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When I lay in the dirt, it’s like the earthworms can talk to me. They’re weird animals. Their slippery tentacles remind me of The Monster, but they’re too tiny to wield any power. Every morning, when I come out to dig, a few wriggle out of the ground, almost like they’re happy to see me. It almost makes me wish I could stick around longer, just to hang out with them. 
I never get that option, of course. By ten o’clock, The Monster always appears in the trees. His tentacles, coming out of his head like an axolotl’s fringe, always grab me by the hand and pull me back inside. 
Today is different. He’s wearing human skin. He slipped it over his face like a children’s mask for All Hallow’s Eve. I can see bleeding purple scales around his red snake eyes. It looks decently natural, thanks to his flat-ish face, but it does hide his tentacles, so he holds out hands covered by skin gloves. When I take it, I can feel his fake fingernails sitting just slightly off from where they would grow on a human. I’m sure his disguise has more defects I can’t see under an oversized sweater covering his abnormal anatomy. 
“Your finger, Madame?” he asks once inside. I held up my left ring finger, its hand knobled and callused from cuts and bite marks. I had to be able to dig with my right hand, after all. 
He opens his mouth. He doesn’t strip away the leathery human skin, so his disguise stretches, wrinkles, and tears slightly below his left eye. He unleashes his tongue, flinging ice blue saliva across my face. A drop gets in my eye, and I flinch, but the pain doesn’t necessarily feel bad. He sucks on my finger. The way he tenses his gums around me is relaxing. He nibbles around where my ring would be if we were married, but when he spits my finger out I don’t see many bite marks. 
“Thank you, Nolan,” The Monster growls. “I’ll go out and catch some lunch soon. Patrol the grounds while you wait, please.” 

                                                                     ***

A man so skinny he’s skeletal sits atop a horse who seemed to have a more fulfilling diet than his master. I patrol the grounds almost every day, but this is the first time in years I’ve actually come across a trespasser. 
“Are you lost?” I ask. I can’t imagine any other reason someone would find their way here. The Monster’s forest is so extensive that I would have to walk for hours to get to a clearing and even longer to approach a village. The Monster allows a few others to live under his domain, but they usually keep their distance. 
“That depends on what your name is,” the man responds. 
“I’m Nolan, I’m sure I’m not who you’re looking for. Maybe I can give you directions–”
“No, I’m looking for you. Your name is actually Cassandra, though.”
“I think I know my own name, Sir–”
“Listen to me. The Monster captured you a few months ago. You used to be Cassandra. He changed you until you were another person entirely. I’m here to help.”
“How do you know about The Monster?”
“Everyone knows about him. He’s not a secret. He makes you think he is. Why else would no one dare to travel here? It’s his saliva. It lets him control your mind.”
I roll my eyes. The Monster gave me a room and provides me with food in exchange for being his life force. He wouldn’t want a slave. Hard workers have to be willing. “Say this is true. Why would you care?”
“Because I used to be a Nolan. He gives that name to everyone he commands. And I recovered. You can too.” He hands me a flask from his pocket. “This will stop him from having an effect on you. I’ll come back tomorrow and see if you remember anything.”
I take the flask. His horse gallops away. I return to the dirt mount and set the flask by the worms. I pick up a shovel and continue digging my own grave. 

                                                                          ***

I hide the flask under a loose floorboard in my cottage when I go wash up for lunch. I don’t drink out of it. That man was spitting nonsense. 
I should have left it outside, or maybe even thrown it in the woods, but part of me didn’t want to part with it. It wasn’t like it would do anything. I could drink it just as the man said and my life would stay the same. There probably isn’t anything magic about it.
And even if there is, I’m Nolan. I’m not Cassandra.
If I drink it, and nothing happens, I’ll be sure of that fact. If I don’t, the question is still kind of up in the air, even if I know the man was either crazy or a trickster. But I don't need to drink it. There’s no point in questioning what I know to be reality. 
I’ll drink it. Just to be safe. Which is almost a betrayal to The Monster, so I can’t make myself yet. 
So I guess I’m bogged down in a secret, which isn’t much better. 
It’s not like The Monster would find the vial even if it was sitting out on my dresser. He had given me my tiny cottage to my name, within sight of his fort and my gravesite. He doesn’t need sleep, so he lives in his fort stocked with weapons and whatever oddities he keeps in the rooms I’m forbidden to enter. It’s not a place for a human. He doesn’t even have a bed. We constructed my little home together so I would have a more appropriate place to live. 
He has no reason to come by my cottage unless I give him a reason to. I’ve never done that, at least never willingly. One day about a year ago, I had caught some kind of illness and overslept, and the Monster had to come wake me up so I could attend to my tasks. 
He had been so worried about me when I didn’t arrive for my chores. That man from earlier doesn’t understand The Monster’s kindness. 
The man claimed I had only been The Monster’s servant for some months. How could that be possible when I remember getting sick? How could that be possible when I remember serving the monster for almost my whole life? 
I lift and press my water pump in the corner to fill my basin. I scrub the graveyard dirt off my hands and cheeks. I dump the muddy water out the door on my way to see The Monster. 

                                                                              ***

He must have kept his skin suit on while hunting, because it’s starting to look awful. There’s a huge smear of blood on his cheek. Most of his gloves had fallen off completely, revealing canine paws with human thumbs. His sweater had torn with patchy feathers falling out of the holes. 
“I got a few pigs”, he says. “I even dug up some carrots.”
“Thank you,” I say, sitting down by the firepit in The Monster’s main fort room. I shuffled around some burning logs and tied the smallest hog above the flame. I grabbed a carrot while The Monster ate the largest hog whole. “I do have a question, if you don’t mind,” I say.
The Monster nodded and his skin mask started to fall off. 
“There was a trespasser earlier. He was pretty obviously lost. He was looking for someone and confused me for her. Do you have any idea where he was trying to go? So I can give him directions if he comes back?”
“There’s no one for at least a few miles out,” The Monster says. “I’d say whoever gave him directions was playing a trick on him. They probably thought no one lived out here and wanted him to get stranded.”
I nod.
So there couldn’t be any way to get the man off my tracks when he comes back. I’ll just confirm I’m Nolan and hope he moves on. 
“It is odd you encountered someone,” The Monster says.
“I thought so too. I assumed he was lost before I even spoke with him, especially considering his condition. He looked bad.”
“He was ill?”
“Yes. I could count his bones. And he looked a little green.”
The Monster raises his fake eyebrow. “What was his name?”
“He didn’t say.” The closest thing he had told me to his name was that he had claimed to ‘be a Nolan’, but that doesn’t make any sense. There was no reason to bother The Monster with that information. 
Besides, if The Monster knew I could even imagine a world where he was untrustworthy, he would be disappointed in me. He wouldn’t let me test the man’s flask, either. 
“He didn’t reveal who he was himself, but claimed you were someone else. Fascinating.” The Monster smiles. “You know, I know I’m going to spend a fair amount of energy pondering this. Let me suck on your thumb a moment to make sure I have the stamina.” Blue saliva drips from his lips. 
I hold out my hand. Supposedly, this is how he controls me. That’s such a silly idea. 
The Monster licks my nail. He presses my thumbprint onto his teeth. I can’t help but close
my eyes and smile. I almost forget about the man. 
The Monster lets my thumb fall out of his mouth but leans in closer. I can smell the blood of the pig I just ate on his skinsuit. 
“Can I try something new?” He whispers. I nod. 
The Monster licks my cheek. It’s kind of sandpapery, but I never noticed that texture with his tongue in his mouth. 
He licks again. It’s like he’s wrapping me in a blanket in my warm bed. 
He touches his lips to my cheek. Then our lips meet. He thrusts his mouth as he spits into mine. 
I feel his saliva in my mouth and everything is different now. 

                                                                         ***

The Monster is good. The Monster is perfect. The Monster can do no wrong. 
“How do you feel?” he asks. 
“The best I ever…have.” I can barely string a sentence together. I answer him without thinking. I don’t have control over what I say. I don’t need to, because The Monster is good. The Monster is perfect. 
“Do you know what I did to you?”
“No…”
“You can’t resist me any longer. You’re the perfect servant now.”
I like the sound of that. 
“Your pork is cooked. Eat it,” The Monster says. I comply. 
“Were you telling me the entire truth earlier?”
“No.” I speak with my mouth full. 
“What did the man say?”
“That… I’m not really me. He used to… be me.”
The Monster grins. “I expected as much. Did he give you anything?”
“Some liquid.”
“Where is it?”
“In the cottage.” 
“Finish eating quickly, then. We don’t want to let him win, do we?”
“No…” Of course not. The Monster can do no wrong. 

                                                                         ***

The Monster escorts me to the cottage. I love his company. 
The door to my home is ajar. 
The Monster walks ahead of me, slamming the door open and ducking in. I follow. 
The man is here. 
“You can’t do this to her,” he says. 
“What I do now is none of your concern, Francis,” The Monster says. “It would have been much smarter of you to stay away. I guess I overestimated your intelligence.”
“You probably gave me brain damage.” Francis gestures to me. “What did you do, lobotomize her?”
Even if he did, it’s a good change. The Monster is perfect. 
“Like I said, none of your concern,” The Monster says. He lurches with his tentacles. His skin mask finally falls to the floor. 
Francis ducks and rolls under my bed. The Monster raises my bedframe up and slams it down again. 
Francis rolls out of the way. The bed knocks out the loose floorboard. The flask glimmers. 
Francis dives after the flask and grabs it. He darts out from under the bed. 
The Monster almost seizes him. Francis is so tiny he slips through The Monster’s arms. 
“Nolan!” The Monster shouts. “Run!”
I bolt from the cottage to the depth of the forest. Francis chases me. The Monster chases Francis. 
I don’t have to worry. The Monster will catch him. The Monster is perfect, after all. 
I hear shouts in the distance. I glance behind me. A herd of humans on horseback weave around the trees. Some of them have torches. 
I keep running. I haven’t been given the order to stop, and The Monster would want me to escape them. 
The Monster roars. I glance back around and he’s surrounded. 
Francis has to be getting weak from all this running. It’s not like he has any muscle on him. 
I turn at a clearing. I think I lose him. 
There's another crowd. I step back to turn the other way, but someone grabs my arm before I can escape. Someone else grabs my leg. I pull, but they just squeeze tighter. 
Once I’ve been detained, Francis appears, panting. 
Someone yanks my jaw open. Francis uncorks the flask. He pours the liquid down my throat before I can react. It’s bitter. A little fizzy. 
I shake my head. I start to feel dizzy. Not dizzy physically, like when I grave dig before I’ve eaten and the worms have to take care of me. I’m dizzy like my emotions are a whirlpool I’m drowning in. 
Suddenly The Monster isn’t perfect. 
It’s strange. I remember something that happened before I met him. The memory feels recent, but I know I had to be living with the monster by then. 
Everyone I knew mourned a man who had been kidnapped by The Monster. We thought the man would have surely been dead by the end of that week.
Who was the man? Where was I? Why were we afraid of The Monster? 
“Cassandra?” Francis whispers. 
That was what he had told me my name was. Before, it had been completely unfamiliar. Now, it feels right. It’s prettier than Nolan and fits me better. 
Maybe the old skeleton knows what he’s talking about. 
He offers his hand. I don’t take it. 
“Will you come back with us?” he asks. 
How could I leave The Monster after everything he had done for me? 
I could leave if it wasn’t real. Maybe some of it was real, or maybe my whole life had been The Monster’s imagination. 
“I can’t tell you yet,” I say. 
I take off the way I came. No one follows me. 
                                                                         
                                                                         ***

All of the trespassers who were alive retreated. I tried not to look at the bodies left behind, but the majority were survivors. I told The Monster that I wasn’t feeling well. I thanked him. I hugged him. 
Was it because I wanted to fly under the radar, or because I truly loved him?
He let me rest in bed. I napped until sunset, stared at the sky, and went back to bed until sunrise. I would have gone into a coma if I had the choice. But I’ve been laying down for so long, completely unable to close my eyes. I have to make a decision before it’s time for The Monster’s feeding. 
If I stay, he’s going to feed from me until I die. He’s going to take my life force until I have none left. That’s why I dig my grave. 
That’s probably why Francis is so fragile and skinny. If The Monster claims Nolan after Nolan, Francis must have been pretty close to death. He could be the man I remember mourning. 
Is there someone out there I don’t remember who mourned me? Were they in the crowd that came to rescue me? 
Did they die for me? 
There’s a chance someone did miss me. They don’t deserve to lose someone like that. They don’t deserve to lose themselves. If I leave, I could have a life. I wouldn’t eagerly count down the days until my death. 
But I’ve changed now. I’ve lived as Nolan. I don’t think that can ever go away. A part of me will always love The Monster. 
I grab a bag and throw in clothes. I pick up a month-old portrait of The Monster from my dresser. I tried so hard to develop the contrast between his scales and feathers and to make his tentacles look like they were truly in motion. I slip the portrait in my bag. 
I open the cottage door. I take my first steps to leave. 
I’ll always be homesick for the worms in my grave. ​

                                                                        💀💀💀

Salem Savage-Cutcher strives to spark whimsy in the world. They write experimental and just plain weird fantasy, horror, and magical realism. They have previously been published in the Iris Review. You can find them at [email protected].

​
The gentle motion was hardly noticeable in the midnight darkness. I didn’t think anything of
it at first; our house was old and things liked to settle. Maybe our cat, Misty, had been pawing at
the door after I’d forgotten to fully close it. Still in a cloud of sleep, I rolled over and pulled the
blankets to my chin.
Dreamland might have swallowed my consciousness once more if it hadn’t been for a
whisper from the darkness.
“Caleb…”
Drowsiness must have shielded my ears from such a soft noise. I shifted under the sheets
when my calf prickled against an imaginary bug. The open closet wouldn’t leave my mind, but I
had to ignore it. Twelve years old was far too mature to be scared of an ajar door.
“Caleb…”
The voice was undeniable this time. I opened my eyes to see my desk. A window sat over it,
looking out to the cold night beyond. Why did I have to roll over? Why did I put my back toward
my closet? I could potentially see the door in the window’s reflection, but I didn’t dare let my
eyes focus enough to do so.
“Caleb… I have something for you.”
It sounded like someone calling to me from underwater. Fluid filled the spaces between the
syllables as if they were drowning, yet the words were dry as a desert wind.
Sleep’s grasp had left me in favor of a racing pulse. An invisible weight of denial kept me
frozen in place. I couldn’t bring myself to roll over and face the voice’s source.
“Caleb… It’s me.”
Something like fingernails tapped against the door’s inside. Hollow and dry. Why did the
voice sound so frighteningly familiar, yet my body was reacting with cold sweats?
“Caleb… Don’t you want to kiss your mother goodnight…?”
There was movement in the window’s reflection. I only saw it for a second: a pale blur
moving across the few inches of darkness in my open closet.
Something was in there. It sounded like my mother’s voice if she had a mouth full of soggy
decaying leaves.
“Caleb… Come here, sweetie.”
Sweat covered me like a second sheet. I could feel the bed growing damp under my body.
Surely this had to be a dream.
I had to roll over.
It went against every instinct screaming in my head. My muscles didn’t want to follow my
will. I thought I might faint as I forced myself onto my back. Time slowed while the room rotated. Watching the other side of the bed rise into view left me silently praying.
There was nothing there. No claw nor gruesome face waiting at the edge of my mattress. The
relief was almost as great as my fear itself.
There was still the matter of my closet, however. I turned my head to look, finding an empty
column of darkness between the door and the frame. There should have been only clothes inside.
Minutes passed without the voice. I began thinking I had awoken from a nightmare without
noticing. Only the sounds of an old house were present to keep me company. A distant rumbling
came from my parents’ room downstairs, surely my dad’s snoring. Listening to the constant
droning helped bring peace to my racing heart. Soon my eyes grew heavy. There were no
monsters here, only the sound of–
“Caleb.”
The blood curdled in my veins. I couldn’t look away from the darkness.
Teeth appeared before anything else. Those perfect white teeth in a wide, frozen grin refusing
to waver. I don’t know how her lips could stretch so thin, nor how her grimace could be so
visible in my dark closet. There was no light in her eyes. Open wide and refusing to blink, they
stared at me from across my room. Her face was pale and shrouded in shadow. Whatever was
below her neck vanished into the inky blackness.
It was undoubtedly my mother. Her head was stabilized in my direction with bobbing,
cat-like movements.
“Caleb…” she whispered. How she managed to do so with so little lip movement made me
shiver.
“You never said goodnight…! Come give me a hug.”
I screamed. Nightmare or not, I wanted this to be over. No twelve-year-old signs up for this.
“MOMMYYYY!!!! MOMMYYYYYYYYY!!!!!”
The entire neighborhood was awake when my parents raced to my room. They must have
thought I was being murdered. I’d never seen my dad burst through a door so ready for violence.
My light came on and suddenly the terrors of the night were banished. Frantic, my mother
rushed to my bedside to coddle her terrified child.
“Sweetie?? Sweetie, what is it??” she asked, taking my head in her hands upon finding me so
pale.
I stared at the open closet behind her. There was no face in the darkness, but seeing hers so
aligned with its last location didn’t ease my fright. My imagination ran wild as I expected her
lips to stretch and her eyes to stare like a hungry ghoul’s.
My dad was less sympathetic upon finding me safe. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.
“Bad dream, buddy?”
I pointed to the open door. “T-There was a face in the closet!”
Not hesitating, my father opened the door and flicked the switch. Only hanging clothes stared
back. No pale face. No frozen grimace. No grating whisper. He closed it in mild annoyance.
Running a hand through my hair, my mom asked, “Did you sneak a snack before bed? You
know that gives you nightmares.”
“No! I-I–”
“Momma…?”
We turned to find my little sister at my bedroom door. The commotion had dragged her from
bed as well, teddy bear and all.
Dad met her head-on. “Go back to bed, cupcake. Caleb just had a bad dream.” Picking her up
like a doll, he carried her back to her room.
“Everything is alright, sweetie,” Mom promised. “Just a nightmare.”
Dreams don’t open your closet doors. Like any sane child, I always made sure to close mine
before turning off the lights. Something else had turned that knob.
A kiss planted itself on my forehead.
“Go back to sleep, sweetie. I love you.”
“Love you too…” I grumbled.
They were gone as quickly as they arrived. Left to the darkness once more, I closed my eyes
and rolled away from the closet. I was far too old to be calling for my mother in the middle of the
night. Especially for such a silly dream as–
I heard it open. I didn’t need to look; I could feel the empty void. The faint smell of putrid air
pricked my nostrils. Unseen, I heard her nails curl around the doorframe.
“Goodnight, sweetie…”
**********
Daylight has a way of keeping even the night’s scariest horrors at bay. I awoke groggier than
usual and tumbled out of bed. It was obvious I’d been through a rough night, but I was too tired
to remember why. There wasn’t time to dwell on dreams when I had to get ready for school.
I approached my closet like a zombie. Only when I extended a hand toward the door did last
night come flooding back.
My body recoiled and I stumbled. My chest felt incapable of containing my lungs. The door
was still ajar, but there were no whispers. No clacking of nails on wood. I knew it couldn’t have
been real, but my mind refused to remove that uncanny visage from my memory.
I grabbed a baseball bat and stood away to open the door from a distance. Of course I was
scared of what I might find, but I was just as scared of my mother discovering I wasn’t dressed
for school so late in the morning.
The door opened. Inside I found only clothes and some storage bins. There wasn’t enough
room for an adult to fit inside, much less a monster after my flesh.
For good measure I swung the bat into my shirts. There was no monster: only my
imagination.
Thanks to my detective work I was able to completely put the ordeal out of my head. Dreams
have a funny way of disappearing if you let something else occupy your mind for more than a
few minutes. The face was no different. By the time I was staring into a bowl of sugary cereal, it
was less than a forgotten memory.
**********
Delightful scents of a mother’s cooking filled the kitchen when the school bus returned me
home. Few memories stay with you like a mother’s love filling a pot to the brim.
“Hi, Mom!” I greeted her, abandoning my backpack at the door.
“Welcome home, sweetie! How was school?” She left a bubbling stove unattended to give
me a kiss. “Feel like spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?”
Nothing could have been sweeter music to my ears. I quickly nodded and accepted a taste of
homemade sauce.
Satisfied with my grin, she ushered me upstairs. “Go get changed and we’ll get started on
your math homework before your father gets home.”
Misty followed me up the stairs as if I had treats in my socks. Mom hated when I let her get
hair all over my school clothes, but I didn’t mind. Misty knew how to greet you after being away.
“Caleb?”
I slowed my pace as I entered our upstairs hallway. It sounded like my sister was in my room.
Her voice called again. “Where’d you go??”
Raising an eyebrow, I entered to find her looking under my bed. “What are you doing in my
room??”
Justine popped out in shock. Her brown hair was tangled from rubbing under my bed. “How
did you do that??”
“Do what?”
“You were calling my name!!” Justine came close and narrowed her eyes with all the
accusation an eight-year-old could muster. “I saw you run in here.”
“No, I just got home.”
This seemed to stump her. “N…No you didn’t. I SAW you! You told me to come find you!”
It was too close to dinner time for this. Not wanting to put up with her imagination, I pushed
her toward the door. “I think you’re seeing things. Now get out; I have to change.”
“But–”
I closed my door and sighed. It was getting harder to keep up with her as I got older. Eager to
finish my homework before dinner, I started to change but froze halfway across my room.
The closet door was ajar. Had that been one of the places Justine looked? I was certain I had
closed it this morning. A sliver of the previous night flashed through my mind. The thought of
the event somehow connecting to Justine’s experience was far too outlandish to even consider.
Still, I was uneasy about approaching the gap.
I felt foolish, but resolved to stay away. A dirty pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the floor
wouldn’t hurt for one night. I didn’t even try to close the door; maybe that’s what angered it in
the first place.
“Caleb! Don’t wait too long to get started on your homework!” Mom’s voice came from
downstairs.
“Coming…!”
**********
It was dark by the time I was ready to go to bed. Entering my room was among one of the
last things I wanted to do, especially with the sun no longer protecting me from the horrors of the
night. If Justine hadn't acted so strangely when I got home from school, maybe the entire ordeal
would have remained purged from my mind.
I heard my mom’s voice come from the living room. “Go brush your teeth! I’ll be up in a few
to tuck you in.”
Our stairs never seemed so long. I cursed our house for only having one light switch for the
upstairs hallway. With Justine gone to bed an hour prior, the second floor was a black abyss
where only the unknown awaited me.
My stomach was in knots. I could feel the darkening chill closing in around me. The hallway
ahead stretched into creeping hidden horrors. I didn’t dare blink when I reached the landing; the
last thing I wanted was to look away from the light switch and find a gruesome face in front of
mine.
A click brought the lights on with little fanfare. Of course there was nothing there; this was
the real world. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Feeling my pulse slow, I
walked past my room to the bathroom.
It was only a blur, but it was there.
Something ran past my door in the darkness. I couldn’t be sure what it was; there had only
been a brief shadowy outline. It looked humanoid, but its movements were lanky and sloppy as if
drunk or hobbled, and it was far too tall and thin to be a person.
I gulped and began to call out, “J-Justi–”
A sound like a gunshot rattled my bones. Whatever it was had just sequestered itself back
into my closet and slammed the door behind it.
“Caleb! You’re going to wake your sister!!” my mother’s voice scolded from downstairs.
I couldn’t respond. I had to act now while that thing was in my closet. Slipping my hand
around my door frame and into my room, I searched for the light switch.
A golden glow bathed my bed. I kicked my door open to find nothing waiting, though one of
my jackets was still swinging from a hook on my closet door. There was no doubt it had recently
moved.
Enough was enough. Whether or not this was only in my head, I wasn’t going to put up with
it for another night. Taking my desk chair, I wedged it against the floor and my closet handle.
Even my dad couldn’t have opened that door from the inside now, much less some non-existent
specter.
Or so I hoped.
Brushing my teeth was more an act of procrastination than hygiene. When every pre-bedtime
ritual had been completed, however, there was nothing more I could do to stall.
Mrowl…!
Misty greeted me in the hallway. I think she knew I was struggling with something. Taking
the orange furball in my arms brought me comfort as I entered what should have been my space.
The chair was still against my closet. The jacket had ceased its movement. Everything looked
calm. Making sure to have my bedside lamp on before turning out my light, I flipped the switch
and raced to bed.
There was a loud pop. A bright flash. Then darkness.
I froze halfway across my room when the lamp bulb burst. Groping darkness smothered me
and choked my heart. I don’t think my feet touched the ground when I scrambled onto the safety
of my mattress. Oblivious to my fears, it didn’t take long for Misty to curl up between my legs
even as I pulled the covers to my chin.
Darkness huddled around my bed. My room felt like a scene frozen in winter. I didn’t want to
breathe. Maybe if I held my breath long enough, I would pass out before I had to endure this
torment for much longer.
Goosebumps sprang to my skin when the closet door rattled. Misty jolted upright between
my legs to stare. Seeing such a reaction wasn’t comforting; it meant it wasn’t in my head.
The door thunked against the chair. I could see the handle jostling in the darkness and my
jacket bouncing up and down. Something wanted out.
It tried harder. Efforts doubled. Annoyed desperation shook the door with hurricane force.
I wanted to scream. Misty looked like she was surrounded by exploding firecrackers. Why
was this thing tormenting me??
“Caleb…”
“Stop!!”
“Open the door, Caleb…”
“GO AWAY!!”
“Caleb! What in the world has gotten into you??”
My light came on and stung my eyes. It hadn’t been the thing calling my name, but my
mother. I was so frightened I hadn’t noticed her open my bedroom door. Normally I should be
relieved in her presence, but her face brought fear. I could only see it waiting in the darkness.
“What is going on with you…?” she asked again, worried. A hand placed itself against my
forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“Mom… Can I sleep downstairs on the couch?”
She stared at me like I’d just asked to spend the night on the roof. “Why would you want to
do that?”
My eyes flitted between her and the closet. “I…just can’t sleep in here…”
“You just have to turn your mind off. You’re thinking so fast that you can’t find peace.”
“Mom, can I please sleep somewhere else??” I didn’t want to let her hear the fear in my voice
but I was becoming desperate.
“No, Caleb; you won’t sleep well on the couch and then you’ll be tired for school. You’re
sleeping in your room in your bed.” My sentence was sealed with a kiss on my forehead. “Now
turn your mind off.”
If only it was just my mind. I watched her go to leave before pausing to stare at my closet.
“What in the…” She walked toward my desk chair. “What is this doing here? You’re going to
hurt yourself if you get up in the middle of the night.” My eyes must have looked like moons
when she removed the chair from my closet and replaced it under my desk. “Honestly, Caleb,
you need to learn to keep your room clean.”
My light went off.
“Love you, sweetie. Get some sleep.” Looking back once more, my mom bid me goodnight
before closing my door.
Mrowl…!, Misty purred in farewell before settling down once more.
Sweat made my pajamas cling to me like a second skin. I stared between my closet and my
desk. If I was fast, maybe I could jam the chair again before–
“Caleb…”
–it opened. The haunting void stared back, along with a penetrating stench. I knew what was
coming, but I couldn’t have prepared myself.
“Caleb… Caleb, sweetie…”
Her face appeared. The same woman who had just put me to bed was now staring back from
my closet. That menacing uncanny grin turned my blood to ice. Why were there so many teeth??
“Caleb… Caleb, come here… I want to kiss you goodnight.”
“Go away,” I whispered. Was I allowed to confront it? What could happen if I retaliated? If it
was able to leave my closet and come for me, wouldn’t it have done so already? If it was running
around my room earlier, why not now?
“Caleb… Can you help me? I’m stuck.”
Misty stared at the closet when I pulled my blanket up to my chin. “Leave me alone.”
Those tapping, clacking nails were insidious. The rattling against the door turned my blood to
ice.
“Caleb,” she growled, “it’s rude to speak to your mother that way. Won’t you come give your
mother a hug?”
I steeled myself and felt blood rushing through my ears. “You’re not my mom.”
The face pulled back into the blackness. A dry laugh made me want to vomit.
There was a pause. For a brief, hopeless moment, I thought the demon might have left.
“Here, kitty kitty.
”
Misty perked up and my heart stuck in my throat.
“Heeerreeeee, kitty kitty kitty.
”
She started toward the edge of my bed. I scrambled to grab any part of her.
“Misty!! Misty,
stay!! Don’t–”
She slipped through my fingers and landed on the floor. I didn’t dare chase after her as she
sat down halfway to the closet’s opening. Piqued interest made the tip of her tail twitch.
“That’s a good kitty… Come to mommy…”
“Misty…! Misty! Psh psh psh!” I tried to coax her back. Only her tail twitched in response.
“Here, kitty kittyyy!”
Curiosity was too great of a temptation. She started toward the closet. I couldn’t look away
when the front half of her body entered the shadows.
Mrow–
Something snatched her before she could finish uttering a mew of interest. I only saw it for a
moment in the moonlight: a spindly hand of rotting flesh. Human fingers aren’t supposed to be
that long, nor nails that sharp.
The crunching. That awful crunching. I would have preferred to hear Misty screaming
instead of the bone-crushing horror. It was the slurping that made me sick to my stomach. That
wet, drawn-out suction of something torn and fleshy. I could never prepare myself for the
anguish that sound would bring.
I knew then that I was right to be terrified. Nothing could have made me leave my bed.
Whatever was in my closet was hungry, and would snatch whatever came within reach.
**********
My eyes refused to focus the next morning. Sleep never came for me, though perhaps
insanity had. How much more could I take before it was too much?9
“Misty…! Mistyyy!”
I could hear my mom calling our cat for breakfast. Should I tell her Misty wouldn’t be
running to her bowl of wet food this morning? I hadn’t been able to look at my closet for more
than a second, even in the daylight. In that time I saw tufts of cat hair on the ground before I
refused to look any further. The door remained open. After what I saw, I wasn’t going anywhere
near it.
“Pss pss pss! Here kitty!”
Breakfast wasn’t appetizing. I couldn’t stand the thought of chewing, much less being in the
same room as my mother. How could I when her face haunted me every night?
I went to school as a husk of my usual self. A math test went completely unanswered, leaving
the teacher concerned. My responses were barely coherent when she pulled me aside after class.
I suspect I might be in trouble when they contact my parents, but it didn’t matter.
It felt like a punishment when the bus left me at home. I didn’t want to go back into that
house.
As usual, Mom was busy in the kitchen when I walked in. She didn’t seem to notice my quiet
arrival and continued humming over a cutting board. I would have said hello, but I still harbored
resentment from last night. Maybe if she had let me sleep on the couch, Misty’s food bowl
wouldn’t have still been untouched.
I decided to return to my room only once. I would gather several necessities and clothes, then
sleep somewhere else. I didn’t care where, so long as it wasn’t in the same room as that thing.
My room was cold upon my arrival. No part of it felt safe, even with the sun shining outside.
I was determined not to look at the closet. Even from the corner of my eye, I could see it was still
cracked open. That thing could have my room. I didn’t care.
“Caleb…”
A whisper drifted out. I was hardly surprised, though I didn't expect it during the daylight.
“Shut up. I’m not listening,” I said while throwing some clothes in a bag.
“C…C-Caleb…!”
I paused. This didn’t sound like the ghoul; it sounded like a little girl terrified of being heard.
I dared to look at the closet.
“Justine…?”
A tiny hand wrapped around the door before her head peeked into view. I had never seen
such fear in her eyes.
“What’s wrong? You look like–”
Her voice was barely audible. “I-I don’t think that’s mommy downstairs…”
To anyone else that statement would have sounded outlandish, but I knew what she meant. I
knew right away.
Justine’s eyes grew wide. The color drained from her face as she stared over my shoulder. I
realized I had my back to the hallway and I started to wonder if it had been such a good idea to
leave my door open.
Her voice dripped over my neck like decay.
“Caleb, when did you sneak past me? Welcome home, sweetie…! Would you like a snack?”
My limbs moved faster than ever before. I scrambled across my carpet into the closet, joining
Justine. She was terrified. There was no time for me to be frightened; I had to be a big brother.
“Kids…?” our mother asked, stepping forward. A plate of after-school snacks sat in her
hands like bait. They were messy and haphazard, nothing like the real thing. She couldn’t fool
me. “What’s gotten into you two? You need to start on your homework!”
Justine started to bawl. I wrapped my arms around her in protection when our mother stepped
closer and knelt down. We stared at her from within the curtain of my shirts. For all the fear this
closet had given me over the past few nights, I had never expected it to become our refuge.
“Justine? What’s wrong, baby? Why are you–”
“GET AWAY FROM HER!”
I surprised myself with my scream. Our mother’s eyes bulged in shock and she faltered.
Several ants on a log slid from the plate and landed on my carpet.
“YOU’RE NOT OUR MOM!!”
Justine’s face was buried in my arm. I could feel tears soaking through my shirt. My shouts
had to rise to maximum volume to make it over her cries. All the fear I’d had of this monster had
turned to rage. I was tired of the torment.
Our mother’s face sagged. Her gaze settled on my sister. “Justine… Baby, what happened?
Have you been hiding in here this entire time?”
She nodded. “You’re not my mommy! I saw you!!”
“Saw me what, honey?” She came forward and reached a hand into the closet. I recoiled and
she stopped short. Moisture made her eyes shine. “Kids, it’s me!”
To see her feign such hurt only made me angrier.
“Get away from us!!”
Being the younger one and in such a frightened state, Justine was taking most of our
mother’s concern. She knelt down and opened her arms. “Come here, baby… I’m right here.
What happened?”
Justine looked up and then away.
“Don’t look at her,
” I warned.
“Caleb, shh. She’s scared.” She motioned once more. “Can I have a hug from my little girl? I
want to tell her how much I love her!”
My sister looked up. Her crying faltered.
“I have a big, BIG hug for my baby! And kisses to make her feel all better!”
“Don’t listen to–”
“Caleb,” our mother hissed in warning. “Your sister is scared. I don’t know what game you
have been playing with her, but it has to stop. Let her go.”
“But–”
She moved forward. “Come here, baby… You can help me make dinner before daddy gets
home, ok?”11
I couldn’t stop her. Justine escaped my arms and ran from my closet into the arms of that
monster. For how much fear she’d caused me, I was still powerless against her authority. Even if
it was false.
“Mwa mwa mwa mwa mwa~!” Exaggerated kisses assaulted Justine when my mother got
ahold of her. Tears turned into giggles as every bit of fright melted away. She stood up with
Justine in her arms and turned to leave my room.
“J-Justi–”
A final warning was thrown over my mother’s shoulder. “Enough of this game, Caleb. Your
sister hasn’t slept in days. Stop scaring her.
”
They left then. I was alone in my closet. Clothes hung around me and bunched on top of my
head. I couldn’t believe I had let her slip out of my arms so easily. Would Dad listen to me if I
told him? Could I even get him alone before it was too late?
I shivered in my little hovel as I listened to them start cooking downstairs. The hangers
clanked above me. What should I do? Where could I go? Could I sneak out my window and
make it to a friend’s house? Maybe their parents would listen and–
Something tickled the back of my neck. A cold layer of sweat broke out over my skin.
“Such a good boy… Protecting your sister…”
I bristled and froze.
“You knew right away that wasn’t your real mother…”
I wanted to run. I tried to stand up, but a long, spindly hand had draped itself over my
shoulder from behind my clothes. That voice of gurgling sludge dripped down my back. The
closet felt like an icy abyss behind me. I wanted to cry out, to scream at my mother and sister so
happily cooking dinner downstairs, but my voice was paralyzed.
The thing laughed in my ear and the hand tightened. “Now come give your mother a hug.”
“MOMM–”
Air was ripped from my lungs and tore my words away. I was pulled back, deep, deep into
the closet. The door raced a mile away as that hand yanked. My voice jumped from my throat too
late. A squeak of fright barely escaped before the door slammed shut and swallowed my
screams.

                                                                   💀💀💀

​David Corisis is a born-and-raised Idahoan and graduate of Gonzaga University. He lives the exciting life of a programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead, playing Magic the Gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever-marching hand of time stealing everything he holds dear. His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness, and Flatland. He couldn’t be happier taking on the world and its challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side. To find out more, you can visit www.dcorisis.com.

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.


There was no pain, just a numbness that covered the entire left side of Paul’s body. He lay at the side of the road, gaze oriented across the tarmac. He was unable to move his head. Later, he couldn’t recall if he’d even been able to blink.
But he remembered what he saw.
The blur of the road surface too close to focus on; farther away, the yellow Honda Accord on its roof. Was the horn blaring? There’s always a horn blaring in circumstances like these, but Paul could never work out if he was recollecting the detail from his accident or just some fragments of TV programs he’d seen. Or maybe it was just a ringing in his ears. The yellow Honda Accord… A woman was wedged in the windshield, half in, half out of the car. He had no memory of the crash though he had a sense of seeing her shocked expression – wide eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses and an ‘O’-shaped mouth.
Somehow, he ended up lying on the ground, while she was in the upturned car. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead, but there was something moving around her.
At first, he thought they were plastic bags or sheets. Translucent grey shapes two to three feet across with no discernible thickness, fluttering in the breeze. Except there was no breeze that day – he was certain of that.
The first sheet had wafted across from the other side of the road, creeping up on the upside-down car as if stalking it. The thing looked as if it was investigating the vehicle, probing around it for something worthy of its attention. It stopped at the woman. As Paul stared, another shape slithered into his line of sight from somewhere along the street. It exhibited the same sort of drifting, stalking motion towards the front of the car. Three more turned up as he watched, making their way to the shattered windshield, where they huddled. It looked like they were sniffing, investigating the woman’s body. The creatures started to wrap themselves around her. Were they eating her?
He saw the ambulance arrive. The sheets jerked back, as if startled by the arrival, but quickly returned to the woman. The ambulance brought another two of the things, which emerged from the back door when the paramedics opened it. The paramedics split up, one hastening to the car and one coming towards Paul, each with a sheet fluttering behind.
As the thing got closer, he could see a pulsing within it, a darkening and lightening, and a tracing of black veins trailing out to the edges. The corners flexed and stretched, extending into probing tendrils, putting him in mind of those stingray eggs he recalls seeing on the beach, mermaid’s purses he thought they were called. The paramedic leaned close and must have said something – Paul saw her lips move, though he heard nothing. Nothing but the ringing in his ears, or was it the car horn? The giant mermaid’s purse following her took up a position in front of his head. It didn’t totally obscure his vision of the paramedic, but blurred and distorted her face, as if he was looking through frosted glass. It floated closer, and he felt a clammy pressure on his face, the first physical sensation since the car had hit him. He heard a murmur, but couldn’t make out any words, and then he couldn’t remember any more.
Paul awoke in a hospital ward. He was told how lucky he was, suffering no more than a broken left tibia, concussion and some bruising. The doctor said he’d have to stay for a couple of days’ observation, and then he could go home with a lightweight cast.
The driver of the car that had hit him was dead. A vision of the woman’s startled expression flashed before Paul, then the shattered windshield, with those things wrapping themselves around her. He wanted to ask how she’d died – was it the accident, or had she been suffocated?
Pain tore at him that first night in the hospital, despite the drugs. As he drifted in and out of tortured sleep, he kept catching glimpses of the strange sheets. They glided along the corridors, following staff and other patients. Sometimes they clustered around other beds in his ward, but they left him alone. He thought they looked like a school of jellyfish canopies.
He told the doctor who came in the morning that he might be seeing things. She studied him with a mixture of sympathy and skepticism on her face. She shone a light in his eyes and got him to follow her finger as she moved it in front of his face. Everything seemed normal, she said, but she’d arrange for a scan in the afternoon.
As he was wheeled along endless corridors to the MRI room, Paul saw more of the sheets, though they seemed to be waiting in corners or at doors, rather than following any particular person.
His brain was pronounced healthy and uninjured at an initial glance, but the neurological specialist would study the scans in detail later that week.
He slept a dreamless sleep the following night. After that, he was sent home.
Although climbing the stairs to his second-floor flat was slow and agonizing, it was pleasant to escape from the hospital and from those… things. Those creatures. Paul switched on the kettle and popped a couple of painkillers. As he stood by the sink, sipping his tea, he let his eyes roam over the street outside his window.
He sighed. A couple of months of hobbling around in a plaster cast were ahead of him, then another few months of painful physiotherapy. It could’ve been a lot worse: that poor driver. He couldn’t remember the accident. How had the car hit him? His memory started when he was lying there, glued to the pavement. He shuddered as he remembered the sheets – was she dead already or had they killed her? Did they eat her, eat her soul? He opened the window for some fresh air, letting in the sounds from outside as well.
A cluster of schoolkids were piling into the shop across the road, laughing and shouting at each other. The seemed to be at the age where all conversation had to be carried out at maximum volume. A woman pushed a buggy containing a crying child, while she had her phone clasped to the side of her head. A group of men were striding towards the betting shop, one of them coughing and blowing his nose. An old man slowly hobbled along the other side of the road. Just a normal street scene. As he watched the unsteady elderly pedestrian, Paul half-smiled to himself and thought that was how he’d be walking for the foreseeable future.
Paul went pale and froze. A sheet creature had peeled itself from the ground behind the old man, to flap and writhe around his head. Another joined it, and the two took turns in fluttering at each other – it seemed as if they were communicating. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There were lots of the sheets out there, almost perfectly camouflaged on walls and pavement. The only clue to their existence was the pulsing of their veins, visible only if he focused closely enough. Individuals occasionally emerged from their resting places to follow other one person or another.
Paul saw one sheet, a small one, sniffing at the corpse of a roadkill pigeon. Half a dozen of the apparitions followed the betting shop customers but were concentrated around the coughing man within the group. It was clear that the things seemed to favor death or illness – were they ‘ambulance chasers,’ out to get what they could from misery. Or did they cause suffering themselves?
The old man was about to pass close to some scaffolding on a building having its upper windows replaced when the sheets started to flap more quickly. They darted in front of him, and three more – no, four, then five – raced to join them. The man gave no sign of seeing them, but he seemed to react to the creatures’ presence nonetheless, hesitating and half-stumbling before he took his next step. Just then, a pane of glass fell from the scaffolding and shattered at the pensioner’s feet, dagger-like shards missing him by mere inches. One of the workmen called down, “Jesus, man, are you all right?” The old man looked up and mumbled something, before continuing on his slow journey as if the near miss was of no importance, while the sheets all faded into the background.
Had they been jockeying for position to be first to the old man had glass hit him? Or might they have been trying to save him? Another thought wormed its way into Paul’s mind: had they caused the pane to drop? He’d been so focused on the old man that he’d not noticed whether there were any of the creatures higher up where the glass had fallen from?
That evening Paul drank several shots of cheap vodka along with his painkillers. He knew he shouldn’t mix alcohol and medication, but he was sure he’d be awake otherwise, worrying into the small hours of the night, and he damn-well wanted to sleep with no dreams.
Paul felt surprisingly clear-headed the following morning. He’d convinced himself that the creatures were phantoms conjured by his overactive imagination since the crash. The sheets didn’t exist. He peered out his window, squinting as he concentrated on every shadow. To his relief, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Even so, half an hour later, he held himself at the front door, heart thudding, for several minutes before he built up the courage to twist the handle and take a step outside.
He was almost at the drugstore when he noticed the first sheet, lazily drifting in the wake of a hunched woman who looked like she was in pain. He twisted round, almost tripping over his crutches, to see if any of the creatures were following him. There were none, or perhaps they had scurried away before he could see them.
He knew he wasn’t mad. He couldn’t be. They did exist, but only he could see them.
His phone rang, startling him so much that he almost fell over. He fumbled the phone out of his pocket, dropping one of his crutches. It was his doctor, asking him to come in as soon as he could – they’d found something in his scan.
In the examination room, the doctor pointed to what Paul assumed must be a picture of the inside of his head. “We didn’t notice this before, because we were looking only for signs of injury relating to the accident. However, a review yesterday showed this.” The doctor tapped a finger on a dark patch on the screen. “We performed confirmatory tests on your blood and, I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, but it is a malignant tumor. Given its position, we can’t operate, but we should start chemotherapy as soon as possible. I must warn you, however, that the prognosis is not good.”
A dozen or more sheets followed him back from the hospital. Paul wanted to wave his arms, or his crutches, to disperse them, but then decided that the creatures didn’t exist. They couldn’t be real. They were figments of his unwelcome friend, the tumor. They didn’t follow people or cause misery; his damaged brain had fashioned them out of nothing.
At night, he could sense them hovering over his body, smothering him, even though there was no physical sensation. He deliberately kept his eyes clamped shut – he didn’t want to see them. Paul had peeked once and found the sight of them clustered above him so terrifying that he’d wet the bed. He’d been paralyzed, unable to move, unable to get out of the bed or wave them away.
Each night, he sensed there were more than the night before. He didn’t know how they’d crammed themselves into his bedroom, but he wasn’t going to open his eyes to look. One touched him and he shrieked, still refusing to open his eyes. Then others touched him. He could feel gentle strokes and caresses, and could hear indistinct whispering. Paul relaxed and drifted into sleep.
He awoke late the next morning, still covered by hundreds of the sheet things. The whispering became louder and more distinct, and he thought he recognized some of the voices within the murmuring. His parents were there, though they’d died many years before. Other long-dead relatives and school friends. The voices were soothing and welcomed him. They said not to be frightened and Paul would be with them soon.
                                                                         ***
The nurse tapped the medical notes, as he pulled the bed curtains closed and the porter preparing the trolley.
“This one’s a sad case. Do you remember the accident, oh, three weeks ago? It was in the news. This guy, Jones, almost made it – he seemed to be conscious when Marie and Colin picked him up, but lapsed into a coma after they’d managed to patch up his injuries. Oh, he was a mess – shattered ribcage, broken collarbone, his arms and legs were like jigsaw puzzles I tell you. Punctured lung as well, burst spleen. They did what they could, but he’d certainly never walk again. I’d say, the state his body was in, he was probably better off unconscious, poor guy.
“He hasn’t moved since he got here. The only sign of life was the pulse of the heart monitor.
“Last night, his body just gave up. No idea what happened. He seemed to be stable, but his heart just stopped. Mind you, see the smile on his face. First expression I’ve seen since we got him here. What do you think? He looks content, wouldn’t you say? I reckon he must be happier wherever he’s gone to now.
“Say, is there a window open in here? I felt a draught just now.”


                                                                    💀💀💀

L.N. Hunter’s comic fantasy novel, ‘The Feather and the Lamp,’ sits alongside works in anthologies such as ‘The Monsters Next Door’ and ‘Best of British Science Fiction 2022’ as well as Short Édition’s ‘Short Circuit’ and the ‘Horrifying Tales of Wonder’ podcast. There have also been papers in the IEEE ‘Transactions on Neural Networks,’ which are probably somewhat less relevant and definitely less fun. When not writing, L.N. unwinds in a disorganised home in rural Cambridgeshire, UK, along with two cats and a soulmate.

  

Aben awakes from feverish sleep for the first time in days. Mouth dry. Eyelids glued shut by gunk. He groans and twists in bed. Sheets wet and sticky with sweat. Has the fever broken?

He rolls onto one side, propping on one elbow. His hand runs between the buttons of his pyjamas. The skin on his chest—leathery, cold. His lungs are tight. But he has stopped coughing.

With groans and wheezes, Aben sits up in bed. World spins. Body shudders. He opens his eyes. It hurts to see. Dust dances in slithers of weak light coming through gaps in the curtains. Slow. Jerky.

His mind drifts back to his dreams. He has many nights worth of them… Barbecue. Laughter and smell of grilled onions and sausages. Smiling faces lit by colourful lightbulbs in an evening garden.

Aben sighs softly. He must have turned the corner. Cough—gone. Fever—broken. But his mouth tastes like decay. His throat is a rough walnut in the neck. He needs to hydrate.

He slips out of bed but knees buckle. A trembling hand reaches for the bed frame. Straining all limbs, he manages to stand. The room floats around him.

Groping for support, Aben steps onto the landing. Stairs quiet and dark. The air—stale and cold.

“Dana? Vita?” He calls his wife and daughter. The call is quiet, laced with pain and exhaustion. Holding on to the handrail, Aben descends the creaking steps.

He has to go through the living room to the kitchen. He stops in the middle of it. Gasping. Joints aching. How long has he been out?

Aben scans the room. It seems alien. Objects oscillate in thousands of overlapping images. They have a faint glow and the colours are off. Did the long sleep damage his eyes?

He lays a hand on a sideboard for support. Fingers scuff in a thick layer of dust. Why is no one here? Aben closes his eyes, his dreams of Dana replay before him. White skin. Freckles. She is soft and curvy, straddling him in bed. His hands are on her hips. Dana is warm. She leans over and kisses him. Her lips are bright red. Aben feels the taste of lipstick as his tongue gently touches her mouth. Her curly long hair is loose. Tickles his shoulders and chest.

Water… he needs water. Aben turns and heads for the kitchen. Why does their red carpet look grey? Hands on the doorframe for support, he stops.

Something is wrong… Rotten smell. Buzzing. His legs are cast in lead but he steps into the kitchen. “Dana? Vita?”

The stench makes him sick. He can’t vomit. He is squeezed dry by illness. Aben just stands in the kitchen. Surrounded by flies. In the sink—piled plates with rotting food. A dripping tap.

“Where are you, girls?” He croaks. His heart starts to flutter in his chest. Weak, drained from the fever, his lungs devastated by cough.

Aben staggers back through the living room, knocking down a bowl. Small grains rain down on the floor. Why do they have a dish with grains?

He spills out of the house. The sun is faint, dimmed through a grey filter. In the morning cold, Aben shudders in his wet pyjamas. His jerky gaze darts. The street is empty. The houses stand tall, layering over each other like pieces of a scattered puzzle. Where is his family? Where is everyone?

Aben looks around, turning on his shaky legs. Struggling to stay upright. He walks down the street. It feels like rubber under his bare soles.

His body protests. His neck is strained under the huge weight of his head. Each blink of his eyes  takes him back to his fever dreams. Vita… playing in a sandpit. Her blond hair glows in the sun and looks like it flows into the golden sand. She sees him and drops her shovel and bucket. Runs. Big smile, small teeth with tiny gaps between them. She throws herself at him and hugs him and presses her cheek against his. Hers is smooth and soft and chubby.

Aben breaks into a run. Unsteady. He tries to call them. Voice comes out choked, hacked. He must find them. He must find someone.

The coffee shop! Aben remembers the coffee shop  down the street. Someone must be there. Someone must tell him where Dana and Vita are. He speeds up. Zigzagging on the rubber street.

The coffee shop is there. Same fragmented and overlapping vision as the houses. The door seems larger and the red neon sign above it is grey and jagged.

Aben summons all the strength of his drained body. Steps towards the door. Inaudible chatter from inside. He sees nothing through the windows fogged with morning mist. He scurries towards the entrance. Crashes against the metal bar across the frame of the leaf.

Door opens. A little bell chimes. Aben staggers inside.

First comes the smell. Dry, earthy and warm. The light is bright. Hurting.

Aben steadies himself, leaning on the backrest of a booth. He blinks. Tilts his head to the side. Blinks in rapid succession.

When he opens his eyes again and looks inside, his heart explodes into millions of ice ants that crawl all over his body. The ice ants pinch his skin with tiny ice claws. The walnut in his neck pulses. He recoils and opens his mouth to scream. A choked groan escapes his lips.

Everyone is staring at him. Huge eyes. Glowing. Glitzy. Their leathery beige skins turn to scales from their necks up. Instead of mouths, these things have crooked, rugged beaks and on top of the beaks they have snouts like pigs. Their heads are hairless and shiny and they have antlers like deers.

“Aben!” One of them shrieks. Not a human call. A blood-freezing caw. The thing calling him is sat behind a table, its beak just rising from a bowl of grain. It stands and walks around the table.

Aben staggers back, his back pushing the door. “Stay away!” He creaks. Voice breaking like gravel in a stone crusher. More things rise and approach. Cawing. Raising their arms towards him.

Aben turns and tries to leave. An invisible force pulls his head. “Aben”, something caws as he slams on his back over the door threshold. His kidneys groan. But he must get away. He must find Dana and Vita. 

 Things hover over him. “Get him inside… quick”, the caws become comprehensible. Arms reach down. Grab his wet pyjamas. “No”, he moans. Kicks. Flails his arms and twists like a worm. But they lift him. Carry him inside. “Place him on a bench, come on!”

Aben is pinned down. A thing looms over him.  An invisible force holds his head still. He fights. Strains his drenched muscles. Small beads of sweat bubble on his forehead. The last drops of water in his body. “What did you do to them? Where are my wife and daughter?” He groans and twists.

“Aben”, the thing caws. “Aben, stop! Calm down!”

Something cool and wet is placed on his forehead by a thing’s hands. Aben feels thin streaks of water coming down on his sides. He closes his eyes. Dana and Vita flash before him. Both in summer dresses, drenched in the sun on a beach. Playing throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Aben moans. Strains his muscles again. They don’t move. He exhales. His lungs puff out dust and the smell of rot. He looks up. The thing is still over him. Huge eyes. Black and slick with a glow. He sees a reflection in them. Alien and jagged.

A jug is brought to his mouth. A small amount of water is poured into him. Cool and wet, it flows past the walnut. Aben feels it spreading across his parched body. He wants more. Tilts his head towards the spout of the jug. He hears it clatter. Why does the jug clatter on his mouth?

“Okay”, the thing over him caws. “He’s okay. Give him space!” Aben keeps looking into the thing’s glitzy eyes. He sees the puzzle pieces of his reflection come into a shape. Neck… Head… On the head—antlers. His eyes—big and slick. Face covered in scales. A rugged beak in the centre and a snout over it.

Aben gasps. Rolls over and crawls on elbows and heels towards the end of the booth. “Stay away from me! This isn’t real! What did you do to them?” He screams and curls up. He shakes his head. His antlers clatter against the window behind him.

“Why does he talk like that?” A thing caws.

“It’s the dehydration”, the one that had been looming over him caws. It turns back towards Aben. “It’s okay, Aben. You’re okay… You’ve just been sick… You were sick for a long time. But now you’re okay.” The thing approaches slowly. Knees on the booth bench. Shifting towards him. An arm extended.

“What did you do to my wife and child?” Aben cries. He closes his eyes, seeking the beach memory from his fever dreams.

“You don’t have a wife and a child, Aben. You live alone. Down the road”, the thing says. But Aben sees them in his mind. Glowing. Beautiful and smiling. “Aben, that’s the fever. You’re safe. We are your friends, neighbours.”

Inside himself, Aben reaches to Dana and Vita. Sees his leathery hand stretching out towards them. He wants to hug them. Kiss his wife’s rosy lips and press his side on his daughter’s chubby soft cheek.

“Aben”, he hears the thing calls again. A hand is placed on his shoulder. But he wants to keep his eyes closed forever.

Aben’s fingers graze Vita’s blond hairs but they disintegrate into sand. Dana’s freckles turn into small bubbles of foam and lift off her face and merge with the ocean waves. Aben wants to hold on to them. But his hands fill with the sand that is his daughter. Vita seeps through his fingers and disperses into the foam that is  her mother and his pain and love dissolve in them and they disappear with the receding ocean waves.

Aben cries out, opens his eyes. Looks at his friend’s face. His eyes smile. He looks at the beak. It’s motionless. A beak doesn’t smile.

“How long have I been out?” Aben hears himself caw.

“Almost a week, brother! But you look better now! You must be starving!” Aben’s friend tilts his head, locking their antlers. “Hey, what was that about a wife and daughter?”

“No idea”, Aben caws. His gaze wanders around the coffee shop. A pretty waitress with small, golden antlers carries a bowl of grains.

His stomach roars.

​                                                                💀💀💀

​Stefan Sofiski is the pen name of a Bulgarian author living in the UK. Stefan works as an engineering professional by day and uses every free minute to write.