves and on top of doors or fluttering through the air, just waiting for anyone to try to feed you. Everyone eventually just gives up, puzzled by what’s going on.

Eight more days go by. Then, the pixies do something curious. You’re in bed–as this is where you now spend most of your time–when a group of them floats into the room bearing something on a plate. They drop it on your lap. It’s purple, about the size of a baseball, with four small tubes coming out it each ending in a fuzzy cone. You have no idea what this is. You’re not even sure if it’s an animal or a plant or something else completely. The pixies point at it then point to their mouths and make chewing motions. It’s food?

You pick it up. It’s kind of squishy. You lift slowly to your mouth, and the pixies do not a thing. Your teeth hit the surface and feel it has a spongy quality. You bite down, and have the first food in eleven days in your mouth. It’s good. Really, really good. Probably because you’re starving, but you can’t get enough. It’s got a flavor like blueberries and pomegranate mixed, but more refreshing. You don’t even finish your first bite before you take a second, then a third and a forth, and then it’s gone. You feel instantly better, as if nothing had even happened.

Once you finish licking your fingers, you look around and realize all the pixies are now looking at you with intense eyes, as if waiting for something. You’re about to say thank you, but suddenly you feel very sick. Something comes up your throat. You spit, then scream. It’s a pixie, covered in slime. And more are coming. A whole lot more. Your mouth opens by itself and starts pouring out pixies, all over your bed, each one covered in goo and flexing their wings. This goes on for an entire day, without any pause at all. They come out, dry off, then join the rest fluttering above you, cheering and clapping.

It’s late at night when the pixies finally stop. Your jaw hurts. You look up at the pixies, now numbering in the thousands. They turn to you as one, wave, then vanish in puffs of light. They’re gone. They’re finally, truly, gone. You go to the kitchen and take out a huge Tupperware of potato salad. You shove huge fistfuls into your mouth, not even waiting to swallow before taking the next bite. It feels wonderful. Later that night, you order a pizza. That feels even better. You go to bed, full for the first time in a long time. And then you think: what if they come back? At which point, the terror that will keep you awake late at night every night for the rest of your life appears for the first time.

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[anmanarrative]

Strings Above, Cloth Below

CW: Violence, Blood, Vomit

A music box tinkled to life.

Sparks flew across Felicity’s brain in time with the melody, bringing her back to consciousness. She prized her eyelids apart, blinking as she struggled to adjust to the yellow sunlight filling her vision.

No… not sunlight, just yellow.

Her head lifted, staring at the walls around her. Each one was painted a vibrant, blinding yellow. No door, just yellow walls. And the clearer her vision grew, the more she realised it was not the only colour there. The ceiling above her, a swirling mass of circular grooves and gaps, was sky-blue, while the floor below was a plush, grass-green carpet. Dotted around the room were blocky chairs with a square table in the middle, this furniture coloured a vivid scarlet. There were no patterns, no shadows, nothing to break up the harsh, solid colours.

It reminded Felicity of a child’s painting, or a doll house, rather than a real room.

Her eyes began to twitch, and her stomach curled; the colours were so strong that she was beginning to feel nauseous, causing her to drop her gaze.

“… huh? Why… why am I…?”

The music stopped.

Instead of the nightgown she had gone to sleep in, Felicity sat on one of those blocky red chairs wearing a beautiful white tutu. Wide skirt with a few pink accents, sheer sleeves down to the elbow, and elaborate gold embroidery decorating the front. She recognised the design at once, having worn this very costume less than a week ago in the Christmas ballet, the costume of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Her third starring role; Felicity felt it was the best performance of her career so far.

But why am I wearing it now?

She lingered on the thought as she flexed her foot experimentally. Toe shoes: there was no mistaking that feeling. Then her left hand flew to her head, feeling the tight bun of hair and the pointed tips of a tiara. Scratching her cheek, she noticed white powder building under her nails.

Dress, shoes, hair, and make-up.

Felicity was fully dressed for a performance, but this wasn’t a theatre. Or if it was, then it was unlike any theatre she had ever-

Her shriek echoed in the empty room, eyes widening as for the first time she noticed the gold bangle around her left wrist… and the string stretching from it to the ceiling.

“W-what is this?”

The bangle wasn’t tight, but it didn’t move, and further examination showed that inside were multiple, thin needles buried deep into her skin. The string was not attached by any hook or ring, appearing to simply melt into the metal. It was thin but strong, following her motions with ease as she leapt to her feet and pulled at the bangle with her right hand.

Her right wrist had a bangle too.

And her waist.

And her ankles.

And… even her neck.

All of them had the same, thin strings reaching up to the blue above, disappearing into those narrow grooves. Nothing Felicity did could loosen or shift them, and the growing panic made her more conscious of the needles puncturing her flesh. Visions of bloody stage deaths flashed through her mind, her spine tensing and her breath catching in her throat.

“I don’t want to die like that!” She cried, stepping back from the chair, and staring at the garish colours around her. “Oh god! Why is this happening?! Help! Somebody please help!”

She continued to back away from the chair, only to stumble against the table in the middle of the room, the force making her lose her balance. Her body twisted, the strings not letting her fall but instead sending her into a spin. The thought of them tangling together, trapping, or even strangling her, made her reach out to grab the table and steady herself. Once she felt stable, she looked up, gasping for breath as she tried to figure out which way she would have to turn to get the strings back in order.

But the strings were fine.

They hadn’t gotten tangled. Now that she had stopped moving, they weren’t causing any problems.

Felicity hesitated, then straightened up. She lifted one arm and let it drop. She lifted her other arm and let it drop. Both arms lifted and dropped. Then she took a step forward. Slow, deliberate, and careful. The calmer she was, the more smoothly she could move. Looking upwards she noticed how smoothly the strings moved along the circles, even allowing her to twirl on the spot.

If anything, moving around seemed… easier.

I wonder…

The room was silent as she raised herself en pointe.

That faint tug, that ever so slight pull of the strings on her limbs made balancing her weight much more natural. Felicity felt far less strain on her muscles, relaxing into the position rather than tensing. One, two then five steps forward made her feel more like she was floating than walking. A wave of wonder washed fear to back of her mind, and she could not resist springing into motion.

Plié.

Relevé

Coupé.

Pirouette.

Arabesque.

She needed no music, happily lost in her unrehearsed dance as she swayed and turned with a freedom she had never felt. Years of practise, hours on stage, yet this was how she’d always imagined being a true ballet dancer felt. The strings complimented her steps, and the more she continued the more she understood how they worked. If she added more strength, she could keep herself down, but when she let herself relax, they lifted her up, almost lifting off her toes.

In a flush of exhilaration, she bent her knees and leapt, gliding across the room higher  and farther than she ever could have anticipated. She laughed, letting herself float high enough to brush her fingers against the ceiling before tensing her legs to bring herself down. A perfect leap and a perfect landing.

On foot I float… in the air I fly! She giggled at the thought. Why was I so scared?

Her heel dropped to the floor, the smile on her face frozen as she touched the bangle on her neck again.

As she thought about the needles in her skin.

“… are they though?”

If the needles were really dug in, then surely, she would feel pain. But there was nothing like that. And as she looked at her wrists and ankles, Felicity saw no blood at all. Furthermore, all that dancing would certainly have dislodged them or made them move, perhaps even cut her, yet nothing of the sort had happened.

Did I even feel them or was it just paranoia? These strings make me move like a fairy… how could such magic be cruel?

The silence hung heavy around the colourful room.

Felicity sighed. There was no point dwelling on this now, for all she knew this could simply be a strange dream and she would wake up at any moment. Better to just go along with it.

Her eyes fell on the table, squinting as she noticed there was something there.

A small box and a piece of paper sat in the middle, both the exact same shade of red as the table itself. She could only make them out now that she was close, reaching out to the box and lifting the lid. Once more the music that had awoken her started to play, the little gears twisting as they played their little tune; even they were painted red. The paper was, now she looked properly, a letter. Blue ink written on red paper.

She picked it up, brows creasing as she read:

Goosebumps peppered her skin.

“Marionette? They?”

Marionette explains the strings, but you can’t make a marionette out of a person. And the letter says ‘newest’, so are there others like me? And who are ‘they’? Furthermore, the letter is addressed to ‘Felicity La Fée’, but my last name is Darlington. Maybe this isn’t meant for me at all; maybe I don’t have to stay here.

The questions and thoughts flowed one after another as she tried to make sense of this latest information, but the one her brain lingered on was “How do I leave?”

As if in answer, there was a loud click behind her.

The wall looked no different to any other in the room. Except… no, there was something. She dropped the letter and walked forward, squinting until she could just make out a line in the yellow. Rubbing her fingers along it revealed that it was, in fact, a door. Further investigation rewarded her with a handle, almost flat against the wood and invisible in all the yellow.

She pulled it open.

The door opened into a larger… yet similar room. The same solid colours; yellow walls, blue ceiling, green carpet, red furniture. Grooves curled across this ceiling too, and Felicity saw that the door she came through stretched all the way up, meaning there was no frame to hinder the movement of her strings. Stepping across the threshold was easy.

Then the floor vanished beneath her foot.

Felicity squealed, jumping back, and clutching her chest to soothe her racing heart, staring down at the hole she had stepped in. That was the only way she could describe it, a hole neatly cut into the carpet, filled with empty blackness. And it wasn’t the only one. Now she looked there were dozens of holes all around.

There were holes in the floor.

There were holes in the furniture.

There were holes in the walls.

These last ones only went halfway up, and she saw none in the ceiling. A quick look back confirmed that she hadn’t seen any in the other room. But here they were, various sizes and shapes dotted all over.

Carefully she picked her way among them, finding it easier to avoid them by stepping en pointe, all the while craning her neck to examine the room. There was no hidden door in this room, instead the wall to her right had an open space. The holes continued here as well, going out into what appeared from here to be a corridor.

Are they everywhere? What are they here for?

“OH! What a pretty ballerina!”

The high-pitched voice echoed in the empty room. Felicity gasped, immediately turning her head to locate the voice’s owner. She appeared to be alone, but was certain she had heard a voice. The letter said there were others, perhaps that voice was one of-

“Yoo-hoo! Down here!”

She looked down.

Sticking out of one of the holes by a blocky red settee, waving its little hands at her… was a puppet.

Not a marionette, but a hand-puppet. It looked like those she had seen in travelling Punch and Judy shows. Made from colourful cloth, the puppet had a large, round, pale head with a mop of black thread-hair coming out of the top. Two blue eyes, a wide black smile and a pink coat with blue polka dots made up the rest of it. It was simple but charming and clearly well-made, the kind of puppet she would have been enamoured with as a child.

And yet something about it made her feel… uncomfortable.

It waved again.

“… He… h-hello?”

“Hi there!” There was no doubt anymore, the puppet was talking. Of course, the mouth didn’t move, but its body made several exaggerated motions in time with its speech. “I was wondering when you were going to come out and say hi, what’s your name?

“My name? Uh, it’s Felicity.”

The puppet placed its hands on its cheeks and exclaimed “Wow! That’s such a pretty name! My name is Henry! Henry Harrington. Henry Harold Harrington. Henry Harold Harvey Harrington. Henry Harold Harvey Hector…”

He continued to list his ever-expanding name, with Felicity unable to do anything but stare.

A little puppet was talking to her. She had woken up in a strange building, with strings on her limbs, and now a puppet was talking to her. This was clear proof that she had to be dreaming, though what had triggered such a dream was beyond her. Felicity had never taken laudanum, and the last drink she had consumed was a glass of wine with dinner. She’d been daydreaming about her performance, so perhaps that was where the idea had come from; she was in costume.

But that ballet had dolls, not puppets. Why puppets?

“Can you really dance?”

“Huh?” Felicity blinked, realising that Henry had asked her a question.

He pointed one hand at her tutu and said “You’re dressed like a ballerina, but can you dance like one? I can dance, I know lots of people who can dance! Some sourpusses once tried to tell me ‘You can’t dance without any legs!’ but I proved them wrong, see? I go WEEEEEEEE!”

Henry proceeded to spin in place, his arms waving around as he did so. Unable to help herself Felicity giggled, even clapping when he stopped to give an exaggerated bow.

“Thank you, thank you. What about you? Can you dance?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I can dance, very well actually.”

“Oooh. Can I see? Can I see?”

With another smile, she gave an elegant pirouette. Henry cheered and applauded; his enthusiasm infectious as she added a penché for a final flourish.

“Wow! You are so good! Thank you for showing me, I’m so happy to have met you. Pity all that time was wasted, if I’d have known you were here, I would have unlocked the door earlier.”

“Thank you, I… unlocked the door? You unlocked it?”

“Yep, that was me!”

Felicity hesitated, then asked “Did you lock it in the first place?”

“No! No no no no no no no!” Henry shook his head vigorously. “That was Upstairs’ doing! I knew there was somebody here, but I had no idea where you’d been taken, sorry about that.” He added, his whole-body drooping.

“Upstairs?”

“Uh-huh. Upstairs brought you here to our theatre. Upstairs locked you in that room. Upstairs gave you those horrible strings.”

Despite his sweet, upbeat tone, there was a touch of venom to the way he said ‘horrible strings’. It cut through room and settled in Felicity’s mind, squirming, and writhing like a worm. That same discomfort she had felt when he first appeared returned, and she automatically took a step back.

“Well, they’re not so bad. I-I can still move, in fact I can move easier! Especially for dancing, you should see how far I can leap like this. And they don’t hurt, I barely even notice them.” The excuses tumbled out one after the other, all the while Henry just watched her.

Still.

And unblinking.

Until he interrupted “But you can’t take them off, can you?”

“No but I… I… I…”

I can’t take them off. I haven’t tried since I first woke up. I convinced myself it was fine just because I could dance but they might never come off. Which is fine, this is just a dream. When I wake up it’ll be fine. When I wake up… when I wake up… if I wake up…

The panic was coming back. Her eyes itched, her throat tightened, and she felt the needles digging into her skin.

“Aww, please don’t cry.” She looked up, seeing that Henry had moved to a hole much closer to her. Close enough to pat her leg, his head tilted to one side as he continued “Dear oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you sad. I know you’re stuck in a terrible situation, but it’s ok!” He chirped happily. “I can help you with those strings!”

“Y-you… you can?”

“Of course! I unlocked the door so I could help you! Just leave it to us, we’ll make everything better!”

“I, uh, thank you. Really that’s very…” Felicity paused; not certain she had heard him right. “Did you say ‘we’?”

With a surprisingly deep chuckle, Henry swayed from side to side… and began to sing.

“With a little bit of luck and a lot a lot of grit

We can keep your spirits up and your smile brightly lit

We can make you feel welcome even when you’re far from home”

The cheery lyrics and happy tone were doing nothing to soothe her already frazzled nerves; in fact, they were making her increasingly uncomfortable.

Then another voice joined in.

“‘Cause you’ll never be alone!”

Felicity spun around, spotting another puppet singing close to the door of the other room. This one was dressed as a milkmaid, with yellow pigtails and a bright white apron, also swaying from side to side just like Henry. She had made no sound before now, making Felicity wonder how long she had been there. But more importantly she had just popped up, meaning there could even more of them.

As if in response, another voice sang the next line. This came from a jester hanging out of a hole in the left wall, his red and green hat jingling as he bounced his head.

“We’re a troupe of coloured cloth singing songs and telling jokes”

“Entertaining as we go all the nice and friendly folks” was barked in a pair of deep voices, coming from two dog puppets appearing in a large hole close to Henry. Each dog was black and white in colour, their patterns symmetrical and their movements coordinated. Felicity started to back away, but her attention was drawn by yet another puppet appearing the red settee. This one an old woman, with a grey bun on her head and a cane in her hand, tapping it as her creaky voice rang out.  

“When we find a new recruit we will cut them down to size”

“C-cut? What?! What do you-”

“And embroider brand new eyes!”

Her words were drowned by a loud cacophony of voices.

More puppets appeared.

In the floor, in the wall and in the furniture. Some were close, some were far, but all of them were far too quick for her to follow. There were people, animals, a unicorn and even a big dragon in the corner, all singing together, waving their arms, and swaying two and fro. Backing away was proving difficult as they were popping up closer and closer, circling her and leaving no clear escape path. And the more she stared at the ever-growing crowd… the more disturbing details she started to notice.

Many of the new puppets looked normal enough. As well-made as Henry, all simple shapes, and bright colours. But some appeared more patchwork, with discoloured sections, disproportioned limbs, and bulging eyes.

The lyrics were getting stranger, while still being sung in that sweet, saccharine tone.

“Take a needle to your mind, sew a nightmare into dreams”

The jester had moved closer, accompanied by a large hippo covered in hundreds of stitches, some of them surrounded by red stains. The jaw looked too narrow for a hippo, and some of the patches looked rotten.

How can cloth be rotten?

“Stitch you right into our act ‘til you’re splitting at the seams”

Something flashed among the crowd.

“You can stay with us forever now our family is yours”

A clink of metal reached her ears.

“Now the show always en-”

“AAAAAAARGH!”

Felicity’s leg was yanked down as one of the dogs grabbed her ankle in its mouth, its grip remarkably strong. She screamed again, trying to pull it away only for a small boy puppet in a blue school uniform to lunge for her other ankle. With a cry she moved back just in time, pulling her other leg back so hard the dog was pulled up with her. For a moment she spotted something pale and leathery at the bottom of the cloth, but then the dog let go and she was thrown off balance.

Henry’s voice floated towards her, his tone now sombre as he said “Now now Felicity, that’s not very nice. You’re a performer yourself so you must know it’s rude to interrupt someone’s act.”

Twisting and stumbling the same way she had when she’d panicked, Felicity desperately tried to regain her balance, all the while flinching every time a soft hand touched her.

“Yes indeed! What a rude girl, didn’t she learn any manners!” The old lady croaked out, appearing close by to swat her cane at Felicity’s leg.

“Oh, but we know she doesn’t mean it!” Came the sing-song voice of the milk maid. “Those awful strings are pulling at her brain. Probably pulling out all her common sense and turning her into another terrible marionette.”

Henry replied, “That’s right Sally-Ann, so let’s all work hard to help Felicity and make her feel welcome.”

Welcome to what?!

She flitted between the puppets, awkwardly hopping to every empty piece of carpet she could reach. They moved quicker than her, but she was more nimble, able to dodge their grasp more easily when she started to land en pointe, relying on one leg and the strings to keep her upright. Tears ran freely down her cheek, blurring the little cloth figures until they turned into a sea of spots, surrounded by the sickly colours of the room.

Then… a faint tugging at the strings made her look up.

Nothing had tugged at them before, but seeing the ceiling made her remember her earlier leap, and how her fingers had brushed that ceiling.

With no other option she gritted her teeth, bent her legs, and jumped.

Forcing herself to relax, she let the strings carry her higher, aiming towards the doorway but with no intention of going down. There was a cry of shock from the crowds of puppets, but she ignored them, trying to focus on getting out. A few of them at the walls tried to stretch towards her but couldn’t reach, shouting in frustration whenever they got close. Felicity was rising far quickly than she had before, in fact it felt like she was being pulled up by someone.

By someone… Upstairs?

Pain shot through her arm.

A cold wave flooded her body, the shock turning her to lead as she began to drop, slamming hard into a corner where the wall opened up. Winded and gasping, she desperately grasped at the wood to stop herself from dropping any further. Clinging hard, nails digging into the yellow painted wall, she looked down at her arm.

Her arm.

Her arm.

There was a knife in her arm, deeply embedded into the flesh with blood blossoming around the metal.

Her mouth opened to scream… and closed. It opened again but only let out a small squeak, her eyes widening the longer she stared.

Felicity was wounded.

And it hurt.

Dreams don’t hurt. Dreams… don’t hurt.

“Darn it I missed the strings!”

She looked towards the crowd of puppets. Even from up here she could see the tell-tale glint of metal now. Knives, scissors, and God only knew what else, ready to be used on her. To cut her horrible strings… or worse.

“Oh well,” The nasally voice of the jester continued, holding more knives like the one he had already thrown. “If at first you don’t succeed then try try TRY AGAIN!”

This isn’t a dream.

Felicity pushed herself off the wall and out into the corridor.

Her hasty movements caused her to swing wildly on her strings, rocking back and forth while her arm throbbed and bled. The corridor was wide, stretching out to the left and right with a wide staircase immediately ahead. Henry had called this building a theatre, but it was laid out like a large house. Just like before those same, sickening shades of yellow, blue, green, and red made up the decorations, and just like before there were grooves in the ceiling and holes in the floor.

The puppets soon appeared in those holes.

There was no holding back now, their shouts and cackles accompanied by the frequent tossing of weapons, sharp and blunt alike. Felicity dodged as best she could but felt frequent cuts and thumps against her sweat-drenched skin. Nothing could calm her panic, and no matter what she did all control over her movements was lost. A crocodile puppet snapped at her leg, forcing her to start careening down the sharply sloping staircase. Her throat was hoarse as she screamed, violently smacking into the walls, puppets soon appearing to grab at her before she could swing away.

But swing she did, momentum constantly sending her down, down, down.

On the final corner of the staircase, she hit another wall, the impact forcing the knife even deeper into her arm; deep enough for the tip to poke through the other side, pricking her torso. Sally-Ann gave her no time to focus on the pain, appearing in the wall to grab the wide skirt of her tutu, the fabric ripping as she frantically yanked herself away to finally descend the last set of stairs into a large foyer.

And here… she stopped.

The stop was just as violent as the descent, her body smacking against a red, blocky, wooden chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, the impact winding her. Felicity gasped, instinctively reaching her own arm to wrap around that of the fixture, her other arm joining until she was hugging it tightly.

She hung there, legs slowly swinging to a halt.

Her vision was blurred by tears and dizziness, seeing nothing but a tornado of colour and sparks of pain from her throbbing arm. She heaved but kept her jaws clamped shut, her stomach tied in knots as bile seesawed up and down her throat. Blinking slowly and gasping for breath, she waited for the room to stop spinning.

Colours steadily began to settle into shapes; blocky red cabinets lining the walls, a round red table next to the staircase… and the puppets.

All the puppets.

With a grunt of effort Felicity swung her leg over the chandelier arm and pulled herself up until she sat astride it. The chandelier was the only part of the ceiling that didn’t have any grooves, so she felt the strings pull slightly as she settled. It was far from the perfect place to rest and didn’t feel completely stable, but the blocky design made a reasonable seat, and the height gave her a clear view of the foyer below.

The puppets were in a large crowd directly below her, constantly moving and chattering. At times she thought she could make out the shape of the dogs or even the jester in his red and green hat, but there were too many for her to be certain which was which. The large ones, like the hippo and the dragon, were easier to see, but the rest were a sea of coloured cloth.

Except for Henry. He was a little distance away from the others, watching her from the bottom of the green staircase; his head was tilted to one side, and he was completely still.

A tightness gripped her spine.

Her stomach lurched and she heaved, unable to stop a glob of vomit escaping her throat as she gripped the chandelier for support.

What can I do? Where can I go? I can’t stay up here forever; I must find… a way out!

There, at the far end of the foyer, was a door.

Two doors.

Unlike those in the room she’d woken up in these were clearly marked, still painted yellow to match the walls but with a red outline and, more importantly, red doorknobs. It was also set within an alcove, which only went about half-way up the wall, meaning the strings couldn’t get into it. And there were no holes that she could see in the floor; no puppet of any kind could go in there. If anywhere could be an exit to this nightmarish place, this would surely be it. All she had to do was find a way over there.

A whoosh and a thump broke her thoughts with a start, her gaze moving from a newly formed chip in the wood by her hand down to the blade clattering nosily on the floor below.

“Almost got it!”

“You nearly hit her legs, you numpty!”

“Aw that’s ok, she don’t need legs anymore!”

Felicity scrunched her eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying not to panic.

The puppets were quick and had an endless supply of weapons; she had no doubt that one wrong move would leave her dismembered. And while the doors in the alcove was a place they couldn’t get to, there was the issue of getting into it without her strings.

Her eyes fell on the blade still embedded in her arm.

Old Doctor Michaels said it’s dangerous to remove sharp objects without medical care, but if it stays in then my arm won’t heal… and I need to cut these strings…

A brief flicker of hesitation twitched across her face, but she knew she had to do something. She crossed her legs beneath the bar and hooked them together as tightly as possible to keep herself steady, clutching the chandelier arm in front of her with the hand of her wounded arm. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the knife handle… and pulled.

Her vision went white.

Agony caused every muscle in her body to spasm, triggering another speal of vomit when it reached her stomach. All she could do was double over, unable to hold back as the bile spilled out of her, dripping down the wood towards the ground. She grew light-headed and clung to the wood for support. The voices of the puppets drifted up to her with newly sympathetic tones, the words unexpectedly soothing in her worn-out state.

“Oh dear, it looks like she had a poorly tummy!”

“Well, no wonder, them strings are bad for your health. You’d be better off coming down here, dearie, so we can take care of you.”

Dearie. Grandma always called me dearie. So kind… they talk so kindly… maybe they are kind… maybe… no! They talk nice but they’re evil; look what they did to your arm Felicity! You’ve been forced into a show and they’re the monsters. You’ve got no dance to lead you off stage. No choreography or story to get you to that door. Not even a master to guide these strings.

…

… unless?

Her vision cleared and her eyes moved up, staring at the dark grooves of the blue ceiling.

Upstairs.

“… please. If there’s someone there… if you can hear me, please help.” Her voice was faint and cracked, even she could barely hear herself, but she tried again “Please. You helped before, didn’t you? You pulled me up? Please if you are there… help me.”

Nothing.

No tug at her strings.

No sound other than the buzz from below.

Felicity wondered if she had imagined being pulled up, if there wasn’t anyone there in the first place. Maybe Henry’s comments about ‘Upstairs’ was just a ruse, and he was behind all this to begin with.

Then…

“… broken…”

Her blood ran cold.

“What? What did-”

“You are broken. You are no use to me like this.”

Deep, quiet yet as clear as if they were whispering right in her ear. The tone of this voice was cold and cruel, instantly reminding her of her childhood dance lessons with Madame Klein. “You’re all useless.” she would hiss at her tearful, exhausted students. The memory felt oddly vivid in her frazzled mind, powerful enough to make her look down at herself, at her impaled arm and her ruined dress.

A broken ballerina, cowering on a wooden chandelier, while covered in her own blood and vomit.

The puppets chatter was getting louder again, and she heard a few more thumps as more sharp things were flung at her. They were determined to get her down, to ‘stitch her right into the show’ and do God knows what to her. Meanwhile whatever was upstairs, whatever had brought her here, dressed her up and called her a marionette, had suddenly decided she wasn’t good enough for whatever twisted plans it had.

Felicity looked down at the puppets.

Then at the door.

Then at the knife.

… no. No, I’m not broken. Madame Klein was awful, but I chose to take those lessons; to become a dancer. I didn’t choose this role. And I’m not playing along. Not with what’s up here and not with what’s down there.

She grabbed the knife again and pulled, hard, biting down on her lip until it bled. The blade clung stubbornly to her flesh, scraping bone as she prized it out inch by inch. At last, her arm jolted back, the tip of the blade slipping from her skin and eliciting a sharp cry. She stared at the bloody blade in her hand, trying to focus on it rather than the weeping wound it had been pulled from. Shock, pain, and exhaustion threatened her resolve, but she pushed past it, grabbing the string of her left leg without hesitation, and pressing the blade against it.

Twang.

The string snapped easily, her leg feeling limp as the string’s support was severed.

“Aha… aha! Hahaha!” The laughter left her scratchy throat, her grin wide and triumphant as she set to work on the other leg.

“Hold your scissors there Theodore, it looks like she’s coming down!”

A raucous cheer went up from the crowd of puppets, peppered with shouts of “You can do it!” and “I knew she was a good one!” and “That’s right! Show them horrible strings what for!”

Felicity tried to ignore them as best as she could, her ears ringing in the sudden din as she succeeded in freeing her legs and waist, now turning her attention to the string at her neck.

I’ll keep the ones on my wrist, just to help me make that jump to the door. Then I can snap them and get out; I’ll hack the door to pieces if I must! Once my legs stop feeling so numb, I can get up and-

Her head lolled forward.

It wasn’t like someone was pushing it down, just like her head had become too heavy for her neck. Or her neck was too weak to hold her head. The moment the string had snapped it just dropped. She tried lifting it with her hands, which was an effort with the knife in her hand, but it fell the moment she let go. Her head wouldn’t move by itself it was just… numb.

A horrible thought struck her.

She tried to wriggle her legs, her hips, her torso… nothing. They were all completely numb, the only part of her body that wasn’t numb was her arms. Perhaps she had been sat in place too long and they had just gone stiff, but that didn’t explain why her arms could still move. It only seemed to happen when the strings were snapped. Her fingers fumbled at the bangle on her neck, feeling how it was much looser than before as she felt the inside of the metal.

The needles were gone.

Her heart started thumping hard, feeling that blind panic return from when she’d first noticed the strings. She swayed her shoulders left and right, trying to make her whole body move with them, not daring to cut another string. Gripping her leg she lifted it, trying to trigger any sensation, any indication that her nerves were responding. But this and the momentum of her swaying caused her to lean to the left, the force carrying her down with a scream.

Felicity dangled in the air, her arms frantically scrabbling to grab at the chandelier again, but her lower body had become a dead weight. Down and down, she sunk, letting go of the knife as she now fought for purchase with the remaining strings; perhaps a way to climb back up. The puppets cheering was even louder than before, some of them starting to reach out for her feet and help pull her down quicker. Nothing she did stopped her descent, and her useless neck left her forced to stare at the mass of moving cloth and unable to do anything but scream.

Her knuckles clenched as she tried one last time to pull herself away from the tiny hands… only to feel the needles sliding out of her wrist.

Feel her hands slip through the bangles.

Feel her body land on the writhing mass of puppets.

And watch as the strings were pulled up into the ceiling, their bangles hanging like Christmas baubles.

Consciousness soon slipped away from her as the puppets gleefully held her down, her motionless body giving into exhaustion and her head dropping to one side. While darkness creeped into her vision, she found herself focusing on Henry, still on that bottom step and watching her.

His smile seemed wider than before.

*

Poor poor thing, stuck with those horrible strings.

She really does seem like such a nice girl, I’ve no doubt she’ll fit right in once she’s had time to recover. And Upstairs dressed her up so prettily, it’s the one thing I envy about their shows; none of us can look that fancy. All she needs is a clean-up and she’s stage ready, even has the talent to go with it.

Those legs must go, you don’t need legs in our troupe, but I’m sure she can make it work.

I hope we won’t have to patch her up too much, recently every new family member looks sloppier than the last. Upstairs are so desperate to win that these new ones just keep coming. She’s the fourth one this month! If this pace keeps up, there’ll be no time for rehearsals, much less proper welcome parties! Goodness me, Upstairs does insist on playing hard even if the game is always ours.

No matter, a bit of love and care will get Felicity moving. I have no doubt Upstairs will send another one soon, perhaps change their strategy for once, though even then the result will be the same.

After all, a marionette is useless without its strings.

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[anmanarrative]

First Post

I haven't really made use of Tumblr before, mostly having it to follow other creators, but due to there being some uncertainty over Twitter's fate I've seen a lot of people migrating here. So I'm going to start posting every so often and see how well this works for me. For the moment Twitter will still be the place I'm most active but we'll see how it goes. Included my linktree here for all the places I can be reached and where my writing is currently available, though I will add a couple of stories as posts on here to give everyone an idea of what I do.