Brandon Wai
This is me just shooting the shit and building my writing universe. I hope these are at least entertaining.
Brandon Wai
This is me just shooting the shit and building my writing universe. I hope these are at least entertaining.
This is me just shooting the shit and building my writing universe. I hope these are at least entertaining.
This is me just shooting the shit and building my writing universe. I hope these are at least entertaining.
There were some. Who wanted a painful death. Quite a few, in fact. Jose Alvarez, down in the warehouse, had asked for a painful death, and that was what The Death Bringer brought him. Jose and Ivan Pennant were having lunch out at the tables, just out from the main entrance, when Jose revealed this notion.
“Now, why would you want that?” Ivan asked. That’s when it dawned on him that he’d only half-chewed his sandwich. It sat, moist and lumpy on his tongue, nearly void of any flavor.
Jose’s face contorted, as though Ivan were the one at fault for his bizarre answer. He took a swig of his Vitamin Water and said, “Why wouldn’t I? If I’m going to go out, I’m going to go out big.” He paused and gazed out at the traffic going left and right. “Hell. I’d take one hell of a car accident.”
Ivan. Wasn’t one to make friends with his co-workers. He merely saw them as acquaintances. Individuals who he conversed with at work, and only work. He knew next to nothing about Jose Alvarez and didn’t much care to learn more, but he did think he was off. Especially after this revelation. “You’re insane,” he finally said.
Jose scoffed. “What? And you would want to go out like a chump? In your sleep? Or what? Terminal disease? I’ll tell you this much, Pennant. I’d much rather drown than endure cancer. This guy Bobby, in accounting, he did that, and no thank you.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea why one would want to endure cancer,” Ivan said with finality. His intention was to end the conversation, sway it in another direction. It worked. The remainder of their lunch consisted of sports talk.
About six months later, Jose Alvarez got the death he desired. It wasn’t a fire or a traffic accident. It had nothing to do with drowning. He’d gone camping with some co-workers, and one night a bear had a particular interest in his tent. Ivan had heard the details through work, for better or worse. Some exaggerated, some not so much, and those were the tidbits that scared him the most. Everyone he talked to said that he screamed even after his face had been removed. Some said he’d continued to scream after the bear removed his arms and legs…but not all.
He'd heard that one night during Jose’s dreams, The Death Bringer visited him. And in those lucid encounters, Jose told him that he wanted a painful death—one that people would remember. People remembered for better or worse, so Jose got what he desired. So…good for him, right?
Most people claimed to meet The Death Bringer in their dreams. Dreams, not nightmares. The Death Bringer would visit, and he would ask you how you wanted to transition from one world to another. Once someone was visited, they had roughly six months until their answer became answered. In rare cases, it was a year, but Ivan didn’t know anyone who’d lived past six months.
Years later, Ivan would get his visit from The Death Bringer. The job in which he’d met Jose was a lifetime ago; hell, when this happened, he couldn’t recount the last time he’d even thought of Jose. That was years ago, decades, in fact. The Death Bringer had visited most of his family from his generation and older (thankfully), as well as most of his friends. As well as Nora. Sweet and beautiful Nora, who managed to maintain her beauty as she aged, at least in Ivan’s eyes.
Ivan couldn’t tell what The Death Bringer wore, but it looked like a suit. His shoulders were angular, his arms and legs were a bit too straight. His voice was calm; Ivan had always heard that his voice was soothing.
“How would you like to die?” He asked.
Peacefully, I just want to see Nora. I would like to die in my sleep, if possible.
The Death Bringer smiled. Ivan couldn’t quite see it, not through the black distortion; he just somehow knew.
“That is what I’ll give you,” he said. “And you will love me for it.”
For the next six months, Ivan Pennant savored every moment. He would think of Emily’s smile as he went to bed every night. How it was the exact same as her mother, Nora’s. How it could light up the darkest rooms. He would go to sleep to the tune of his grandson Nate’s, laugh. Thinking about how there was so much life and wonder held within.
Ivan Pennant died peacefully in his sleep. Feeling nothing but love for Nora, Emily, and the grandson that he got to meet.
Love for the life that he was so lucky to endure.
In November of 2024, Ivan Shrugs lost his job. Ivan had been working with MonoUnit for eight years, and he was under the impression that he was doing well with the company until September of 2024. On the 23rd of September, management announced a massive layoff. Ivan was a part of that massive layoff.
At first, he was fine. He didn’t much care for his job as a call rep at MonoUnit anyway. He had a decent amount in his savings, and his severance would hold him over for at least six months, maybe even a year if he was smart with his finances. He spent the first three months sleeping. He’d sleep a lot, sometimes for as much as twelve hours. He’d wake up when his mom and sisters were asleep, so he kind of had the house to himself. Kind of.
In those dark hours of the day, he would play games, watch movies, and browse the internet. It was during his browsing spurts that he stumbled across a metal detector on Mercari. The asking price was $45. It was a nice metal detector, at least in Ivan’s eyes. The beach was a quick eight-minute walk from his house, and there was plenty to comb through. He bought it within five minutes and got the shipping confirmation before sunrise. Less than a week later, the doorbell rang, and his phone alerted him that the metal detector had been delivered.
“Why did you buy a metal detector?” Asked Mom as he carefully cut the box open.
“To scan the beach, Ma, why else?”
“Why are you going to scan the beach?”
“Why not?”
She didn’t say anything after that, at least not right away. She walked into the kitchen for nothing and returned to the living room empty-handed. “Have you been applying for a job? You’ve been jobless for a while now.”
“Here and there,” he lied. Ivan’s focus remained on his box cutting.
She stood there as he opened the flaps for the box, then retreated into her room before the big reveal. That night, Ivan took his brand-new metal detector to the beach. The moon was fat and full, the stars twinkled like beautiful blinking eyes. The ocean ripped and roared as it reflected the night sky, and it couldn't have been a better night to scan the beach. Before he'd left, he'd considered bringing his AirPods, but he didn't, and that had been the right choice. The sound of the ocean on the beach and the whistle of the wind was relaxing, and therapeutic. He switched on his scanner and got to scanning.
On the first night, he didn't find much— some weird metal trinkets here and there, part of a necklace that may have had value at some point. Regardless, he stashed everything into his pants and jacket pockets. He told himself that he'd have to invest in a backpack and maybe a fanny pack tomorrow. He couldn't keep stuffing things into his pockets; at some point, he'd tear those pockets, and then he'd have to buy new pants.
He went to Sinclair's, a small shop that sold backpacks, purses, and fanny packs. He picked up a large backpack, a fanny pack, and a chest fanny pack because there was a buy one get one for half-off sale. As he was checking out, someone caught his eye. Standing off to the side of the store was someone who was probably around his age, maybe a little bit older. He too was looking at backpacks, and strapped to his right shoulder was a metal detector. Ivan wasn't one to introduce himself, but this man shared the same hobby he had...so he had to say hello.
"Nice metal detector," Ivan said through a bashful smirk. He thought he was blushing, but there was no way to tell.
The man peered at him from over his glasses, and then he smiled. He was a very friendly-looking individual. Big green eyes, nice teeth, and wavy brown hair that went down to his shoulders. He looked eccentric, but welcoming...if that was a thing. His name was Boris, and he was thirty-eight, just three years older than Ivan. He too had found a metal detector on Mercari, and had come to Sinclair's for storage. They exchanged phone numbers and Instagrams shook hands, and agreed to meet up that night to comb the beach. The cashier, a sixteen-year-old girl named Brooke, thought they were weird.
Ivan and Boris started combing the beach at 10 p.m. The moon wasn't as full, and there weren't as many stars, but Ivan didn't mind, because Boris was there. They talked about everything from previous jobs to previous love interests. What their families did, and where their acquaintances worked. Favorite movies (Clerks for Ivan, Donnie Darko for Boris), favorite shows (Family Guy for Ivan, South Park for Boris), and of course, favorite video games (Red Dead Redemption 2 for Ivan, The Last of Us 2 for Boris). Ivan thought they were like two peas in a pod...or whatever that saying was that his Mom had constantly said when he was growing up.
They found some great items too. A couple of watches, some silver, some gold...or some kind of gold. Ivan found a necklace with part of a pearl still attached, and Boris found a picture frame that had to have been from the early 1900s. Trinkets, trinkets, and more trinkets. By midnight, Ivan had filled up half his backpack with goodies. Boris had found a good amount of stuff too, and they'd decided to swap and trade items back at Boris's apartment. Then, just before 2 a.m., both metal detectors went on the fritz. They had found something big.
"Now," Boris said as he adjusted his glasses. "What do we have here?"
Ivan scanned and scanned, trying his best to gauge what they'd found. It was the largest item that they'd encountered, and the first thing to cross Ivan's mind was a piece of a ship; hell, it was the only thing that made sense. "Let us dig," the words practically fell out of his mouth.
So that's what they did. They dug and dug, each taking turns with the scanning, and just as the sun was coming up, they found a big metal hatch. It looked like a small doorway that they could fit in if they sucked in their guts. There was a single handle, and under it was something that looked like a strange keyhole. It didn't look like an ordinary keyhole, not to Ivan or Boris. It was a circle, and five upside-down triangles surrounded the circle.
"Well...that sucks," said Boris through scattered breaths. He was tired; sweat had accumulated on his brow, he was red in the cheeks, and the steam from his perspiration fogged his glasses.
Ivan didn't say anything. The strange little keyhole looked strangely familiar. He traced it with his fingers, pressed each upside-down triangle, and the circle, but nothing happened. Then he remembered one of the many trinkets he'd found. He snatched his backpack from the sand and unzipped it in a singular, frantic motion. He dumped everything out onto the sand and pawed through his findings.
"Wait...really?" Boris said as he combed through the trinkets with Ivan. "Do you really think you found the key for this??"
He did, Ivan was sure of it. He'd seen the strange trinket earlier in the night and figured it was just some trinket, something to further assess at a later time. He eventually found it and snatched it up, holding it up to the rising sun. It was a small brass-looking key, a circle in the middle with five upside-down triangles. Bingo!
"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Ivan! Unlock the door!!" Boris said; he could barely hide the glee.
Ivan took a deep breath and pressed the key into the slot. He could hear the crunch of sand between metal and brass. He turned the key until he heard the mechanics stop. Boris reached out and grabbed the handle, a grin spreading ear to ear when there was movement. He turned the handle, and together they lifted the metal door.
Darkness. Just an infinite pit of darkness. Ivan and Boris lowered their heads into the hole, but they couldn't hear or see anything. Silence came from that hole, silence and an infinite well of curiosities. Ivan snatched a handful of trinkets and tossed them in. They didn't clink or clatter off the sides, they didn't make a sound when they hit the bottom...if there was a bottom. They just fell into silence.
"Should we see what's down there?" Boris asked. There was no fear in his voice, only curiosity. A curiosity that both beachcombers shared.
Ivan nodded. What else did he have to lose? Boris’s eyes widened under his glasses, as he tilted his head for him to go first. Ivan sat on the edge and lowered his feet into the black hole. It was cold, a different kind of cold than he'd ever experienced. It didn't make him uncomfortable, not even close. If anything, it was inviting...comforting. He looked at Boris one more time, and then he pushed himself into the darkness.
He could hear Boris calling his name, but only for a second, and then his voice sounded a lifetime away. Ivan shrugged and fell into a darkness that was darker than anything he'd ever experienced. The hole didn't feel small at all. In fact, it felt massive. He couldn't see a thing around him. He couldn't even see the light from where he'd just come from. He thought he could feel himself screaming, he could feel it in his chest, but he couldn't hear a thing. He just fell, through a darkness that was darker than infinity. He didn't even know that Boris had gone in after him.
Ivan and Boris were never seen again. Authorities would find the hatch on the beach, but it was sealed shut. Ivan's trinket key that he'd found got pulled back into the ocean with all of the other trinkets. The only belongings that remained were two metal detectors.
The picture had shown up to Barry Pritchett's office on a Tuesday morning. It was in a manila envelope and written on the front was his name and the office's address. Barry didn't recognize the handwriting. When he asked Susan who'd dropped it off, she said that it was there when she'd opened up the building. Then she said that his appointment for two-thirty would be about five minutes late.
To be fair, Barry didn't know if there was a picture inside the manila envelope, he only suspected that it was. The contents didn't feel like paper, there wasn't much sway when he held the envelope. It also felt somewhat sturdy, much like a photograph. Barry turned it over in his hands, and for whatever reason, he ran his fingers along the print, as though doing so would link it to whoever sent it. He flipped it over, bent the metal brackets upward, moved the flap, and removed the photograph.
He recognizes everything in the photograph because his brain has refused to forget the image. He remembers every single little detail. How on that afternoon twenty years ago, the entire world seemed to be engulfed in an icy shade of blue. How the trees across the frozen lake had been leafless for what felt like an eternity. How just enough of the snow had melted to show some of the rocks and ground underneath. How the tall grass looked like a strange field of wheat. How the frozen lake cracked when little Jill Parker stepped onto it. There are nights when Barry Pritchett would wake in the middle of the night, and his aging joints would crack, and for whatever reason it sounded like the ice from that afternoon.
"It's a dare Jill, you have to do it," said Aaron Stevens.
There was a certain chill to Aaron's voice that Barry had found funny at the time. Looking back he remembered laughing at a lot of what Aaron Stevens had said, but he couldn't remember why, because Aaron never said anything funny. Jill Parker cautiously turned to look at them, her cheeks a rose red, and stained with what looked like tears.
"But," her voice was so soft, like that of a cartoon mouse. "But what if the ice cracks and I fall in?"
Aaron scoffed. "That only happens in the cartoons and the movies. Don't be a chicken. You have to do the dare." He lets the silence settle into her bones. "You have to do the dare."
A whimper escaped Jill's lips, and it seemed to hang over their heads as she walked over the frozen lake. It cracked, and it cracked, as she whimpered and whimpered. Barry remembered the lump that built in his throat, the words that beckoned for Jill to turn around that burned at the tip of his tongue. But he didn't say anything, not a single word. Then the ice gave way, and Jill Parker vanished in the blink of an eye. She didn't even have time to scream.
They swore not to say a word. Their story was that they hadn't seen Jill Parker at all and that she probably wandered onto the frozen lake by herself. Paula Parker, Jill's mother, had insisted that her daughter would never go onto the frozen lake by herself, and Barry thought that she was probably right. Search parties looked for Jill, for what felt like an eternity. Barry remembered seeing Paula walking through the snow, day in and day out looking for Jill.
"She's going to freeze to death," his dad would say, in a tone that was all too sad. "Poor woman is going to freeze to death."
The body of Jill Parker was never found. Barry and Aaron stuck to their stories until Barry moved away. Far, far, away. From Maine to California far.
So, where did this picture come from? How was it even a thing? The picture was shot as though it had been taken from either himself or Aaron, the positioning was perfect. But, neither of them had a camera, that's something that Barry is sure of. He blinks his eyes for the first time since seeing the photograph, and his veins run cold with the same icy chill from that afternoon. His mouth becomes Styrofoam dry, his throat as coarse as sandpaper. His mind tries to deny what he's seeing, but it's impossible to do so. He knows that the girl in the picture is Jill Parker. He recognizes the pink beanie and the pink jacket that was a bit too big for her. He can hear the cracking from the frozen lake.
"Barry. You're two-thirty is here,"
He doesn't hear Susan through his phone, not the first time or the second time. The lights click off in his office, and he's plunged into what feels like an eternal darkness. He can't see a thing around him, all he can see is the photograph of Jill before she died. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the opening and the closing of his office door. Then comes the cracking. The footsteps over the ice, and they get louder and louder, approaching his desk. Barry can feel the cold that swallows his office whole, can feel the gooseflesh as it consumes his skin. He can see the silhouette of Jill Parker standing on the other side of his desk. He can't make out a single feature, but he knows that it's her, he's sure of it. Hasn't been more sure of anything in his life.
He recognizes the beanie, and how it made the top of her head look like a cone. The stupid jacket that was too big for her. He tries to scream but he can't, it's so cold that he can't even move. He has no choice but to watch in frozen terror as the silhouette of Jill reaches out and grabs his forearm. Her touch is so cold, and it burns like fire more than anything else. It crawls up his body, slowly at first, and then it gains speed. It ripples throughout his body, and then there's nothing but darkness for Barry Pritchett.
His secretary, Susan, would find him fifteen minutes later. Frozen from head to toe, with a look of sheer terror etched across his face. He's still holding the photograph. Most of his friends and distant family would learn that he died of a heart attack at thirty-five, a bizarre death for someone his age with his health.
Because...how would one explain a man freezing to death in the middle of California during the summer?
Corvallis Falls PD are continuing their search for Janaye Brooks (23), and Vincent Liang (26). Both have been missing since Thursday, December 26.
Brooks and Liang were last seen on a book tour through Corvallis Falls based around local author Pablo Enriquez. Brooks was visiting from overseas.
“She became fond of one of the guys around her age, only guy around her age. Didn’t think Enriquez had fans below the age of fifty,”
Says Brad Kreig (73), Kreig was also on the tour with his wife and brother.
“Good looking guy. A little shy. They sat next to one another, and started talking about Enriquez’s work. They both shared the same favorite ‘The Peculiar Body of Angie McCloud’. Ain’t my favorite. But…yeah that’s what they bonded over”
Joann Kreig (71), claimed that the two had separated after the tour, and that both seemed more than enamored by each others company.
“Brad was the one to remind me that they’d just met, you couldn’t tell that after about thirty minutes. I thought it was cute. You don’t see that kind of interaction in this day and age. I remembered feeling happy for them, but the two hadn’t crossed my mind until I saw the missing persons report for the girl.”
Book tour receipts revealed the man that Brooks met to be Vincent Liang (26). However, authorities have been unsuccessful in finding anymore information about Liang.
“I thought he was kind of weird-“ says Brad’s younger brother, Andrew (69). “Mousy. His eyes kept darting around, as though he were about to do something bad, or had just done something bad. Then he started talking to the girl. The weird little hat he wore didn’t help. One of those old baseball hats that are only worn through sentimental value. I could be jumping to conclusions, after all we were on a Pablo Enriquez tour, but I wouldn’t have started a convo with him.”
Claire Burrows (66) said the following:
“I saw them walking into Shadowbrook Canyon after the tour. Which I thought was weird. Kind of. It was a beautiful day, and as you know we hadn’t had one in weeks because of the rain. I thought it was a bit strange since the tour wasn’t short. I wouldn’t go trotting around the woods after a 5 hour tour. Some went to eat, most of us went to our cars. I'm sixty-six and my husband Arthur is seventy. We just went home."
Comment from Arthur Burrows (70):
“Thought she was a bit strange. She looked young, younger than twenty-three. I always think that’s a bit peculiar for someone that young to be traveling overseas alone. I was an overprotective parent though, so maybe I’m just over thinking things. My wife and I were leaving the parking lot when we saw them enter Shadowbrook. She turned around, and there was this weird little smile on her face. I don't know who she was smiling at, or if she was smiling at something that he'd said. There was something about her eyes, made me feel a certain way. Maybe it was a trick of the Sun setting. I forgot about the smile as soon as we were on the road, didn't come back to me until I saw the report."
Authorities clarified that neither Brooks or Liang are being considered as suspects.
Story Developing-
If you have any information on Janaye Brooks, or Vincent Liang please reach us through one of the following.
Phone: 947-555-2416 Email: contact.cfpdonline@gmail.gov Instagram: CorvallisFallsPD
“You have ninety seconds to hide. If you are found, you die. Good luck.”
Cody Herbert’s voice was threatening and sinister. His words sent ripples of fear down Ally’s spine. They made her joints stiffen. Every finger and every toe. She could crack her neck in the same way that Grampa did when he woke up in the morning.
Why did she have to play at the park today? Right now, huddled under the jungle gym with Bradley and Susie, the grass and benches with their parents seemed so far. So, so, far. They may as well have been on another world.
“When I find you, I will stab you. I will gut-“
“CODY. HERBERT!!!!”
It was Cody’s mother. Ally recognized the high pitch in her voice. It sent shivers to the tips of her fingers and toes. Someone was in deep trouble. She stepped off the grass and into the sand of the jungle gym. The dust from her feet made her look like she was emerging from the sand rather than walking through it.
“Who taught you to talk like that to your friends!?! Was it those video games??” She took a deep breath. She was far from done. “Well, you aren’t playing those games for a looooong time, mister! Not with that mouth of yours!!!”
“But Mom…” Cody’s tone was pleading. Helpless. Defeated.
“No!!!” Mrs. Herbert bellowed. “To the car. Now!!!”
And that was the last of Cody Herbert until Monday morning.
Peter had signed up to pick up trash because Jenny Sinclair had signed up. She'd signed up as soon as the notice had gone up three weeks ago. Peter had signed up two days ago. He didn’t want to spend his Saturday morning picking up trash on the beach with his co-workers. He’d only signed up to get closer to Jenny...and she was nowhere in sight.
"I mean, maybe she's running late?" muttered Brian over the thrash of the ocean and the squawk of a group of seagulls. "Like...really late. How's her attendance?"
"I think it's fine." That wasn't exactly true. Think wasn't the right word. Peter knew that her attendance was perfect, but he felt weird revealing that to Brian. He could know that he was interested in Jenny, but Peter didn't want him to know how interested.
"Well. Look on the bright side, Pete. We’re going out for pizza and beer after this, and it's all on Donna's dime. That can't be too bad, right?"
He wasn't wrong on that. Donna could be pretty generous, and he figured he'd pay next to nothing since they'd spent the morning picking up trash. "I can't believe how much trash there is." Peter said.
"Dude, I was thinking the same thing. It's like one of those things that you don't notice until you pay attention to it.
"My thoughts exactly. Like how do people not put it in a bag and then just take it to the trash cans?" He pointed past the big pile of trash at the trash cans. They'd been there for just under forty-five minutes, and they'd accumulated a good amount of garbage.
Brian shrugged. "I guess that's why we're here. Pick up other folks’ trash. People are disgusting."
They walked in silence for a moment. The ocean continued its orchestra. Peter thought about what had possibly happened to Jenny, and his mind started to wander into the negative. What if she got into a car accident? What if another form of tragedy had happened to her? What if she was with Clyde from the home theater? He’d seen them getting somewhat close; the whole store saw them getting close. What if they were a thing? Peter’s mouth fell open to say something to Brian. He didn’t know what he was going to say, just something to fill the void. Then he heard Donna’s scream.
It was a horrifying sound. Ear-piercing and blood-curdling. More screams polluted the air, taking over the sounds of the beach. Peter spun around in Donna's direction, and his brain refused to believe what his eyes were seeing. The pile of trash was moving at a foreign and rapid speed, merging into one another, ripping through the black bags that once contained it. It formed massive legs, a staggering torso, and huge arms. Cups, discarded boxes, plastic, and glass bottles rolled upward to form a head that reminded Peter of Frankenstein. The monster was massive; it blocked out the sun. It raised its massive foot and brought it down on Donna and a few other co-workers. It raised its massive foot, revealing a pile of blood and gore.
Chaos had broken out throughout the beach. People were running for the main road, others making a break for the ocean as the massive Monster of Trash thrashed and swiped. Bodies soared through the sky, some finding solace with the waters, others smearing across the pavement. Peter felt Brian's arms wrap around his arm as they made a mad dash through the beach, through the madness. The massive shadow swallowed them whole; its deafening roar made Peter's head swirl. He didn't dare turn around; he couldn't bring himself to do so, but he could feel the air swoosh around him, and then he felt the fierce impact of the monster's paw.
He lost track of Brian, lost track of the ocean and the world around him. The beach got further and further away, as Peter soared through the sky, before falling lifelessly into the abyss of the ocean. The Monster of Trash's bellowing roar faded as he slipped into darkness.
"What the fuck is that?" Cal's voice was hoarse and dry, in desperate need of water...just like the rest of us.
"That's a baby seal," Aria replied. She inched forward, shoes cutting through the soft sand, hands poised upward in defense. However, the baby seal didn't seem to pose a threat. It didn't seem to see the desert as a threat as we did. It blinked its eyelashes at the three of us, then rubbed its face with its fin. (Is that what they're called...fins? Or is it flippers?)
"I see that it's a baby seal, what the fuck is it doing out here in the desert? In the middle of nowhere, I might add. We've been trekking through this desert for hours without another life form in sight, and now we see a seal of all things."
"It doesn't appear to be in any danger. If anything, it seems better off than the three of us combined," Aria said. She kneeled before it and cautiously rubbed her palms across its head. The baby seal didn't retort, not in the slightest; in fact, it purred.
Aria wasn't wrong. The three of us had been navigating through this desert for hours without food or water. Yet, here was a baby seal in fine form, smiling, purring, inviting to the three decrepit strangers that stumbled upon him...or her.
"If you guys didn't see the baby seal, I'd say it was a mirage. Or, we've all lost our minds," Cal muttered. Moments ago, he seemed to barely grasp at the straws of life, but now he seemed on edge.
“I am no threat,” the baby seal said, still enamored by Aria’s touch,the baby seal said. Its eyes scanned from right to left as though reading our response.
You can talk?” I asked.
"That I can," said the baby seal. Its voice was somewhat pleasant. "And I can get you folks out of this abyss."
Aria removed her hand and stood up. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," said the baby seal as it rubbed its face again, like it was shooing away an itch.
"That's absolute horse shit," Cal spat. "Besides, how the hell are you going to get us out of here?"
"By you folks climbing on my back. I can fly,"
Cal's mouth fell open as though he'd lost the functionality of his lower jaw, hands shooting forward as though they could possess words. He finally said, "We can't climb onto your back; we're three adults, and you’re a baby seal."
"I think we should try it," Aria interjected. She moved forward and sat on the seal's back without hesitation. Her eyes shifted between us, waiting for one of us to move before landing on myself. "It's a way out, Grog. Do you see another way out?"
She wasn't wrong. I looked at Cal and gave a shrug before hopping onto the baby seal's back. He seemed to laugh or emit some sound that sounded like laughter. I had no idea that seals could laugh, but then again, this one could apparently fly, so what the hell did I know?
"Cal. Are you coming?" Aria asked.
Cal shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Mumbling under his breath. His eyes narrowed, then widened as his thoughts piled up on one another. "Fine," he said with a huff. He hopped on, nervously wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Alright, fellas. Hold on tight. We'll be out of here in no time."
And we were. The baby seal spun its flipper-fins around, kicking up sand and spirals of dust, and then we were off. Soaring through the desert sky and then into outer space.
He puts a towel over my head. It’s dry and coarse. It smells, but I can’t pinpoint what it smells like…and maybe that’s for the best.
I can’t see him, but Glasses starts screaming at me. I can feel his spittle across my neck. It’s warm in the cold, and in a strange way welcome.
Someone wheels me toward the faucet. My first guess is Glasses, but the arms are wheeling me from the left. Glasses is to the right. I can feel the bristle of arm hair on my forearms. The arm hair, just like the towel, is dry, so my guess is it’s Beard. He grunts something, and I can’t tell if they’re words or not.
I can see the indentation of the faucet. It’s blots out a portion of the rusted-over light that hangs above. Glasses continues to scream and shout, and with it comes more spit. How the man hasn’t reached levels of dehydration is beyond me.
Beard turns the faucet. It’s rusted, I can hear the strain. The faucet groans, like a beast awaking from a winter slumber. And then it belches water. Warm for a handful of seconds and then it’s ice cold.
Damn fools. Stupid enough to think that they can drown me. The one and only. Captain Sponge. The water floods through the towel, and I consume and consume. Glasses is still screaming, and it’s hard to hear over the water, but he sounds panicked.
He should be.
I expand and expand. I can feel my fingers broaden. My joints growing fat with water. My torso gets wider and wider. Fulfilled is the first term that comes to mind. Beard is screaming too. Or just grunting in fear.
I am fully absorbed. I rip through the feeble restraints, the chair tornados into the wall. The towel falls from my face and slops to the floor. Glasses goes for his pistol, but I stop him before he can manage a grip. I extend my hand and launch a surge of water at him. There’s so much water that I can’t even see him, but I somehow can hear his scream. As well as his body colliding with the wall. I think I can hear his bones crack.
Beard grabs me from behind, his hairy arm wrapped around my throat. I tighten every muscle, jets of water shooting upward from my legs, lifting Beard high into the sky, slamming him into the ceiling.
I stop and assess the damage I’d done. Glasses doesn’t have a face anymore, can’t call him Glasses anymore. There are, however, shards of glass protruding around his eyes. Beard’s a mess too, and he also lost his title. Hard to call a man Beard when he doesn’t have a face. I’m glad they understood the power of Captain Sponge in their final moments.
I can hear the stampeding down the stairs. The shouts and screams. They’ll be through the door at any moment.
I am ready.
Captain Sponge is always ready.
On Wednesday, they burned the bodies. They did it at 7 a.m. on the dot, just as the sun was coming up. Clint said it was best to do it in the morning and joked that their neighbor's breakfast cooking would mask the smell of burning bodies.
Joked.
Clint’s tone came off as joking, but Laine didn’t think he was. She stood in the backyard, hands tucked under her armpits for warmth. Exhaling plumes of breath into the crisp Fall air. She tried her best to divert her eyes from Rory Sans’s blinking eyes, but it was hard to do.
So. So. Hard to do.
Because…decapitated heads shouldn’t blink, and beyond that, they shouldn’t smirk or smile. The fingers and toes on severed hands and feet shouldn’t wiggle. But they did that too. It was too early, and the situation was too bizarre for Laine to process. She wanted to go to bed, but she knew that sleeping wasn’t an option. Sleeping wouldn’t be an option for the next few nights, maybe even the next few weeks.
Last night, Rory and Gloria Sans came over for game night, and everyone was having a great time. The guys chatted about video games over beers, as Clint handled the cooking, and Gloria filled Laine in on all the latest gossip from her office. Laine worked 100% remote, so any gossip from her previous job was welcome...especially when Gloria was the one spilling the tea.
Everything was going just fine, and then she heard Clint’s scream. At first, her brain couldn’t process her fiancé’s strange scream. At first, she thought he was laughing while taking beer down the wrong tube. Then she turned around and saw the blood. That and the fork that was sticking out the top of his hand. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing; all she saw was the fountain of red that gushed out of Clint's wound and onto the counter.
If Gloria hadn’t screamed like a banshee, she would have plunged a knife into Laine’s throat. Laine had turned at the last second to see Gloria lunge at her, eyes wide like those of a feral creature. Laine’s thoughts as she tumbled out of her chair was:
And
Which meant that Gloria had brought it into their house, and she and Clint were none the wiser.
“Lunacy!!” Clint howled. She could hear the pain in the crack of his voice. “They’re infected with Lunacy!!”
Lunacy was short for Lunaticitis, and its symptoms were simple. Once you contracted it, you became a deranged, nearly unkillable lunatic. Contracting it was as simple as catching the common cold. She had no idea that Gloria and Rory were infected, and she’d shared glasses of wine with both of them.
Gloria continued to wail like a lunatic, the whites of her eyes consumed by frantic red veins. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting or Laine's angle from the floor, but Gloria's pupils looked like a mustard yellow. Spittle rained down onto the kitchen tiles, as beads of saliva dribbled from her bottom lip. Laine crab-walked backward as Gloria slashed the knife like a woman possessed. She wasn't even close to striking her, but she kept stumbling forward. Laine shot her right foot out and into the chair closest to her, launching it into Gloria's path and causing her to fall forward and to the ground. She practically threw the knife in Laine's direction. Laine hurled her body to the right, the blade clashing to the tiles. Laine snatched the knife from the floor and lunged forward without a second thought.
She heard the sound of knife to flesh and felt the warmth of blood before her mind could register what she'd done. Even Gloria's gurgle failed to bring her back to reality. Laine blinked Gloria's blood from her eyes, as her brain struggled to make sense of what was in front of her. The blade, now covered in gore, was sticking up and out of Gloria's mouth. Laine released her grip around the knife's handle, each finger cracking as though she'd been stricken with rigor mortis. Gloria's head fell forward, balancing on the knife's handle for a second before dropping to the right with a thud.
When Clint came to pick her up, he was saying something, but she couldn't make sense of a single word. It was like he was on the phone with a bad connection; she made out every other word...if that.
Back...life. Chop.
They're...to...Dismember.
He kept saying these words over and over again, and none of it really clicked until Gloria got back up to her feet. They watched in silence as she stood up and ripped the butcher knife through her lower jaw, her teeth clattering to the bloody tiles. Clint grabbed her hand, and they ran; she could see Rory get up from her peripherals. Clint led them into the garage, talking through a funnel, and then he handed her an ax.
"Swing." He said.
And she did—just as Gloria charged at her with that damn knife. Laine swung right for her neck, and that's when everything went black. She regained consciousness this morning, to the smell of a crackling fire.
"We have to burn the bodies; that's the only way to really kill them," Clint said, but it sounded like he was across a field.
"Don't look at them, baby. Ignore them. Go back inside; I got this. Take a test to see if you're infected."
Laine didn't have to take a test. She knew her answer. She watched as Gloria and Rory's features melted into one. Clint said something from over her shoulder, but she heard none of it. She did, however, hear his scream as she pushed him headfirst into the fire.
And she watched in silence as his face melted. Because it was that funny.
The dolphins were the fastest way across Carmel Lake. Why that’s a thing, I’ll never know. I don’t really know how anything makes sense in ZipZopBoop Land. I get that dolphins can swim (duh), but how they can navigate with such finesse through something as thick as caramel is the thing that confuses the daylights out of me.
Kimmy says. “They just do Daddy. Dolphins would be the fastest swimmers anywhere.”
I can hear the italics in her voice with anywhere. It comes with narrowed eyes, a trait passed on by her mother. Eight years old and already frustrated with her old man, maybe even a little embarrassed.
“But what about my pants? They’re going to get all sticky…and I don’t even want to think about my shoes. It’s going to take me _forever _to walk to my office.”
I wonder if Kimmy can hear the italics in forever. She says it’s not her problem, but it’s in the tone of an annoyed child. I could pry a little more…but I decide not too.
“So, are you excited to see where I work? You get to see Brenda. You like Brenda.”
She likes Brenda. I think. The last time Brenda came over, she did magic tricks. Kimmy thought it was the funniest thing on the planet. Laughing like a hyena on cocaine*.
“I like Brenda,” said Kimmy through a snicker. Her hand tightened around mine when she said that. “How does Brenda get to work?”
I tilted my head upward. “Well she takes Rainbow Route…and she uses the flying squirrels.”
“I LOVE the flying squirrels!!!”
“I’m aware. You have drawings all over your bedroom…and throughout the hallways. And ALL over our refrigerator.”
“It’s because they’re fun to draw Daddy.”
I figured as much. But I have no idea how drawing flying squirrels is better than dolphins in caramel, elephants through a chocolate subway, or giraffes that can jump on clouds.
There isn’t much you can know with the frantic mind of an eight year old. And getting stuck in her crazy little fantasy world…that’s just something else.
But…
Leave it up to a comet to do something truly outlandish, and bizzare like that. This is where I live now. In the mind of a crazy little eight year old.
Wish me luck on my first commute.