I had eyes the color of shit that drips off of a pig's anus. I’m not talking about the cops, either. I’m talking about big, fat, stinking pigs that roll around in their feces at the farm. My face was all washed out, gaunt like those half dead junkies under the bridge outside my apartment building. I wasn’t far from them, in all honesty. The only difference between them and me, was the 6 inches of insulation protecting me from the outside, —from all of their prying eyes. All of the pointing and laughing, to the men who wanted so desperately to see me dead. So desperately, that they’d plant listening devices and cameras all over my apartment. I supposed they were those assholes from the news station, making sure I never watched anything else --I suppose they'd do anything for ratings nowadays.
The Late night weather report blared through the speakers competing with my upstairs neighbor’s TV, but all I wanted to see was the weather girl’s big tits. Or did I? Or was it one of those things my pops told me, to make me normal?
“Don’t you want me, Sam?” My skeleton nearly leapt from my skin, when I heard a woman’s voice from behind. Grabbing the broken lamp off of the end table next to me, I sprung to my feet, facing the direction of the voice. “Oh my, you’re so scared. What a baby!” Another more masculine voice erupted with laughter in my ear. “You’re so pathetic didn’t you know that?”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head until I could practically feel my brain being flung against my skull. I settled back into my arm chair, as the weather report progressed. It’d been so long since I cleaned that place. There were mountains of paper plates everywhere, I bet the smell alone could knock the average person off their feet. But I couldn’t smell a thing. I watched the weather girls tits jiggle as she spoke. I didn’t want to watch them, but I was transfixed by them.
“My eyes are up here, asshole.” She said it through the TV, clear as day. A wry look sprung upon her face. “Not that you really want to see them.” I shook my head out of discomfort, as she continued reporting on the weather. I heard a soft knock at the door. It was soft, the same and non threatening knock, my intrusive pain in the ass of a neighbor, Mr. Sanders used when he wanted to badger me. For two weeks, I was warned never to answer the door or leave the house, by my trusty friend, the weather girl. However, I started to believe she was full of shit. I heaved a great sigh, and went to humor him with a greeting. To my surprise, when I opened the door, there was no one at all. Exasperated, I slammed the door behind me, and went back to my television.
As I sat transfixed by the colorful box in front of me, I could feel my skin begin to move. I looked down, and saw nothing, but the remnants of cuts and burns on my bare arms.I could still feel them crawling in me. I could hear the flies buzzing in my ears. They laid their eggs inside me, I was their womb, gestating the maggots as I sat watching the weather report every single day.
I was falling into a hypnotic trance, when I was jarred by a loud crash coming from the kitchen. My heart raced, as I snatched up the baseball bat I had stashed under the chair in case one of those bastards thought they could get the jump on me. I crept toward the kitchen, I could hear my heart pounding in my chest echoing throughout my body. Boom-boom boom-boom boom-boom. I braced myself, with a vice grip on my baseball bat. With my back against the wall, I checked the mirrors which were strategically placed alongside the base of each wall in my apartment, but I saw nothing in the door frame. I counted down silently to myself; one, two, three! I whipped my body into the kitchen shouting; “Show yourself, bastard!” But no one shouted back. There was no reply, only the sound of the weather girl’s ethereal voice bouncing through the rooms.
A thought occurred to me; turn on the light. “No, no I can’t. They’ll see me.” My shoulders tensed as I did a thorough sweep through the kitchen. As my shoulders relaxed, they seized up once more as a slow knock. Knock. Knock. Came from the front door. I ducked next to the refrigerator, my breath ragged and heavy. The knocking continued, and my hands began trembling around the bat. My fingers were laced around them like skinny little serpents. The air was still around me, but I had the feeling I was being watched —no, hunted.
“Sebastian, you home?” It was my nosy neighbor, Mr. Sanders trying to stick his nose in places it didn’t belong. I remembered I thought he came earlier, but no one was there. They were testing me. I didn’t speak a word, but held my position. A few minutes passed, and it was silent. I relaxed slightly, and slowly approached my arm chair. I sat for quite awhile in my own company —besides with the maggots, at least.
“Hey, Scott,” the weather girl stopped her broadcast for a moment, eyeing the camera inquisitively . Although, I thought my name was Sebastian. Or was it Sam? I shook my head at the thought. It had to be Scott, she was talking to me after all. “Have you heard of the uncanny valley?” I shook my head no, and she said something about not being able to hear me.
“N-no,” I stammered, still clutching the bat in my hands. Her lips twisted into a devilish grin that threatened to devour me.
“You should leave. It’s not your apartment anymore. Look behind you.” I didn’t want to look, but I could hear something moving around again. “He can see you, but you can’t see him, yet. You must open your mind, and let him in. But I think you should go. You’re pathetic.” Just like that she went back to reporting once again. The shuffling In the kitchen continued, and I held my breath. When I couldn’t hold it anymore, I let the air fill my lungs, but it was putrid, and filled with the scent of decay. I looked down at my arms, and the maggots began to crawl out of them. The flesh was blackened and rotten. I swore loudly, and began to beat my arm against the chair, completely disregarding the noises from the kitchen. Am I already dead? I thought to myself.
“Yes.” The weather girl’s sing song voice came through the television.
“How long is your damn report, you useless broad?” I wanted so desperately to whip the lamp at the TV, but I knew I couldn’t. As soon as I settled down, a series of panicked knocks came from the door that rattled me.
“Help, please!” A young woman’s voice came through, but I slouched into my chair as I rotted before the television. “Please help me!” It was another one of their ploys to get me out of the house. I considered going outside to let them put me out of my misery, but I couldn’t let them have the satisfaction. I didn’t know who they were or why they wanted to torture me through the news channel. All I knew was, was that they were sick bastards that got their kicks torturing innocent people.
Soon, the rapping at the door stopped. When I looked down, my arms were no longer rotten and infested with maggots. The shuffling in the kitchen stopped, and the air was still. My face was slick with sweat, and I wiped it off on my t-shirt. It was white once, but I looked as if I went out and dug graves.
But like any still moment on a pond, the calmness was interrupted by intervals of massive waves. I could hear footsteps creaking behind me. I grabbed the bat again, standing my ground. I wasn’t pathetic, I would face this monster. But to my dismay, there was nothing there except the sound of creaking floorboards that came closer. I swung the bat violently, shouting at the invisible being. The sound of light bulbs bursting, and unplugged metal lamp posts groaning against my weapon scraped my ear drums. I checked the mirrors to see if he was behind me, but I saw nothing.
“This is why I told you not to open the door two weeks ago.” The weather girl’s voice was low yet condescending.
“Shut the fuck up, you’ll never kill me!” I swung the bat at the TV. The glass shattered in all directions, and left me in the silent darkness. Only the streetlights illuminated my home. “You wanna come get me?” I snarled, my breath was hot. “Come get me!” I could hear the creature lunging at me, and I turned tail into the bathroom, barricading myself in. I kept a chair in the bathroom in case of a home invasion, and I propped it underneath the door handle.
It was finally quiet, and I needed to think. Back in the day before that damn weather girl started torturing me, I sculpted using mirrors. I’m creative, decisive—at least I used to be. Back then, it was easy to face the unknown because I made art from the unknown. I also saw a hypnotherapist for some B.S. “mental illness” I had. She trained me to snap out of “psychosis” when someone said my name. It was Sam right? No, it wasn’t. It was Scott, wasn’t it? Never the matter, I wasn’t crazy. This was real. I was experiencing it, wasn’t I?
I remembered what that weather girl said. If I wanted to see this creature, I had to open my mind to it. But what would I see? It started banging on the door, but it stopped as soon as it started. It was the first time in weeks I was in the dark, and the apartment was quiet. Even the maggots slept under my skin. I supposed even bugs needed their rest before germination. I was lifelessly slumped in front of my claw-foot tub, plotting my next move. There was a window in that bathroom where the moonlight peeked through the grimy glass. However, I knew I had to stop running from my fear. I suppose letting that thing in my house was their way of getting rid of me. Perhaps I was too boring to watch. Either way, it was ending that night.
What the hell is an uncanny valley? I shook my head, and calmed my nerves. I put the bat down, and rose from my spot. I removed the barricade, and let the door creak open. To my horror no one was waiting outside of it. I checked a mirror across the way, and I finally saw someone. It was a young man about my height, wearing the same clothes as me. A beat to hell white t-shirt, and a pair of plaid boxers. He was facing the wall across the room.
“Turn around.” I ordered, but he stayed there silently. “Let me see your face.” Still nothing. I cautiously approached him, thoughtful about my steps, and checking the mirrors to ensure no one was behind me. Once I got close enough, I reached out my hand. It was practically gyrating, but I got closer until I could feel his body heat. He was lanky, so I knew I could take him if he attacked. I grabbed him by his shoulders, only to fall back in horror to his face —or whatever you’d call it illuminated by the slats in the blinds. His eyes were large and mechanical, his nose looked as if it were chewed off by rats, and his mouth —he had no mouth. Other than that, he looked just like me; at least how I remember looking. I couldn’t remember my face, or my name for that matter. I’m Sam. No, that wasn’t right. I’m Scott. Not right either. Shawn?
He just stood there, watching me squirm like the vermin I was. His eyes were cold and devoid of life. What kind of idiot doesn’t remember his own name? Suddenly, he started moving. Not toward me or away from me, but his face was contorting. I took a step back. It looked as if it was trying to open his mouth. His skin tore like paper, as he ripped himself a mouth. The blood oozed from his face, and he shined a toothless grin.
I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I used to run away from fear. Dad always called me a wimp. A sexless coward, a faggot for not wanting to touch a woman. I never even wanted to touch a man either, all I wanted was to sculpt. I was a freak. I took a deep breath, planting my feet into the ground.
But you are scared. That thing’s voice was low and raspy. Each word was labored, and agonized. I will consume you. His mechanical eyes widened the size of dinner plates, and we tumbled to the floor. His mouth dripped blood as he opened his face wide exposing an esophagus that looked like a kraken’s mouth. He held me down, while he tried to pull me into it.
I didn’t want to die. With every muscle in my weak arms, I pried him off of me. I thrusted my fists into his mouth filled with teeth, over and over. “Sebastian!” Thrashed my head back and forth to get that smelly old man from next door’s voice out of my head. “Sebastian!” I slammed my eyelids shut, and when I opened them all was calm, and I laid my fist into Mr. Sanders’ face. As soon as I realized what I had done, I shot up to my feet, and then landed back on the ground away from him. “Se...bastian …” I immediately went to his side, my stomach dropped from my body.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I hissed under my breath. I bolted to the bathroom to get my first aid kit, and cleaned off his face. Luckily, he was still breathing and alive. I guided him to the armchair, and sat him down, kneeling to his side. I told him what I had gone through, and apologized. I was quite the jerk on a normal basis, but even beating up old men was a new low for me.
“I heard a loud crashing sound and screaming so I came by to investigate. Thought someone broke in. But the door was closed, and no one else was ‘round. I waited for you to come out of the bathroom on your own, since I thought a burglar might’a scared you.” He shifted uncomfortably, wiping his mouth with a gauze. “When you came out, you was actin’ so strange. Then ya just attacked me, sayin’ all kindsa weird crap.”
I felt the warmth of tears pooling up in my eyes, and they rolled down. Red and blue lights flashed ominously through the windows. “You called the cops?” I asked, defeated.
Mr. Sanders nodded reluctantly. “Sorry, kiddo. I got worried you was havin’ an episode, so I called the cops. I knew you been home the past two weeks or so, but you never left. Son, I knew it wasn’t no home invasion. Just said it to make ya feel less …”
“Crazy?” I finished his sentence confidently. Soon, I heard the pounding of the police officers.
They took me away that night. Not in a cop car, but an ambulance. There were men in white who asked us all kinds of questions, but I couldn’t hear a word. Before they took me away, I looked back at that old apartment building, and felt a pang of shame for beating an old man half to death. One of the people in white was a woman —a very familiar woman.
She strapped me into the stretcher, and I couldn’t help but stare. Not only was she beautiful, but I knew her from somewhere. Once we were alone in the ambulance, she gave me an eerily familiar grin, and her gaze was triumphant. She leaned in close enough for me to smell the steak she had for dinner. “I warned you not to leave the apartment.”
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