“Wha—” I struggled to comprehend what had caused the wounds and frantically scanned the room. There was a sharp hiss, followed by the force of driven air on my face. Stunned, I stepped back to realize that my invisible attacker had grazed my cheek as well punctured my arm. I backed against the wall and returned to my bed, clasping my burning new wound with my already weakened arm.
I watched, silently panting, for a few moments as nothing happened in the holding area. Then, with the slightest creak, the door swung inward, and my friend departed, lifelessly dragged out by his foot by an unseen being. The ring of keys slipped from the pocket of his bright orange county-issued trousers and fell to the floor with a clatter some ten feet away from the cell.
Two hours later, I was woken again by the soft squeak of the door hinge. I watched as the guard’s body was pulled out in the same manner as my former cell-mate. What struck me as most peculiar, however, was that I could have sworn I caught sight of the thing that was dragging him, but only for the briefest moment. The keys still rested in their place on the hard concrete.
It’s hard to believe that the last of this happened only the night before I began writing. Hell, the reality of this entire situation is certifiably insane. My stomach stopped growling for food late last night, and I’m actually starting to lose my appetite entirely. I’ve been sitting in this God-forsaken cell for four days now. At least the toilet still works, but I’m afraid I’ve run out of things to put into it. The water still fills the bowl, and it actually doesn’t taste that bad, just a little coppery.
December 25, 2007- 8:15 a.m.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Those damned things are making so much noise now: scraping and thumping around outside my cell. I think they’re trying to rattle me into coming near the front of the cage. I can’t believe they never figured out how to use the keys. Oh well. Now they never will.
After I began writing this documentation three days ago, I decided to make a go for the guard’s abandoned keys. Having watched an abundance of jailbreak movies, I found the quickness in which I successfully obtained my key to freedom a little disappointing.
I hadn’t heard any movement for a few hours and assumed that I was alone for the time being. After tearing the lower legs of my jumpsuit into three long strips, I tied one end around the guard’s notebook and flung it out between the bars. I drug the keys back to me on the second try.
So, my situation hasn’t changed too much in the two days since then. Merry Christmas.
December 25, 2007- 3:45p.m.
What is going on outside of these walls, I wonder? Has humanity fallen to pieces in some rapidly lost alien invasion? Has our city been quarantined due to some unknown outbreak, in which invisible assassins have been dispatched to wipe out the surviving threats?
I don’t think that anyone is coming to give me any answers. I’ve spent the last thirteen hours lying here on this impossibly hard slab of stone that could only have been designed to house prisoners for twenty-four hours or so, spinning these keys. I think they know now that I can get out of here if I want to. Don’t ask me how, but I’m sure of it. I decided yesterday that I was going to cease my consumption of the toilet water and let dehydration take me as far to death as possible. It’s either that or go the way of the jail guard, but honestly, I don’t think I have the guts. Maybe time will tell a different tale.
December 25, 2007- 5:28 p.m.
Death had been the focus of all my thoughts up to this point, until something happened about fifteen minutes ago that cleared my head. I saw one of them.
As I lay there looking up at the ceiling, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. When I turned my head to look directly at the point of movement, however, I saw nothing. Rotating my head back again, something presented itself in my periphery. Without actually moving my head, I turned my eyes to the dark form that sat just outside of my cell. Attached to the wall was something large, that looked to have the general shape of a man, but its skin was a slick, wet gray. The shade of its hide was like that of an elephant’s. I couldn’t make out much more of its shape, but it was its eyes that caught me. The three glowing yellow orbs were arranged in a triangle and contrasted sharply against what must have been its head.
After watching it motionlessly for a few minutes, I reached my hand to the waistband of my pants and pulled out the officer’s gun. I don’t know a damn thing about firearms, but I can tell you it isn’t a six-shooter. It’s one of the automatic kinds. I guessed it probably held ten rounds or so. Don’t ask why I never tried to examine it before. I suppose I’m lucky it didn’t blow my pecker off days ago.
I brought the weapon up to my side and pointed it slowly toward the dark figure attached to the wall outside my cell. I held it there until the weight of the gun began to pull my hand down, and squeezed the trigger. The gun resonated like a cannon in the concrete acoustics of the holding area.
Breathing hard, I squinted my eyes open to see a dark heap slumped on the floor. When I turned my head, I could still see it.
“Holy shit,” I said, walking to the edge of the bars to examine the fallen being. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, or at least nothing singular. It looked like something crossed with a tarantula and a gorilla, but without the fur. It was all clawed arms, and smooth, gray skin. Its head eerily resembled a human shape, though made up of three yellow orbs and two jutting fangs.
Before I had much chance to gather any more information, the door to the holding area slammed open. I instinctively pulled the weapon upward and fired twice toward the entry. A dark mass of arms and legs crumpled visibly to the floor to join the one I had just killed. It squealed and writhed for a few seconds before growing still. In the moment it fell, I saw a second one slip past the periphery of my sightline. I slid back from the bars; my ears ringing, and my shoulder throbbing. I kept my eyes trained on the floor and watched as the third creature danced silently from the floor to the ceiling in front of my cell. It moved frantically at first, before slowing down and finally stopping to inspect the first of its fallen comrades.
“I see you,” I said. It froze and looked at me questioningly. It was in that moment that I fired two shots and made a damned serving bowl out of the back of its skull.
December 25, 2007- 7:30 p.m.
I don’t have any idea what’s happening outside these walls, but I’ve decided that I’m not going to sit around in this stinking, foul cell any longer to wait for someone or something to come and find me. These things can be killed, whatever they are. And I’ve figured out how to spot them through their amazing camouflage. If I don’t get to some antibiotics soon, I’m as good as dead anyways. The pain in my arm is only worsening.
I’ve figured out how to take my weapon apart and have found that the gun still has four bullets in it, and that being in a police station, I should be able to locate another one before I need it.
Maybe I’ll never see daylight again. Then again, maybe help is waiting just outside that door.
This is the personal account of “reckless driver” Jonathan Delgado.
Merry Christmas and good luck to us all,
J.D.
After Ours
I stood there staring at a picture of a pretty girl while my current employer prattled on in the background. It was of a beautiful young woman, one in possession wispy golden-blonde hair and a profound sadness. She wore no smile, but a troubled, wayward frown.
A plaque was affixed to the bottom of the frame. I did not have time to read it, however, because at this junction in time my employer felt it necessary to clap me on the shoulder and draw me back into the conversation.
“And please, Mr. Rush, do not fret about the various shakes and settlings of the museum in the late of the night. This is, after all, a well-matured structure with a goodly amount of history. Like any old building, it has its ghosts.”
I gave an understanding nod and a smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Tillsbury. Your museum will still be standing in the morning when yo
u return. I think I can assure you that much. As for the rodents, however, I shouldn’t hope to be able to say the same for them.” At this, we both laughed.
“Excellent. Well then, I’ll leave you to it. Good evening, sir.”
“And to you,” I said, shifting my bag of extermination equipment off my shoulder and to the floor. My name is Edgar Rush. By day, I am an exterminator of the highest caliber for all levels of pests. By night, well… I’m still an exterminator. Though this isn’t my first night job by any means, the feel of this place is rather odd.
The aging Mr. Tillsbury had contracted me this afternoon to take on what he had dubbed an “emergency situation.” Apparently, the tenants of the adjoining complex of apartment buildings had been reporting disturbing pest noises for the past few months and were threatening Mr. Tillsbury with a legal suit concerning the inadequate pest control of his small museum.
Certainly nothing out of the ordinary for a professional such as myself, but even I had to admit, this was a most peculiar building. While it boasted to be the only standing teacup museum within a four-hundred-mile radius, I had to wonder seriously about what kind of a demographic such an establishment catered to.
But that wasn’t the strange part. I had thoroughly inspected the premises on my arrival, and had found absolutely no evidence whatsoever of an infestation. While the neighbors swore that the museum was assuredly a host of a serious rodent nest, I had an immediate inclination to believe that the tenants were lying in order to force their odd neighbor out of business. I imagined that Mr. Tillsbury had to have been fairly wealthy to keep such an obviously stagnant operation running, and therefore did not share with him my initial diagnosis. After all, it is a kind of moral business obligation of mine to not let a fool keep his money.
So, I was either looking at an actual inhabitation of a pest much smaller than rodents, cockroaches possibly (although it would have to be a hell of a nest to be audibly perceived), or the neighbors were lying and I would have to make myself comfortable on the hall couch for the night until Mr. Tillsbury came to relieve me in the morning with my rather sizable removal fee.
A quick scan of the sub-basement told me all that I needed to know. The neighbors were indeed wily liars, and Mr. Tillsbury was going to continue being served with nuisance complaints regardless of my involvement.
I had been asleep on the dusty couch for what the wall clock said was four hours when I heard a hooting and hollering racket coming from the central showroom floor. The clock read midnight, to the very second.
“What on earth?” I said groggily. I slid from the couch and tumbled headfirst over the decorative footstool that sat perched beside it.
Limping slightly, I entered the front hall to a spectacle that I surely couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams.
There were people everywhere. Actually, upon closer inspection, they appeared to be people, but were in fact somewhat less than completely visible. I know it must sound certifiably mental, but I was looking at a room full of what could only be the spiritual remainders of those long-dead. Or possibly some kind of elaborately sculpted figures of colorful haze, induced by a rogue rotten ingredient of my night’s supper.
But seeing the eyes of a few of these ladies and gentlemen glance in my direction, I somehow knew it wasn’t a hallucination due to bad pork. The men and women glided solidly about the room, as if dancing to a speakerphone that was inaudible only to me. Who or whatever these ghostly figures were, they were having a party.
A lanky fellow with spectacles whisked quickly by me and stopped in a swaying state that suggested inebriation.
“I say, sir. An excellent bash, indeed. Wait a moment,” he said, pausing to look me over. “Well, you’re not ripe at all, are you? How did you get invited? Clarice!” He stumbled off in another direction and lost control of the object in his hand. One of the museum’s teacups and saucer went smashing to the floor, though devoid of any liquid contents.
Looking around the room, I could see that each of the beings clad in quite outdated clothing were carrying one of the museum’s showcase pieces. In fact, the finely carved wooden displays spread throughout the room all sat empty.
I slunk back against the wall and tried to edge my way to the door, but a younger-looking woman had eyed me and was rapidly on the approach.
“Well, hello there. What a fine looking gentleman we are.” Her pale gray eyes slid up and down my gray-uniformed frame. “Hmm...would you care for a drink, love?” Long, silvery hair danced airily over her emerald formal evening gown. It was the young woman from the hallway picture I’d seen on my way in.
I stared at her in disbelief. “Actually, I think I’m alright, thanks.” I tried to back away, but found myself pressed against the frame of a doorway.
“Well, that’s not much fun, is it? My, my, you certainly are easy on the eyes for a live one.”
“I actually seem to have intruded upon your festivities,” I explained. “I seem to be having a spot of indigestion, and really should be going now.”
“Nonsense, love,” she said and seized my arm, pulling me further into the room with surprising force. “Here, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. William Tethys. William, meet my new friend. Oh, what was your name, love?”
“Edgar,” I choked.
“Of course you are. William, this is Mr. Edgar.”
“Rush.”
“Pardon?”
“Rush. I- It’s my surname. Edgar Rush.”
“Right,” she said with a fascinated understanding.
“Charmed,” said the squat apparition to whom I was being introduced. “Tell me, dear Clarice, did you invite this one from one of your haunts?” He raised his eyebrows accusingly at Clarice, but with a note of humor.
“Oh, William, mind your tongue. I do believe he’s one of the caretaker’s guests.”
“What? No, I’m actually an exterminator.”
“A what?” Clarice asked. When I started to reply, she continued: “Never mind all of that. What matters is that we are all here to revel in good cheers, and you’ve somehow found yourself privy to party among the ranks of the best of society.”
“Oh, surely we’re not the—” William began.
“But of course we are, William. Now, where did the drink server get off to?” With a swoosh of cold air, Clarice had vanished. William, seeming uncomfortable, turned to visit with someone he obviously recognized. It was at about that moment that my body seemed to have caught up with the reality of what I was witnessing and decided it would be a good time to faint.
When I was shaken awake, I had expected to find myself lying lazily on the entryway couch, looking up at a rather dissatisfied Mr. Tillsbury. Instead, I was looking into the face of a wrinkled woman who reminded me uncomfortably well of my late Aunt Elise.
“Edgar, darling, are you alright?”
“Ma—wha—Aunt Elise? Is that you?”
“Well, I should certainly hope so, Eddie. I’d be sad to say that five years’ time had wiped me completely from your memory. Come now, get up off the floor. Sleeping like that’ll get you in our shape if you should catch pneumonia.” It was one of those things that only an Aunt could justify and make sound completely legitimate. Even from the grave, apparently, my Aunt was still capable of sharing inane tidbits of wisdom.
“Please tell me what’s going on here, Auntie. This is some sort of dream, isn’t it? I’ve fallen down on the job and inhaled some chemicals, haven’t I? I mean, you’re dead. The last time I saw you was at your funeral.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a fond look in her eye. “That was quite a turnout, wouldn’t you say? Your mother’s cleavage was a bit tasteless, though.” She brought her attention back to me and said. “Alas, no, Edgar. I’m afraid this is no dream. Though, how you came to be here, I’ll not be able to guess at.”
“I was hired to do a job here for Mr. Tillsbury.”
“That would be the caretaker. That explains it then,” she concluded. “Listen, Eddie, I woul
d really love to chat, but I’ve got to be going. Other parties to attend. Surely you understand. Give my love to your father.” With a squeeze on the shoulder and a smile, she fluttered and faded from view.
“Edgar!”
I spun to see the party queen Clarice making her way quickly back to me.
“Oh, Edgar. I’ve been looking all over for you. What do you think of the party so far? It’s wonderful isn’t it?” From nearby, another glass crashed to the floor.
“Oh, it’s excellent, it is. But listen, Clarice, I really do have to be going. I’ve actually got some work to do this evening.”
“Nonsense, Eddie, darling. You’ve got to come with us. There’s another party that’s starting in ten minutes at Nottington’s Cathedral.”
“Ten minutes? But that, that’s forty kilometers from here.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “Is this what you people do all the time then, party?”
“I don’t follow,” Clarice said innocently.
“Well, you. The, err…deceased.”
She began to laugh violently.
“Oh, Edgar dear, you absolutely kill me.” At this, she laughed even harder. “It’s a shame you can’t join us. Nottington’s is always sure to be a sensational gathering.”
“Maybe next time,” I said.
While I was sure that eyes were watching the both of us, a look around the room showed that the fifty or so party guests still remaining had much more important things to watch than someone still among the living as he tried to comprehend their leisurely social activities.
“Oh well,” Clarice said. “I’m sure that one of these evenings I’ll be able to convince one of you to accompany me.” With that, she reached out and touched my forehead with a gentle finger. “Will you at least offer me a dance?”
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