Dream Girl Evil

Photo by Siobhan Flannery on Unsplash
Sondra Kaufmann – a name so rare it was destined for immortality, one way or another, bound for stardom.

We first crossed paths in middle school, when she had yet to reach her full potential and become the person she was now remembered as. Her auburn curls used to drape over her shoulders, and her crimson lips used to be plump and temptingly kissable.

I liked her. She was an outcast, a miserable spirit just like me. And, being a hot-blooded teenager, I was naturally drawn to her pretty face and sharp mind. She was my dream girl, only darker, more dangerous. My dream girl, evil.

Nothing happened between us, though. I don’t think Sondra was, you know, interested in other people in the same way we normal humans were. She kept a low profile until graduation and remained a mystery – not just in my teenage mind, but in the minds of every other boy in our year.

Everyone was in love; Sondra wasn’t. I don’t think she was capable of feeling those kinds of emotions.

Funny to think about it now, but on the day of our graduation, I actually planned to confess to her. A stupid idea, I know, but it didn’t seem so bad at the time. As I said, she was pretty – petite and classy – and I was into her edginess. I mean, I was a six-foot-tall metalhead. I blame the hormones.

Anyway, the point is, I never confessed, and Sondra, being the eccentric girl she was, didn’t even show up to her own graduation. And like that, ladies and gentlemen, that love story ended right then and there – as it should.

I studied mechanical engineering later in life and sold my baby, my Gibson Les Paul, to focus on my studies. That hurt like hell, honestly. I mourned its loss for weeks.

My girlfriend at the time, Lily, thought I was being overly dramatic for no good reason. But I’m telling you that guitar had been with me forever. It was like a child to me.

I broke things off with Lily after two years of dating, for unrelated reasons, of course, but honestly, I don’t think I ever really forgave her for saying those things back then.

Don’t get me wrong. Lily was a good girl – too good for me – but she could be a little… How do I put it? Borderline obsessive? It wasn’t that she wanted to be in my life; she wanted to be my life. Well, you get the gist of it…

Fast forward to my first real job – a paid internship at one of the largest corporations in the country. I didn’t earn much, but I got by pretty well compared to a lot of my classmates, most of whom were still unemployed.

I ran into Sondra again, purely by chance, at the tube. I never thought I’d see her again, but there she was, standing right in front of me. She looked exactly the same as the last time I saw her.

To say I felt nothing would’ve been a lie. She was beautiful, disturbingly unreal, and I was attracted to her all over again!

Just like a scene from a romantic film, it felt as though we were the only two people in the world, completely lost in the moment. I was the first to speak. I said her name without even realising why. She smiled, and I knew she remembered me.

We spent the night at a nearby motel. The walls echoed with our passionate whispers, creating a memory that would linger in our minds for a very long time. But as dawn broke, we parted ways, and the morning air erased every trace of our intimate encounter.

Two days later, a notification appeared on my phone. It was a friend request from her on Facebook. Do people still use that platform these days? Well, I suppose that’s beside the point.

We started dating.

Sondra moved in with me after just three weeks, and everything seemed perfect. We even adopted a Golden Retriever from a shelter and named her Golden – pun intended.

I had never felt such overwhelming happiness before. I wanted to show her how special she was to me, shower her with passionate love, and make plans for our future together.

That was… until I discovered her secret. Or should I say, ‘secrets’?

Sondra, though an intelligent woman by nature, had dropped out of university shortly after enrolling in medical school. When her patriarchal, narrow-minded parents found out, they cut off her monthly allowance and, in her words, ‘disowned’ her.

I couldn’t understand how any parents could just cut ties with their child like that, but I believed her – I wanted to believe her. But this wasn’t even remotely close to what actually ended our relationship.

Things took a turn for the worse on the evening of my birthday. We had just had sex when she received a message on her phone and abruptly jumped out of bed. That was the first time she had ever done that.

Though I had no reason to suspect she was cheating on me, this incident kept me on edge for a long time. So, when I got the chance to check her phone, I took it and risked everything.

I knew her password – she didn’t bother hiding it from me – but what I found was beyond disturbing: grainy images, taken from what seemed to be some kind of photo album. The images showed people in disturbing positions, some naked, some intoxicated, and others seemingly stiff, like corpses.

All her messages, sent and received, were deleted, and she didn’t have a single phone number saved in her contacts – not even mine.

The nature of the images, especially those I believed depicted real human cadavers, made my blood run cold. Why did she have those images, and who the hell was sending them to her?

What disturbed me most, however, was that all the victims were people of colour.

I confronted her the same night. Although I wasn’t sure how to approach it, since I couldn’t predict her behaviour, not after seeing those pictures, I hesitated for a solid two hours.

Her response – I can still hear it clearly in my fading mind – chilled me to the bone. She said it with such calmness too, in such a nonchalant and detached manner, that I struggled to process whether she was aware of the morbidity of her own words. But, boy, she sure was!

“My slaves,” she said. “They are our slaves, don’t you get it?”

Dumbfounded, I stood there, and it took me a moment to recover before she repeated herself. I couldn’t believe it. She was dead serious.

“W-What?”

“You don’t understand! We’re superior, Elijah! We come from a noble and pure race! We have to preserve it!”

Disgusted by those words I’d never expected to hear from someone this special to me, I instinctively stepped away.

“Are you… are you okay?”

Her features softened as she noticed the confusion in my voice, inched closer and let her finger run down my cheek. Even now, as she said those disturbing things, even as I saw those messed-up images, I couldn’t help but feel attracted to her.

“That’s why I chose you, Elijah…” I let her kiss me, even for a brief second, relishing in her wet kiss before I pushed her away. “Together, we’ll retain our race and make it pure again—”

You’re not well.” I paused, glancing away to gather my thoughts, muttering more to myself than to Sondra. “This… this is madness. You weren’t like this before. Just—what happened to you?”

“I opened my eyes to the truth, Elijah! Don’t you see? Those people don’t work, don’t pay taxes, don’t do anything! They’re rats! Filthy rats living off people like us.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Rats? They’re people, Sondra, just like you and me. Humans! Humans who deserve to live an honourable life just like anybody else!”

“You call those people our equals? Muslims, Indians, Asians – they’re not like us. They never will be!”

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Sondra!”

“Open your eyes and see the truth for what it is! There are mosques everywhere! Mosques, for crying out loud! And those stinking kebab shops on every corner, and-and—"

“What's your problem with people praying, working hard, and trying to make a living in a world where people like us have an advantage? You can’t just label the entire population as bad and others as good. That’s not how this works. There are good and bad people, not good and bad groups or races of people.”

“You call stealing our jobs, taking over neighbourhoods, breeding violence, and polluting our race people working hard? Babe, our vets are homeless and barely scraping by after serving this country, while those-those rats are taking our hard-earned money!”

“Polluting?” I couldn't help but crack up. “You sound like a 60-year-old bigot—or some 20-year-old online incel. What the actual fuck, Sondra? Since when did you start hanging around with people whose only experience of people of colour comes from the news?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“No, I fucking don’t! And I think you’re ill. This isn’t you, Sondra. We went to school in the ghetto together! In the bloody ghetto! You know those things you're saying aren't true! We both know.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that those people are threatening our existence!”

“Fine! Let’s pretend you’re right. Even if your twisted theory holds up, what do you actually lose if our ‘race’ becomes a minority? Think about it. Weren’t you going to be a doctor? Explain to me how this makes any sense to you.”

“I’m telling you, our race will disappear—”

“That bloody race talk again? Fuck! Okay. I'll let you believe in that bullshit this one time, but by the time you and I cease to exist, we'll both be long gone, don’t you think? Who knows? Maybe a better race will come out of mixing races? Isn't that what survival of the fittest is all about? The greater the complexity of our genetic makeup, the higher our intelligence and capacity to adapt will be. If we all get stuck trying to preserve an ancient noble race there’s no fucking evidence of, humanity itself will cease to exist!”

“I can't believe I actually considered marrying you! You’re a lost cause, Elijah! And you’re no better than those bloody rats living off of us!”

“And I can’t believe someone so intelligent turned out like this! It’s a pity. Really. I… I really liked you. I wanted this to work and… never mind. It doesn’t even matter now, does it?”

“No, it does, babe! I’ll give you one more chance to do the right thing.” She paused upon seeing the smirk on my face. “Don’t give me that face, babe, ‘cause I’m not fucking smiling right now.”

“One more chance? One more chance for what? You expect us to work out after coming out as a racist?”

“Is this your answer? Elijah, babe, look at me.”

She cradled my face in her hands, those deep-set eyes boring into mine. Her face card was strong – impossibly strong – and her kissable lips hovered just inches from mine.

“Is this really what you want?”

“It’s not about what I want,” I said, stepping back again, fighting to stay grounded, to resist the spell of her voice, her touch, her everything. “I can’t be with someone who sees people this way. I’m sorry. I really am.”

Her expression hardened. Cold. Unreadable. Something in her changed. Those seductive eyes of hers, warm and teasing, went dead. Hollow. Predatory. Then she said it. The line that twisted something inside me:

“I didn’t want to do this. Not to you, Elijah. But you leave me no other choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My throat tightened. “Sondra? What the fuck is that supposed—”

Her eyes flicked past me. Quick. Too quick. Like she’d spotted something in the shadows. And then… she smiled. Not a grin. Not a smirk. A smile that made my skin crawl.

I whipped around.

Click.

A camera shutter. And just like that, with a single click, I was gone. Just another soul in that cursed roll of film.

My final memory? A saw. A clean cut. My head leaving my body.

Then – darkness.

Just... darkness. And nothing else.

No God.

No angels.

No demons.

Just the endless click of the shutter. Out of reach, just beyond the veil. There and not there. Real one second, smoke and mirrors the next.

The footage never stopped.

The saw never dulled.

My severed head never stopped rolling – thumping across the floorboards, trailing crimson like a signature.

And I watched her. I watched her keep going. Collecting more. Luring them in. Always the same setup. Same smile. Same bed. And those lips—

Still kissable.

Still killing.

Skin Deep

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

Rule number one: never act on your feelings. Rule number two: always follow rule number one. Rule number three: breaking either rule means defeat.

During my nursing studies, I interned at the largest hospital in town, and two things happened: the student who was supposed to be supervised together with me dropped out of nursing school, and I was relocated from floor two to floor three in the infection ward after several nurses fell ill during a tuberculosis outbreak.

The dean of our faculty thus had to relocate everyone who was supposed to work on floor two; some were transferred to other wards but three of us were just sent a floor up. While the two nurses-in-training – my future colleagues – were supervised by the same mentor, I was, given the urgency of the situation, put in the care of one of the senior nurses who was supposed to retire the same year the epidemic broke out.

Needless to say, the old woman despised me and everything I represented. She was callous and bitter, and she took every opportunity she could to humiliate me in front of as many people as possible for the tiniest mistakes I made.

It was during this time of my life that I almost broke rule number one. It was pure coincidence that I was relocated one floor up and met the person I wasn’t supposed to meet. Like running into an old friend after many years, I knew I had to keep my distance to follow the rules I set for myself.

But the attraction between us was visible even from miles away, despite how distant and cold we appeared outwardly, and my supervisor wasn’t about to ignore it. The more she humiliated me, the closer the link between us became, like a deflated balloon that stretched endlessly and was difficult to rip with your bare hands.

I remember when she asked me to choose two or three patients to take care of for the day, and I picked one regular patient and one who wasn’t an ‘infection patient’ but was brought to our ward due to the epidemic. For her, this choice was yet another opportunity to mock me. As I was giving a brief of our regular patient’s well-being to the assistant doctor, he gave instructions on the kinds of medicine he was going to prescribe before I could give a brief of the other patient I chose.

When he was done and I had taken my notes, my supervisor stopped him and asked: “What about the other patient?” He looked at me, who was still clueless as to why he had skipped that particular patient in question and replied: “That’s not our patient. His own doctor will arrive later this evening.” I think he knew what my supervisor tried to do. And I think that was when it… when it became difficult to follow my rules.

The entire internship continued like this for a while and I was nearing the end of it. Despite strict regulations prohibiting it, my supervisor had already contacted my clinical supervisor at my nursing school and told her about how incompetent of a nurse I was. It was kind of comical when my clinical supervisor told me this, though. The patients, the other nurses and the orderlies all praised my knowledge and skills, yet there I was – a mere student whose words went against that of a senior nurse. I was bound to lose the battle.

Her demeaning behaviour affected me in ways no words could truly capture. When I learnt I failed my internship a week before my last day on the ward, I quit and dropped out of school. That woman broke me. She truly did. But it wasn’t just her – it was him too.

I hated the way I felt about him. We hardly spoke yet my walls seemed to have given in to him already. The day I quit, I went back home and decided to leave everything behind and survive this wicked world, no matter what. That was how my writing career started.

With the passing years, not only did I manage to close off my heart again, but also my mind to other people. Like a hermit living in the jagged mountains, I lived a life of enclosure and solitude. Living like this had its setbacks, of course.

There was increased pressure on my shoulders from all around, urging me to step into the spotlight and narrate my stories, my inspirations, and my aspirations in my own voice. I never accepted an award show invitation in my youth, never showed my face, and never took advantage of my position as a best-selling author, either.

That is, until I turned 54 and received an email from one of the leading magazines in the Western Hemisphere. I recognised the name of the sender, or rather, the surname I thought I had forgotten. How could I ever?

A photo of a young woman in her mid-twenties appeared in the search results as I typed her name. Goodwin. Lara Goodwin. An LGBTQ+ journalist who graduated from Harvard University with a law degree. Although the surname itself wasn’t uncommon, something in her face warmed my heart. Was it her emerald eyes, her rosy lips, or her straight, light brown hair? Or was it the shape of her face, the way her intelligent eyes seemed to seal all the secrets of the world or the way she talked?

Yet… deep down, I knew why.

Perhaps this insight, this resemblance, was what tore me apart as I noticed that she was raised by two men – her fathers. At that moment, when I realised the gravity of my belated discovery, a flood of memories washed over me.

How was this possible? As I sifted through distant memories, trying to make sense of my past and my present, all I could remember was a man in love with a woman. I knew this was the case even if I lacked the words to describe it. So how…? Had I been deceived, could my memories have been betraying me all this time—no, that couldn’t be the case!

But if that were truly the case, then how could I explain this newfound insight about the man I thought loved me? The answer came to me two years later one wintry evening when I least expected it.

The man who had almost broken me had transitioned. But it wasn’t just his body that changed – his face did too. It was like looking at a distorted mirror of my past self – of my youth – at a time when I was the most beautiful.

Then it dawned on me.

I wasn’t the one she was in love with. She was in love with my face, this feminine visage that was everything she ever wanted to see on her former face.

This happened during the 80s, mind you, when transitioning wasn’t as readily accepted at that age and time. I couldn’t help but wonder: had I given in to my feelings back then, would she have ripped my skin and put it on her own? Perhaps I knew this was the case, this was why I kept my distance all along. After all, I was so in love, so madly in love, that I’d offer not only my hollow heart but also my face to her.

Gate of Hell – Part III

Image by Rick Khan from Pixabay

The rusty shipwreck looked like a relic forever lost in time. Algae and other kinds of microorganisms had eaten through its metallic surface and turned it soft and rotten. It was a miracle it washed ashore in this poor condition.

“W- we should return now,” stuttered Tom, visibly fraught with horror at the sight of the massive ghost ship that washed ashore after the storm. “It’s too dark out here and so bitterly cold!”

“What are droning on about? Let’s go inside and take a look!”

“Wait, what?”

Before Tom could get another word in, Edmund rushed forwards and climbed the tilted shipwreck.

“Hold on! What are you doing! Edmund! Get down! Get down before something bad happens!”

But Edmund didn’t listen to a single word he said, and before Tom could make his trembling legs listen to him and advance, the boy disappeared into the shipwreck.

Reluctantly, Tom clenched his jaw and went after Edmund. Why was he so stubborn, he thought, before climbing up to the barely stable deck.

“Edmund! Edmund, where are you! Edmund!”

When no reply returned, panic set in.

What if something bad happened to him? Thinking of the worst possible scenarios, Tom picked up the pace and searched every nook and cranny while calling out to his new friend.

Seconds morphed into minutes, and before he realised it, several hours flew by.

Left with no option but to seek help from the grown-ups back in the market square, he made up his mind to return to the woods, when a sudden clamour arrested him.

It came from the captain’s cabin, which was blocked off by the mizzen and main mast, which collided and now looked like a cross. It was impossible to reach the captain’s cabin.

There was, however, a small gap where those two wooden poles crossed. Without a second thought, he squeezed in through the gap and entered the cramped chamber.

It wasn’t that he did not expect to see anything but the spectacle before him was anything but ordinary, or something a kid like himself could conjure up in his wildest dream.

A mighty portal ablaze with what seemed and felt like a miniature storm within stood before him. Taking a careful step forwards, he stretched out his hand only to retreat in the same second.

Like a black hole, the stormy portal sucked him in.

“E- Edmund? Edmund, are you here? Ed—”

Through the raging storm inside the portal, a hand reached out to him and a shrill scream drowned out as soon as it reached his ears. Before he realised it, his feet moved and the portal took him with it to the abode of the damned.

Gate of Hell - Part II

Photo by he zhu on Unsplash 

“Hey! Yes, you! Hurry!”

Edmund waved the blond boy over from where he hid behind the blueberry bushes across the churchyard. He had seen the kid working the field across Nanny Ruth’s farmhouse down the single-lane road before, but other than that, he hardly knew the boy.

Ever since the strange mist took over their settlement and took his friends with it to god-knows-where, he didn’t once consider that another kid survived The Purge – especially, not this scrawny thing made of bones.

“What do you want?” Tom said.

“The shipwreck! Let’s go see it!”

“What? No! Didn’t you hear what the—”

“Oh, come on! You really believe in all that drivel? Gospels? Hah! More like a made-up fairytale!”

Tom, acutely aware of how close they were to the communion members, hushed him before blurting out the following through gritted teeth.

“Are you out of your mind! What if they hear you!”

“Are coming with me or not?”

Tom sighed. “Do you even know my name, Edmund Keyes?”

Edmund’s eyes grew wide and sparkled.

“Wow! You knew my name all along and still ignored me during the sermon?”

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you…”

“Then what were you doing, then?” Edmund pointed at Tom so suddenly that the poor thing flinched. “You! You were clearly trying to avoid me back there!”

“It’s just… I’m not used to… talking to people, that’s all! Besides, when the other kids were around, you never paid me any attention – not that the others did, either…”

“Really?” Edmund paused for a second to jog his memory. “Now that you say that, I don’t remember ever talking to you…”

“That’s because all you ever did was play with Jordan and- and—”

“But why didn’t you join us then? It’s not like we’d tell you off or something…”

Tom’s mouth gaped wide. “Seriously? I tried, remember!?”

“Oh, you did?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

Edmund cracked a smile. “I must’ve been harsh on you I guess?”

“Harsh? Harsh! You said I was a loser and told me to scram it!”

Edmund scratched the back of his head. “Hey, I’m sorry, all right? Let’s forget about the past and focus on the present, yeah?”

“After spilling spoilt milk on me, telling me to, quote, ‘go and die’, and then pushing me into the mud in front of your stupid friends?”

Edmund opened his mouth to defend himself, but when Tom continued, he realised that there was no point in defending the things he had done. Since when had he been such a jerk?

“Well, can we at least be acquaintances and explore whatever’s going on at the shore?”

“Only if you promise not to call me a faggot again—wait a sec! You don’t remember calling me that either, do you?”

Edmund, smiling wide, ran for the hills as his new friend ran after him to give him a beating. It wasn’t that he feared getting hurt, for Tom’s hands were literally made of sticks, but because he hadn’t had this much fun teasing someone ever since the fog rolled in.  

When they finally slowed down in front of the forest trail that led to the shore, Edmund glanced at the darkening sky full of twinkling stars. How long had it been since he last saw the stars and the moon?

“Hey, Edmund…”

“Hmm?” he said without looking at the boy.

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all.”

He faced Tom this time. “Don’t tell me you really believe in the Gospels?”

“There’s no reason for me not to.”

“It’s just a fairytale, you know? To scare people.”

“How do you know?”

“My dad told me. He’s an atheist.”

“Ath—what’s that?”

“Someone who doesn’t believe in fairytales,” he said, adding. “Dad said my mum helped him open his eyes and see the truth for what it is when they first met.”

“Ah, I see. But where’s your mum? I don’t remember ever seeing her…”

Edmund hesitated. “It’s a long story.” He then took the lead through the thick woods and picked up the pace. “Hurry now! We shouldn’t be late!”

“Late?” repeated Tom as he tried to catch up to Edmund. “Late for what? Edmund! Hey! What do you mean?”

But Edmund didn’t reply.

His darting eyes focused on the narrowing path ahead swallowed by the depths of the dense woods. In the shadows, he could almost hear their soundless breathing and feel their icy touch on his bare skin.

The Gate of Hell finally unlocked.

Gate of Hell – Part I

Photo by Brad Switzer on Unsplash

It was the 21st of November 1829.

The storm raged on for over two weeks without respite and blocked off all roads to Gaddon Township. No one understood why or how something like this could happen in their serene settlement, where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

When the mist rolled in a fortnight ago and blanketed everything in patches of fog, the last thing the townspeople expected was to be trapped in profound darkness and not see the light of day for two weeks.

The crops wilted, the flowers stopped blooming, and the clear air grew thick with nauseating fumes. Children suffocated to death in their sleep, as did the livestock, the pregnant miscarried and those who tried to conceive were left infertile.

On the seventeenth night, however, the deluge finally retreated and the air cleared up. On the surface, everything went back to normal. It didn’t.

The stroke of ill fortune carried on, and before the townspeople knew, only a handful of them pulled through.

From the twenty-tree children who once resided in Gaddon Township, only two survived what the remaining townspeople now dubbed ‘The Purge’.

One of these two fortunate kids was Edmund Keyes and the other was Tom Baker.

Edmund was a year older than Tom and was the only son of broke homme d'affaires, who relocated to Gaddon Township to take flight from his debtors. The Keyes earned their living working their fingers to the bone as husbandry workers for good ol’ Nanny Ruth.

The elderly woman had never wed and was born and raised in Gaddon Township. She inherited a lot of riches from her parents when they passed away two decades ago. She was now the most well-off person in the entire settlement.

Tom, on the other hand, was the youngest of eight children, with seven of them being girls. The Bakers worked the corn fields for the other townspeople and earned a shilling or two slaving through the day.

Those two, Edmund and Tom, however, had never crossed paths before.

When the parish priest, Mr Gilbert, told everyone to meet at the churchyard the day after the storm faded, that was the first time they saw each other.

“This is a bad omen,” preached Mr Gilbert, taking a short pause to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “Goody Jon, can you please tell these good folks what you’ve told me.”

Goody Jon, an elderly man with a hunchback who miraculously survived what those in the height of their youth could not, stepped forwards.

“Aye, indeed, it is a bad omen, good folks!”

Everyone held their breaths.

“As you are aware, ever since my lovely Rae passed away, I’ve taken a walk on the shore to reminisce our dying memories. Yesterday, when the mist cleared, I found something washed ashore, good people! A shipwreck a hundred years or more old!”

“Why’s it a bad omen, then, Goody Jon? Something so harmless, at that!” someone asked.

“Fool! Don’t you know the Gospels!”

Mr Gilbert, “Please, take a seat, Goody Jon. I’ll take over from here.”

Albeit reluctant, Goody Jon returned to his seat.

“Dear friends, it seems the Judgement Day is upon us all. No, calm down good folks! There you go! Let me finish, ye?”

The commotion died as soon as it happened. The townspeople had a lot of trust in the priest and heeded his every word like they were from the Lord Himself.

“It is of utmost importance none of you goes near the shipwreck. I know it’s harder than what it sounds like. But you must stay away at all times. Is that clear? Goody Jon?”

The elderly man muttered something that sounded like something between a sneer and a swear.

“As soon as the hills of snow melt, I’ll send a word to Bishop Tomas and we’ll figure something out. Until then, no one is permitted to—”

“Aye, we get it! How many times will ya repeat?” someone interrupted. The others agreed, and yet another commotion broke out. This time, however, it took more than a few minutes for Mr Gilbert to calm down the communion and get his voice heard.

“All right, then! Good folks, listen up! Let’s conclude with a sermon and a prayer.”

The Shapeshifter

Photo by Sixties Photography on Unsplash

I didn’t know what to do.

My parents, sister and brother have not returned. I called my sister, Annika, roughly two hours ago. She said they crossed the railway bridge and would be at home in twenty or so minutes.

It has been several hours already. I figured they swung by the gas station near the intersection to buy snacks or something at first. Now I wasn’t so sure about that. I couldn’t stop thinking that something bad went down. 

Christopher just got his driving license and Dad said he’d let that fool drive back home from their trip to Grandma. She lived in a nursing home in another state and had surgery a week ago. Her surgeon said she’d live another year if everything went well.

The wall lamp on the porch kept switching on and off. I thought they’d arrived the first time it happened an hour ago. But our car, a white Volvo, had not pulled up in the driveway.

Then it flickered on a few more times after this. I counted the time between each switch after the third time – six minutes elapsed between each.

Four minutes passed since the last time it switched on. I’ve locked all the doors. Both the porch and driveway were vacant. No one was there, trying to prank me. So why did the light keep switching on? It was driving me up the wall. 

 I sent Mum a message fifteen minutes ago and asked if she could call our neighbour, Mr Bourgon, and ask if he could see anything suspicious outside.

Mr Bourgon caught a few burglars red-handed over the years and had a double-barrelled shotgun. Ann and I saw him shoot some rats a few years back even, when our working-class neighbourhood got overcrowded with those gnawers. 

It happened again. The light flickered on. Wait, what was that noise? A car pulled up in the driveway. It didn’t sound like our car, though. That girl was almost three decades old and I’d recognise it if it was her.

Dad got her from his broke uncle, who used to sell foreign cars in the ghetto for a cheap price. Mum said almost all parts had been replaced with cheap parts, and that it was most likely stolen from some Scandinavian tourists back in the ‘90s.

Okay, turns out I was wrong. It was our car. But I couldn’t see anyone in it. I called Dad this time. No one picked up the phone.

I refreshed the screen more often than I wanted to admit, but not even Mum replied. Just what was going on? Why were none of them replying to me? 

The car’s all right. It was still dark outside since the light switched off again, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. 

I got a call from Ann. She hung up when I asked where she was. The light stopped turning on and off for good, by the way. Maybe I should call the police?

Annika called again. Someone was breathing on the other end of the line this time. I couldn’t tell if it was her, though. It wasn’t like my sister to do such a thing, you know, pulling pranks on me. She was ten years older and had been an adult the longest, while I was eleven and Christopher seventeen years old.

Chris liked to tease me a lot. He was a fool, though. He never played video games with me but would always scream his head off on the phone while playing Battle Royale with his friends. Online friends, that is, because he was socially inept.

One time I caught him swearing and ratted him out to Dad. Dad took his phone away as a punishment. He wasn’t allowed to be online for two weeks. He got all sulky after that one time and said I was being an idiot and that he hated me. 

Ann said he’d grow out of it someday, but he kept getting worse. Mum and Dad kinda gave up on him; I overheard them talk the other day. Dad said he was going to kick him out or something so that he’d learn how to fend for himself sooner rather than later.

My sister was on a visit over the holidays. She studied mechanical engineering out of town and had not paid a visit in the last couple of months. Mum said she’d graduate before the summer break. Dad was stoked, of course.

But I kept hearing Ann cry every night. Our bedrooms were next to each other. Every night, as soon as she thought we were all asleep, I’d hear her raise her voice at someone and choke up. I think she was talking to her boyfriend. 

Mum sent a message. It wasn’t a reply, though, just random words that had somehow come together. It looked like something an illiterate child would punch in without knowing what the heck it was doing

 I sent her a message and asked why our car was in the driveway. She read the message as soon as I sent it. Then I heard something. It came from Annika’s bedroom upstairs. 

The only thing out of the ordinary was a cracked window in her room. I closed it and went downstairs to find the front door ajar. Someone was in here with me.

I picked up our spare keys from the drawer and went outside. I was thinking of waking up Mr Bourgon until another call came through. This time, it was from Chris. I still remember how the conversation went. It was so random. Then again, it all made sense in the end. 

“Chris, where are you—”

“You up, kiddo?”

“Hmm. I’ve been up since a while ago. Where are you? There’s nobody in the car.”

“What are you doing outside?”

“I think someone’s in the house. I’m going over to—”

“Wait, what’d just say?”

“Someone’s in the house, and- and I don’t know what to do, Chris! I’m afraid. I want Mum. Where are you? I can’t see you guys anywhere.”

“What do [unintelligible] can’t see me?”

“You’re not—can you see me? Chris?”

“I’m staring right at ya, buddy. Look at the window.”

I looked up at the second window from the left. No one was there.

“You’re not there, Chris, stop fooling around! I said I was scared! I’m gonna tell Mum when she comes home!”

“Dennis [unintelligible]. Like, did you hit your head or something?”

“No…?”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you, stupid! You’re not even here! Nobody is! I’m scared. It’s so dark. Where’s Mum and Dad?”

“What are you [unintelligible] holding?”

“The phone, duh! The one you conned me into taking, remember? You said—”

“I know what I said! I’m not talking ‘bout the damn phone!”

“Watch your language or else—”

“I said, stop! Dennis, stop! What’re you doing? Where’d you [unintelligible]—isn’t that Ann’s?”

“Chris? Hello?”

“When did you [unintelligible]? I said—you okay, buddy?”

“Hello…? I can’t hear you, Chris! Chris! Christopher, are you there?”

The line went dead.

Another call came in. 

“Mum! I- I think something’s not right with Chris! He’s been—”

“Oh, God! Oh, God! My baby! What [unintelligible] to you?”

“Mum? Are you with Chris? What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

“[unintelligible] did you? My poor, poor baby!”

“Mummy I’m scared! Please, say something… Where’s Dad? And Annika? Did you see the message I sent you?”

“Dennis, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, I…”

“Where’s your sister, sweetheart?”

“I- I thought she was with you guys.”

“Dennis, please. Tell me where she is. Hmm? [unintelligible] good boy.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I- I want Dad.”

“Tell me where she is.”

“I- I don’t know. I—hold on, Mum. Ann’s calling.”

“Dennis, wait—”

“Ann, where are you? Mum’s really upset! She keeps asking where you are!”

“Listen, there’s something really strange—where’s Chris?”

“I think he’s in his room. But he wasn’t there when I was upstairs. Did you guys—”

“Scchh! Keep your voice down!”

“What- what’s going on, Ann? Where’s everyone? I’m- I’m scared!”

“Do you see the car?”

“I’m right next to it! I’ve tried to open it, but it won’t budge!”

“Go, open the trunk. Hurry! Dennis, hurry!”

“What’s in the trunk?”

“Just [unintelligible] go!”

“I- I can’t open it!”

“Try harder, for crying out loud! Come on! Think of it as a competition! Whoever opens the trunk first wins!”

“What do you I win?”

“I- I dunno, just keep trying. Did it work? Dennis? [unintelligible]”

“What’s… in those bags? It smells bad. I don’t like this.”

“Anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Dunno, a paper? A quilt, anything, really.”

“There’s a receipt under one of the bags. It’s soaked through, though.”

“Can you see what’s written on it?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. It’s kinda hard to read…”

“For [unintelligible] can’t you just do one thing right? I need you to help me!”

“I am helping you, it’s just—”

“Wait a sec! Did you [unintelligible]. What’s that?”

“There’s another receipt here. I think it’s from that gas station near the intersection.”

“Don’t you hear that?”

“Did you guys buy those trash bags? And some—”

“Dennis, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” I looked around the dark. “Are you here? I can’t see you.”

“No, but you are. How is [unintelligible]?”

“Ann? This is not funny! Not at all! Is Mum and Chris in on this?”

“Dennis, is this really you?”

“I- I really don’t like this anymore! I’m scared! Can’t you just stop? I won’t ever steal your chips again! And- and I’ll be good to Chris too! I won’t snitch on him, I promise!”

“[unintelligible]. Now!”

“What?”

“Go, hide, now! Hide! Get in the trunk!”

I glanced at the trunk full of nasty plastic bags.

“No, I—”

“[unintelligible] just do it! Get. In. The. Trunk. Now!”

“Where- where’s Dad?”

“Oh my god!”

“Ann?”

“NO! [unintelligible] NO! I can’t—can’t breathe! I can’t! [unintelligible]! Stop [unintelligible]! I can’t—Dennis, are you there?”

“Mum?”

“Did you get in the trunk, sweetheart?”

“Where’s… where’s Annika?”

“She’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I’m- I’m calling Mr Bourgon over. I think he’s awake now. The lights just turned on.”

“No, stay put. I’ll be there in jiffy.”

“I don’t want to stay here. It smells so bad, these bags.”

“Whatever you do, don’t open them, okay? I’m almost there.”

I studied one of the lighter bags. There was something round inside. Like two ping-pong balls. The lamp on the porch switched on. I let go of the bag.

“Mummy?”

Thus wasn’t Mum. It was a man I had never seen before. He grinned from ear to ear. I looked at the plastic bags. As I opened one of the larger ones, the stranger drew nearer. I recoiled. 

My father’s decapitated head rolled down and stopped right at my feet. Gasping for air, I looked up at the stranger whose wolfish face morphed into mine.

I ran for the hills. Behind me, my doppelgänger guffawed like a maniac.

Mr Bourgon’s front door was open. I ran inside and locked the door. I had never been to his house before. But this wasn’t a house. What was this place?

As the creature banged on the door, I turned around. My eyes grew wide. This place, it… it was a lair! The door unlocked. I held my breath. A call came through. It was… from Dad.

“What did I say about opening the door to strangers?”

“You’re… This is not real.”

“I just called Mr Bourgon. He should be over any minute. Don’t let anyone in until he comes, okay? Your Mum’s been on pins and needles since you sent that message! She keeps saying she’s got a bad feeling.”

“You… called Mr Bourgon?”

The door gradually opened, creaking, taking its sweet time and teasing. 

“We’re almost there, buddy. I think… Hey, Chris, isn’t that Mr Bourgon’s car? The one next to the green one? No, the other one.”

“Dad, I’m- I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know.”

The door flung open.

Fangs

Photo by Mikkel Amundsen on Unsplash

“You sure you got the right address? I don’t think anyone lives here, man.”

I peeked at the towering mansion behind the steel gates for the second time.

The walled garden stank of rotted roots even from this distance, so I rolled up the car windows and breathed through my shirt as I spoke on the phone. 

Something about the boarded-up windows, pillared porch and the dilapidated state of the massive building gnawed at my conscience. 

“Come on, dude! Chickening out or what?”

“Who did you say called?”

“Some girl. I didn’t get her name.”

“And she called me by my name?” I said, looking around the darkness-shrouded vicinity. “If this is some fucked up prank, I’ll—”

“Not only that, dude! She called you by your real name.”

“You’re the only one who knows that, asshole.”

“That’s exactly my point! Look, if you don’t want to do this, fine. But if she’s telling the truth and those fuckers beat us to it, I’ll kill your fucking ass!”

I placed the phone on my other ear, rolled down one of the windows and scanned the outside.

“I don’t see a damn thing, goddammit! Where’s the girl—”

The call disconnected as the phone slipped through my fingers. I spun my head and looked in the direction of the banging.

Only when I noticed the contour of a young woman in her early twenties did I stop holding my breath and relax my shoulders.

She motioned for me to roll down the window.

“Hey, Mikail is it?”

“You’re the one who called us here?”

She stooped over and leaned in. Taken aback by how close she got, I turned my face away and felt my cheeks burn. What was up with that smile? She looked as if she knew me or something.

“You’re not getting out, huh?”

“What?”

“I don’t bite, you know.”

I gulped. I wasn’t much of a ladies’ man and the few girlfriends I had over the years were people I knew from my childhood.

While I had a decent face and a large build, I had sustained some trauma growing up, which rendered me incapable of talking to girls. Not anything serious, just the usual getting-rejected-by-a-pretty-girl-in-public kind of stuff.

“Do I know you?” I asked as I stepped out of the car and followed her to the steel gates. She hesitated before answering, as if she was considering how much she was going to let me on.

“I don’t think so.”

“But we’ve met before?”

She let out a laugh, “Why do you think that?”

Without letting me respond, she unlocked the steel gates and ushered me in through the wilted garden swarmed with flies wherever I rested my eyes.

Something about her bugged me but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was. Most of all, how did she know my real name?

As we approached the pillared porch on the verge of collapse, I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself anymore.

“You called the channel and asked for me. You knew my name.”

She came to a halt as she was about to open the weathered door and turned to face me. Her cocked head was a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Everyone knows your name, Michael.”

“You didn’t say that a moment ago.”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

I dropped my eyes as I tried to find the right words. She was feigning ignorance. But I wasn’t the type to let people off the hook so easily. 

“True, everyone knows me as Michael on the channel. But you called me by my birth name; you called me Mikail.”

The smile across her face faded away as she straightened her neck. Her expressionless face was an enigma, a box of secrets that chilled me to the bone.

When the smile on her face finally returned, I followed her emerald eyes as they kept avoiding my brown ones. What was this feeling?

I turned around as her eyes locked onto something behind me. The next thing I knew was a blur of motion before everything turned black. 

Ring, ring. I snapped awake upon hearing the distant sound of my phone ringing. Seated on a wooden chair in the middle of a dark and damp place, my hands were tied behind me.

Something dripped on my forehead. I looked up. Startled, I jolted up only to fall sideways to the wet stone ground with my legs bound together. Panicking. 

The ceiling was suspended with untold limbs, some ripped apart, others disfigured beyond recognition.

When my heart calmed down, I scanned the darkness my eyes got accustomed to and noticed that I was behind bars.

What in the whole world was going on? I spun my head to the right, realising too late I wasn’t the only one in the damp cell.

“Took you long enough, man. Want a joint? Keeps you alert.”

The smoke got all over my face. The dude in the corner wasn’t tied up, but he was hardly skin and bones. I could see the ribs through his hole-riddled shirt drenched in grime and sweat. 

“What- what’s this place?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough. Sure you don’t want some of this goodness—shush! Can you hear that? They’re coming! Quick! Get back in the chair before they see you!”

I followed the shrill screams growing louder with wide eyes, unable to move an inch. My limbs froze, and my mind became a muddled mess.

The joint guy crawled and helped me back on the chair, which was barely sturdy enough to carry my weight.

Fearing the worst, I let my neck hang from the chair and shut my eyes in time with the rising bars.

Something stooped over me. The stench of the saliva hitting my face and trickling into my half-open mouth almost made me twitch. 

Whatever leaned over me now headed to the other guy. Where were they taking him?

The poor thing screamed his head off, begging for his life. I had to shut out all sounds to keep his pleas from getting to me.

Only when the bars dropped did I dare to open my bloodshot eyes.

I looked around in the cell, searching for anything that might help me out of these tightening ropes.

That was when I saw it, just inches from the bars. A shard of glass. With newfound energy, I jumped my way to the bars and let my eyes land on the glass on the other side. I wouldn’t be able to reach it in this state, though.

Blood dripped on the tip of my nose. I peeked up. A suspended leg, with some flesh still hanging on, greeted me. Fuck! I stood on my toes and bit on the bone that stuck out, desperately trying to pull it down.

As the rotten flesh gave in, the bone slipped out and hit the wet ground. I was so focused on the task at hand that I didn’t notice I was being watched from the other side.

When the footsteps finally reached me, I grabbed the bone with my toes and jumped back to the chair. I then slid the bone slightly under it and pretended to be unconscious again. 

I flinched as something hit the bars repeatedly, screaming at the top of its head like a wild animal. When the thing finally retreated, I got back to work and managed to bring the shard of glass closer to the bars.

At this point, I was drenched in cold sweat and several minutes had passed by. I cut myself free and tried to unlock the cell. It didn’t budge. 

Now more panicked than ever, I looked around myself in the cell to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I was.

There was some sort of vent I could fit through on the right-side wall. If I were quick enough, it would take me only ten minutes to climb up the suspended limbs and reach the vent. 

As I was having these thoughts, the moment of truth came much sooner than I anticipated. This time, they were coming for me, I just knew it. 

I placed the chair close to the wall and climbed up to the vent while keeping myself steady on the suspended limbs.

When I finally made it to the vent, I looked down and locked eyes with a morbid creature. Its cocked head displayed a mix of confusion and amusement. Its fangs bloody and sharp, even from this distance. Then it came to life.

“Mikail, where you going? The fun’s only begun.”

Without looking back, I escaped through the vent and made it to the walled garden. They had slashed my wheels, so I ventured into the dense woods instead and spent the night there, cowering behind an uprooted tree for hours on no end.

As soon as the sun rose above the horizon, I hightailed it out of there and managed to reach the path that led to the city.

I quit broadcasting after this incident and retreated from social media altogether. My fans were heartbroken, and many demanded to know what had happened to me that night.

I couldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t even tell the guys.

It kept ringing.

I kept hearing my phone ring. Even in my dreams. Like a never-ending nightmare, I felt my blood sucked dry each night as if those fangs bore into my skin.

Maybe they did. I couldn’t tell what was real or a hallucination anymore.

Something dropped on my face.

I looked up. 

“There you are. Mikail.”