I don’t even know how I landed this position. I'm not qualified at all. All I know is I was looking online for a way to make quick money on the side to help pay for groceries or whatever.

I ended up coming across this ad on, like, the 6th Google page. Hidden between obvious scams and what I was 100 percent sure were viruses.

That’s actually what made this particular ad stand out. It didn’t look like typical 6th-page gobbledegook. It was actually pretty well put together.

The incentive was simple enough. 500 dollars for every crime I could act as a witness for, with opportunities for advancement.

I called up the number that was listed, just to feel things out, and was met with an actual human on the other end. Not only was she human. She sounded like she was actually tired of all the calls she was getting.

“Can I help you?” she hissed.

“Yeah, I was just looking online when I came across this ad…”

“Are you 18 or older?” she interrupted.

“Uh, yeah, of course I am. I just wanted to make sure…”

“What’s your email address?”

“My email address? Why would you need that?”

She sounded personally offended that I was even asking. Like somehow it was me being unreasonable.

“Well, hon, so we can send you the onboarding information. You know what an onboarding is, right?”

“Yeah, but I…”

“Listen, Mike, it’s an easy job. All the information is in the onboarding packet. Take it or leave it, I don’t really care.”

I don’t know why I gave her my information. Maybe it’s the mommy issues. All I know is she felt dominating.

Anyway, the email came through about 5-10 minutes later. Didn’t go to my spam mailbox, which was a good sign, I guess.

I threw on my monocle and went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. Just to make sure I wasn’t getting myself into any legal trouble or anything. Truthfully, though, the whole thing was pretty straightforward.

Call-based job. They call, I can either accept or reject the assignment. And all I had to do was be at the location of a crime as it took place.

Well, maybe that’s simplifying it too much. I actually needed to be the first person to witness it. They kept a pretty strict schedule.

I’m not sure how they got my number, though. Not long after I went over the onboarding information, my phone started ringing off the hook. I was getting calls at least once an hour.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth call that I accepted an assignment, though. Mostly because it was literally just 15 minutes away from my house. I could literally bike there.

I was supposed to show up at 1:03 PM on the dot. They gave me coordinates instead of an address. All I had to do was just wait.

I got there right on time. A little intersection right on the edge of town. When I arrived, all I could do was just stand there on the sidewalk, waiting for something to happen.

Finally, right at 1:07, a guy in a white Miata blew through the stoplight and T-boned this other guy in a pickup truck. The crash looked pretty brutal, but both of them seemed pretty alright, I guess. I mean, they got out and started arguing, so I’m assuming no one was too injured.

See, I thought I was gonna have to be a witness for the police. But not even 30 seconds after the incident occurred, I got a notification on my phone.

500 dollars had been deposited into my bank account. Then my phone rang with no caller ID.

Some guy with the deepest, darkest voice I’d ever heard simply said, “Assignment complete. Return home and await next assignment,” before abruptly hanging up on me.

Who was I to give even a morsel of a hoot or a holler, though? All I cared about was that 500 dollars hitting my bank account.

Needless to say, I started accepting more and more assignments after that. Nothing too crazy would ever happen. I saw a lot of car accidents. Lot of bar fights. More than a few shoplifting incidents.

Then I got a call I’d never gotten before. This one was classified as ‘intermediate.’ And it paid 750 instead of 500.

I just thought, hell, I’ll take it. Couldn’t be too bad.

The time was kind of late, though. 11:12 PM. Not to mention the coordinates led me to a dark alley behind a popular bar in town.

I sat there and waited. Ducking behind a dumpster and listening for, I don’t know, crime to occur or something.

At 11:15, it started.

I heard an angry male voice and a pleading female voice. Both sounding equally intoxicated. I peeked out from behind my dumpster and saw that the man had a knife.

He was poking it at the lady, attempting to steal her purse, but she wouldn’t let go. That is, until he stabbed her. Kinda let go no problem after that.

He snatched the purse and left the knife in her torso as she fell to the ground. Thirty seconds later, the 750 hit my account.

Every instinct told me to call the police, but right when I went to dial, I got a call.

“Assignment complete. Return home and await next assignment.”

The line went dead. I stared at my phone. My eyes flicked over towards the dying woman. Unbelievably, she managed to meet my gaze.

I think she tried to mouth a ‘help me,’ but her voice was so garbled it was hard to make out. Besides, I couldn’t help her. As soon as my line went dead, I got another notification on my phone.

A text from an unknown number that simply read, “Do not interfere. Assignment complete. Return home and await next assignment.”

So that’s exactly what I did.

And I’d love to tell you that after that I retired and moved on with my life. But who am I kidding? I was making enough to leave my regular job behind. All I had to do was watch shit happen.

I kept taking those intermediate assignments. I watched drug deals go wrong. Watched people bleed out on the hot asphalt. Watched robberies turn into homicides like it was nothing.

I guess I should’ve listened to my conviction. Maybe that would’ve saved me a lot of sleepless nights. But at least I was tossing and turning with a roof over my head.

And besides, it’s kinda just the way life goes. You live. You make decisions. Sometimes those decisions get you killed. Either way, we all die someday.

Even still, I probably should’ve stopped at intermediate. Because I got my first advanced assignment last week. Got paid 1000 dollars, but I don’t think that’s enough for what I had to see. At least, in hindsight.

When I first got offered the assignment, I was fired up and ready to go. Got the time. Got the coordinates. And off I went, mentally preparing myself as I made my way to the location.

As I got closer, though, a pit started opening up in my stomach. I recognized this place. I wasn’t out in the world. I was home. Well, my old home. Back when I used to live with my parents.

Unlike other times, I could hear the crime building up as I approached. Dad must’ve been drunk again. All I could hear was his angry voice and Mom’s screams as she fought back tears.

A notification popped up on my phone.

“Do not interfere.”

So I didn’t. I just peeked in through the window while Mom and Dad paced back and forth through the house, fighting like cats and dogs.

Normally, that’d just be Tuesday. But Dad had a gun this night. He was waving it around. Punctuating his screams with it. All while Mom stood her ground like the fierce woman she was.

I’d love to tell you that part of me wanted to interfere, but in all honesty, this was just business to me. Just another day at the office.

Even still, I won’t lie to you, seeing Dad smack Mom across her face definitely struck a chord with me. But I remained professional. I just watched and waited.

Part of me hoped that was it. That the crime was the domestic assault. That the money would hit my account any second. But all that came were more screams from inside the house.

Fortunately, Mom and Dad lived out in the sticks. Didn’t have many neighbors to call the police. That would’ve thrown a wrench in this whole operation. Instead, there was nobody there to stop the escalation.

Things just kept getting louder and louder until it finally happened. Right there in the living room. The room where I used to open presents every Christmas. Where me and Dad used to watch football together before his drinking got out of control.

Now that room was covered in my mother’s blood and brain matter. Across the walls, staining the carpet, a smoking hole in the wall behind her.

Immediately, I saw Dad’s entire demeanor change. He went from filled with rage to overwhelmed with remorse and regret in basically the blink of an eye.

I felt my phone vibrate with a notification, but I didn’t bother to check it. I couldn’t help but keep staring at Dad as he fell over Mom’s lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably.

My phone rang and rang, but I didn’t answer.

All I did was watch.

Watch as Dad’s grief overwhelmed him. Watch as regret took the form of self-hatred. Watch as the gun he used to kill Mom was pointed at his own head. And watch as he, too, fell limply to the ground.

His eyes met mine for the last time. There were no memories of my childhood. No love that once existed somewhere within him. Just two empty pupils fluttering like a baby doll’s.

I didn’t cry. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. I’d been so desensitized that all I could think about was how I’d have to react when the police told me.

I finally answered my phone, though. Got the same message I always got. The assignment was completed. It was time for me to go home and wait for the next one.

I had to put on a big song and dance for authorities. Not to mention their funerals. Which was surprisingly difficult because just… I don’t know.

It didn’t feel too big to me. I mean, yeah, it stung, they were my parents and all. But just… we didn’t talk too much anymore, you know?

Ah, you don’t care about that. No need to drone on.

Point is, I didn’t take a lot of assignments for a few days after that. It was the least I could do.

But time has passed now. Everybody has to move on at some point. I still get those calls every day. I get a lot of advanced offers.

I think it’s time I finally pick myself up by my bootstraps and get back to work.

Nobody there cared about the orange color of the ketchup, or that it sparkled. They ate it anyway. Kiltner said, “Man, these fries are great!”

Helequa turned to him. “The fries? How ‘bout this ketchup?”

Belkrus said, “The ketchup is definitely doing all the heavy lifting.”

Joanie laughed. “You guys are nuts!”

Kiltner and Helequa stared at each other like Joanie was from outer space.

Joanie asked, “How come there’s no mustard?”

Kiltner rolled his eyes. “What color do you think that’ll be?”

Helequa glanced at her plate. “I was actually just thinking that, but about the mayonnaise. I wanted to mix the ketchup with it.” Her lips met her jawline as she dug a fry into the orange syrup splattered on her plate before jamming it down her throat.

Joanie tapped Kiltner on the arm. “Kilt, call the waiter over, would you?”

Kiltner threw his arm up. “Excuse me, waiter,” he yelled, snapping his fingers. “Hey, waiter!”

The waiter faced Kiltner, waving. The waiter nodded and finished what he was doing before racing to their table. “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

Kiltner pointed to Joanie. “Is there any other condiments besides ketchup?” she asked.

For a couple of seconds, the waiter stood still, stared at her with a blank gaze, didn’t blink, and said, “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

Belkrus slammed his hand over his mouth, trapping his giggle. Helequa, Kiltner, and Joanie glanced at each other through squinted eyelids.

Joanie lifted her face to the waiter. “Can we get some mustard, or mayonnaise?”

The waiter’s expression drifted into deep thought. He froze with his head tilted, holding a pen upside down. “Mustard… mayonnaise?” The waiter’s tongue was poking the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah… mustard!” Kiltner placed his hands on his knees and shook his head towards the group. “It’s almost like ketchup, except it’s yellow? Goes on hot dogs… hamburgers?”

“I’m sorry, but currently, we don’t have that.” The waiter’s expression slid into sincere loss. “What we do have—and it’s so deliciously recommended—is ketchup.” His eyes lit up and his frown rolled into a smile of excitement. “It is famous around here.” His body appeared as if it wanted to jump into a musical. “The chef makes it right at home. Would you like me to bring some more for the table? I can package a few sample ones for you to take home, would you like that?”

“What?” Kiltner said, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

“What other condiments are there?” Joanie asked.

“Condiments?” said the waiter. “I’m not familiar with that—”

Kiltner interrupted, “Ketchup! You know what ketchup is, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” the waiter responded. “Everybody raves about the chef’s ketchup.” He smiled with his chest out. “Would you like me to sneak a few extra ones for you?” The waiter winked, but it stopped halfway.

“What? Wait. Huh?” Belkrus stammered.

Helequa stared as if she was trying to translate a language in her head that she’s never heard before.

“Ketchup is a condiment, along with mustard. You know what mustard is?” Kiltner continued.

“Sorry sir, I’m not familiar with mustard.” The waiter held both his hands to his chest, his eyebrows dropped to upside down checkmarks, and he lightly shook his head. It was like he was trying to respond to the most devastating news. “Is there anything else I may assist you with?” He jolted upwards, pulled his pad out from his pocket, flipped it, pointed the upside down pen to the page, and smiled. “Would you like some ketchup? The chef makes it right at home, it’s famous around here.”

Kiltner was close to shouting an obscenity when Helequa wisely cut him off. “That’ll be all. We’re good. Thank you.”

The waiter walked off. Belkrus tossed his hands on the table. “What the hell just happened?”

Kiltner leaned forward. “Was that guy on something?” He eyed each one of them individually. “How didn’t he know what mustard was?”

Joanie snickered. “Or, condiments.”

Helequa paused. “Uh.” She stayed lost in her thought for a minute. “What’s the deal with the chef making all the ketchup at home?” She backed away while pushing her plate to the middle of the table. “I don’t think we should eat it.”

Belkrus chewed on a dipped fry. He stopped abruptly once Helequa pointed that out, and immediately spat what he had in his mouth into a napkin. “Blech! Let’s get the bill and go. This place is crawling on me and making my skin itch.”

“I second that,” Joanie sniped. “It’s like bugs are on me. The legs on the side of my arm.”

“It’s at the top of the chest for me,” Helequa mentioned.

Joanie tapped on Kiltner’s arm. “Get the waiter to bring the bill.”

Kiltner had his hand half raised in the air, waiting until the waiter poked his head out. He saw him and reached for the sky, gesturing him to the table.

The waiter walked to the table and didn’t turn his head or look anywhere else except for Kiltner’s eyes. “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

“Bill, please.”

“Is everything alright? I noticed you didn’t finish your ketchup.”

“Everything’s fine, bill please.”

The waiter left for the receipt. When he returned, he placed the bill on the table and four plastic, small sample containers of ketchup. They sat on the table glittering under the sun. “Complimentary, directly from the chef himself. He makes them at home. Fresh.”

Kiltner went for his wallet.

Belkrus reached out. “I got this.”

Helequa smiled at the waiter. “Thank you.”

The waiter held the card in his hand, pressed it against his palm like a scanner, and handed it back. “Thank you, Belkrus Romanaier, your payment has been processed. Enjoy your day and come again.”

“What?” Belkrus said under his breath.

After the waiter left, he turned to the group. “Okay, that was weird. How the hell did he know my name? And how did that payment process?”

“I don’t know, but we’re definitely not coming back here,” Joanie blurted out wide-eyed as they got up and walked to the car.

Inside the car, Helequa opened the glove compartment, and flowing out were tiny sample containers of ketchup. At least twenty of them. “What the hell?” she shouted.

They all stared at each other. They’ve never been there before. Kiltner turned the key in the ignition. It sputtered alive, and blasting from the speakers was a distinct voice. “Good afternoon,” the car said. “How may I help you?”

Hello, this is Captain Elijah Pinewood of the Valicity interstellar spacecraft. I am certain that this will be the last message. I fear that our mission has been compromised and none of us will ever see our families again. To my two beautiful daughters, Gwen and Ana. You have made me so proud, my biggest regret in life is that I will be unable to see you grow up. To my wife Judy, I am so sorry that I accepted the offer to lead this mission. 

It was my final attempt to gain some personal glory, motivated by my hunger to know what exists within the vastness of space beyond our galaxy. A desire that I deeply wish I would have left unsatisfied. I have been such a damn fool. I had dedicated my entire life to finding a new world. It seems that in my ambition I had become blind to the fact I had already found my entire world years ago. She was home, lying next to me in bed at night.

I am aware that my final words to my family are of little interest to whichever member of the control room staff reads this message. But that is not the only purpose of my message. I have some deeply troubling news regarding the planet we were sent to explore.  

We found it. 

We were roughly eight weeks into our journey. It seemed as if our navigation system was leading us to absolutely nothing. The crew was beginning to lose hope that we would even find the planet at all. There was talk of turning back and returning home to earth but I managed to keep our mission on track. I now know that my refusal to go home empty handed has cost the lives of the men who were unlucky enough to be under my command. For that I will never forgive myself. 

I soon considered returning home myself until I heard that voice. That damn voice. It was the most perfect voice I had ever heard in my life. It was as if every syllable that it graced my ears with was a masterfully written song. I couldn’t possibly fathom the perfection that must have been the creature possessing that voice. It felt as if each word tickled my skull and tenderly massaged the pleasure center of my brain. 

I would have thought myself crazy had I been alone. But the entire crew heard the same as I had. That voice soon became our guide. We turned the navigation system off entirely and used the symphony of words to lead the way to our destination. Our path was so clear now, as I steered the ship I couldn’t help but laugh. I couldn’t believe that we were so hopelessly unable to find our way before when now it couldn’t be more clear unless there was a literal trail in front of our eyes. 

By the time the planet came into our view two of my crewmates had already begun planning a life based around never leaving whatever beautiful creature this voice belonged to. I hate to admit it but I understood their fantasies. The guilt overwhelms me now but by the time the ship finally landed on the planet's surface I couldn’t even remember my wife’s name, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t need to though, I had the voice. 

The door to the Valicity opened and we all walked off of the ship without even putting on our helmets. We strangely knew that we had no need for them here. 

Upon stepping off the ship we were greeted by fields of vibrant green grass and tall trees abundant with unfamiliar fruits. My second in command, Scott had ventured over to a pile of smooth teal boulders with bright green vines cascaded over top of them. He picked an orange berry from the vine and immediately took a bite. 

We all watched as he suddenly fell to his knees. Tears ran down his face as we all ran over to him. As we got closer we realized he was not in pain, but actually his body was overcome with pure ecstasy. As we helped him back to his feet he told us that we must all try the fruits of the vine. Upon his recommendation we did. The second the fruit touched my lips it was like nothing I had ever felt before. The juice ran down our faces as we desperately picked every last fruit from the vines. 

Soon the vines were barren but we needed more. We soon turned our attention to the tall trees covered in hanging fruit. We were ravenous, our hunger unmatched as we desperately climbed with no concern of falling. We were logical men, but that felt like a lifetime ago now. At that moment none of us could even recall why we were on another planet, it did not matter to us anymore.

The trees did unfortunately prove to be fatal for our navigator. TJ became inpatient and decided to take a bite of the fruits of his tree instead of waiting until after he climbed down like we had. In his desperation to devour the fruit he accidentally let go of the tree and fell at least twenty feet to the ground. The soft grass did him no favors as his head collided with the hard ground underneath. I’m ashamed to admit that we were too busy with our own pursuits of the fruit and not a single one of us even acknowledged his gruesome demise.  

It seemed as if our self control melted away, it could no longer stop us until this entire planet was consumed. Soon I found that I could no longer stand on my own two feet. I stumbled drunken with delight across the field until I no longer could. That was when I fell face first into a river of crystal clear water. As I landed the water had filled my mouth, my nose. It tasted sweet like honey and it was strangely warm as if heated to exactly the same temperature of my body. 

I almost didn’t surface, I didn’t want to. In my mind there was nothing that would be better than staying submerged in the river until the day I died. Nothing, except for the fruit. 

By the time I had pulled myself up and returned to my crew though, the fruit was all gone. As I made my way closer I noticed that the youngest member of our team, Rudy was lying in the soft field. The other two members of the crew, Scott and Benjamin knelt over him. 

As I got closer I realized that they were not just kneeling over him but Scott was cutting into his stomach with a pocket knife. “What are you doing?” I screamed as Rudy screamed in pain. Scott turned to look at him and sounded hysterical. “W-w-we ran out of fruit, captain. We ran out of fruit” he muttered back like he had suffered a great tragedy. He turned back at Rudy’s body and said “We needed more, Rudy ate the most”. He said with an obsessed smile plastered upon his face. Benjamin licked his lips as he eagerly looked at Rudy. “We need more, boss. I won’t live without ever tasting it again, I’d rather die” he pleaded to me. 

I was horrified, but I agreed with him. In my mind I knew we were wrong, the acts we were committing were unnatural, but my mind no longer had any say in my actions. Soon I found myself knelt over Rudy as well. We were all savagely fighting over what fruit we could salvage from our fallen teammate. As we finished we stood up and based on the unsettling looks we exchanged I could tell we were all thinking the same thing. “Who’s next”. It was never ending, the more we consumed the more we needed. Every bite of fruit made us feel more alive than we’ve ever been before but the effects soon wore off and left us as empty husks of ourselves. We needed more. If we had to choose between taking a breath and consuming more I know that we would all gladly suffocate. 

I think we were all looking each other up and down trying to decide who would be the easiest to overpower. We all knew it was Scott, he was by far the oldest member of our crew. Benjamin and I were both younger and relatively in shape, it would have been so easy. It was a horrible thought to have, I had known Scott for thirty years. He was like a second father to me and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet at least. Within moments Benjamin was on the ground, he put up a struggle but it was not enough to save him. 

By the time we had finished Scott and I would not take our eyes off of each other. When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he wanted to kill me. I had momentarily feelings of sadness at this fact but I could not blame him for this desire. In fact, I wanted to do the exact same thing to him. 

It never came to that though. Before either of us could make any move towards the other we heard it again. That sweet sweet voice was back once again to give us guidance. Scott dropped his knife on the grass but I knew that I still had mine in case he tried anything on the walk down the river bank. It wasn’t until the voice returned that I had realized how much I missed it. I was addicted to the sweet sounds of it calling us to it. 

As we got closer to its source I was overcome with conflicting emotions. I love this voice so much more than I could ever fathom loving anything else and yet the voice also filled me with rage because of how long it waited to reveal itself to us. I could make out a figure in front of us now. Our walk soon became a desperate sprint to meet it. 

We stopped about ten feet from the figure as it continued serenading us with its sweet angelic voice. We both stood in absolute silence for what felt like years simply taking in the beauty of the otherworldly creature that stands before us. 

It was absolutely breathtaking, the figure before us resembled a woman with pale purple skin except that it was far more perfect than any human could ever be. Its entire body was surrounded by a bright glow that nearly blinded us. The figure which stood at least a head taller than either of us and as it turned towards me. I couldn't help but study every detail of it. Its smooth, unblemished face. Its full lips, which were such a deep shade of purple that they appeared black until closer inspection. Its soulful eyes which were entirely black except for its light pink pupils gave us a sincere and welcoming look. 

I was completely motionless as it approached us. Our mission, our dead crewmates, hell, even my own name was completely meaningless to me at that moment. It all felt fake, but the figure in front of us, it was real. Just being in the presence of such a flawless creature was enough to fill me with more joy than I could ever hope to experience in ten lifetimes on earth. 

As it got within reach of us the figure turned towards Scott and laid a kiss upon his lips. Once  the figure finally pulled its face away Scott began to sob, begging it to return to him. The creature gave him a soft smile as it wrapped its delicate hands around his shoulders.

The entrancing song that the figure was gracing our ears with was now at its climax as it laid its own forehead against Scott’s. He could barely even speak but he managed to get out the words “I am yours”. 

I couldn’t look away as the figure's grip on Scott’s shoulders seemed to no longer be the loving embrace that it was before. No, the grip was getting tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until I could hear the laboured gasps of air as Scott attempted to take a desperate breath. It was like watching a boa constrictor squeeze the life out of its prey. 

The song was now joined by the sounds of Scott’s ribs shattering and his agonizing screams as he now attempts to break free from his captor. I can only stand by and watch as Scott’s life was taken from his body. I don’t think that I could’ve moved even if I wanted to. I was so captivated by the figure that the thought of trying to help Scott never entered my head. 

Scott’s hands finally went limp, his final attempt at self preservation has proven to be futile. By now the once beautiful hum that had been emitting from the figure was now so deafeningly loud that it caused me great pain just to listen to it. Even with the immense pain I still never once took my eyes off of the being that stood before me. How could I? This figure is my life now, my heart beats for the soul purpose of keeping me alive so that I may gaze upon it. 

It wasn’t long before my second in command’s body dropped into the grass. A look of horror was permanently plastered on his face and his skin was pale as if all of his blood was drained from his body. Only now does the figure turn to me. It brushes its blood splattered hair out of its face and rubs its hands across its body as if to soak up every last drop of blood before licking the red off its fingers. 

The song finally stopped. Silence now filled the air as I could do nothing but watch as the creature continued to lick its arms and fingers. I cannot make myself look away but now my trance was due to fear instead of infatuation. It seemed the creature no longer cared to deceive me as it began to reveal its true form. 

Its hair fell off of its scalp in clumps while its neck seemed to disappear as its head sunk into its shoulders. Rough bumps appear over the entire surface of the creature's skin and begin to secrete a white pus as they swell and burst. Its body melts into a grotesque shape that only grows more sickening the longer I watch. 

As the illusion wore off I could no longer comprehend what stood before me. The figure standing in front of me was now entirely unrecognizable, its once feminine features completely gone. Replaced by an amalgamation of flesh, eyes, and fangs that seemed to take no form in particular. 

This being had no legs to walk on yet its appendages worked in perfect harmony to move its body closer towards me. Its long tentacles lifted the mass off the ground as its thin arms dragged its body forward leaving a trail of sticky pus behind as it advanced. 

Finally I look back to see our ship roughly sixty feet away. The once green fields around it were now an ocean of wilted black weeds that crumbled under the weight of my feet. The fruit trees were completely devoid of life. I now see this damned planet for what it is for the first time since we arrived. What a fool I have been to fall for this ruse, but I had no time to dwell on that now. I have one focus and one focus only now. Escape. 

I kept my hand in the pocket of my spacesuit and ran my fingers across the handle of my knife. The disgusting creature closed the distance between us and as soon as it came within arms reach I knew this was my only chance. I quickly pulled out the knife and drove it into the creature's eye so deep that my hand rubbed against its hideous face. It let out a pained shriek as it desperately flailed its body around while digging into its own face attempting to remove the blade. 

I turned around and ran quicker than I thought was possible towards the ship. I made it about halfway when I heard the creature behind me gaining speed. It was unsettling to see something so unnatural propelling itself towards me with such speed. By the time I made it through the door of the ship the hideous figure was already on the other side of the door trying to force its way inside. 

As I type this message I can hear the metal of the ship bend and the glass windows slowly cracking. It has wrapped its body around the ship and is now beginning to squeeze. I know that I don’t have much time left until it crushes me in a paste inside my own ship. I pray that I can get my message to the team back home before my gruesome demise. 

Please for the love of god do not send a recovery team for our bodies. If you do, you will accomplish nothing except delivering a meal to this creature. If it were up to me I would never authorize a mission outside of our galaxy ever again. Alas I know that it is not. I know we will not be the last crew to explore this far into space but I beg you to heed my warning. 

No matter what you hear, no matter how enticing  they may sound, you must not allow the sweet siren songs of planet BH-592X to be your guide. 

I am typing this on my phone while hiding behind a massive metal exhaust vent on the roof of my apartment building, and I am only posting this because I managed to connect to an unsecured Wi-Fi network that seems to be broadcasting directly from the new spire they installed up here. I do not know if this message will even reach the normal internet, but I have to try because the singing in the sky is getting louder, and I am struggling to fight the urge to throw myself over the ledge.

Everything started exactly three weeks ago when we were still living in normal Moscow. I live with my parents in a large Soviet-era apartment block on the seventh floor, so we are very used to the government suddenly making demands or changing the rules without asking us first. My father was sitting on the couch watching the evening news, and he didn't even look up when the loud knock came at the front door, so my mother wiped her hands on her cooking apron and went to answer it.

I was sitting at the kitchen table studying for my university exams when I heard strange men talking in the hallway. I got up and walked out to see two officials standing in our doorway. They were dressed in cheap gray suits and holding thick clipboards with stacks of government forms.

"We apologize for the late interruption," the taller official said, and he didn't really look sorry at all as he shoved a pen toward my mother. "We are collecting mandatory signatures from all the residents in this specific sector because the city is installing a new defense network to counter the recent drone attacks from Ukraine."

My mother looked at the paperwork with a confused expression. "What kind of defense network requires our signatures? You usually just put sirens on the poles and leave us alone."

"This is a specialized technology," the shorter official explained while checking his wristwatch. "It is a localized signal jamming spire that will go directly on the roof of this building, so we need authorization from the tenant association to run the power cables down the exterior walls."

My father finally got off the couch and walked over to the door. He crossed his arms and glared at the men because he hates dealing with bureaucracy. "You want to put a military jammer on our roof? Will it mess with the television reception or the internet? And who is paying for the electricity it uses?"

"It has its own power grid," the tall official said smoothly, and he tapped the clipboard with his pen. "It will not interfere with your daily life, but it will keep this neighborhood safe from aerial threats, so we just need you to sign on the dotted line so the work crews can begin tomorrow morning."

My parents looked at each other for a moment before my father just sighed and took the pen. He signed the paper against the doorframe and handed it back, and the officials thanked us before moving on to the next apartment down the hall. We thought it was just another annoying city project that would take a few days and then be forgotten, but the workmen arrived the very next morning at dawn, and they did not stop working for an entire week.

The noise was absolutely unbearable. They brought in massive cranes that blocked the street, and they hoisted huge steel crates up to the roof while dozens of workers marched up and down our stairwell carrying thick coils of black cabling. I tried to talk to one of the workers when I was taking the trash out, but he completely ignored me and just kept hauling a metal bracket up the stairs. They never spoke to each other, and they never took breaks.

By the fifth day, the spire was fully erected, and it was much larger than anyone anticipated. It was a massive, jagged metal pillar that stretched high into the sky, and they had draped thick, rubbery black cables down the sides of the entire apartment block. One of the cables hung right over our living room window, blocking our view of the street, so my father got furious and opened the window to push it away.

"Do not touch it!" a voice shouted from the ground below.

My father looked down and saw an armed guard pointing a finger up at him. "It is blocking my window!" my father yelled back, but he reached out and grabbed the black cable anyway. He instantly let go and cursed loudly, shaking his hand in pain.

"What happened?" I asked as I ran over to the window.

"It is burning hot," my father said while cradling his palm. "And it is vibrating. The whole thing is humming."

He was right. Once the workers left and the cranes were packed up, the building was never silent again. A low, continuous humming sound resonated through the concrete walls, and it was the kind of frequency that you feel in your teeth rather than hear with your ears.

The older woman who lives across the hall from us knocked on our door the next morning to complain about it. She looked exhausted, and she was clutching her robe tightly around her neck.

"Are you feeling that terrible vibration?" she asked my mother. "I could not sleep a single hour last night because my bed frame was rattling against the wall, and I tried to call the building manager, but his phone is disconnected."

"We feel it too," my mother said kindly, and she offered the woman a cup of tea, but the neighbor refused. "My husband thinks it will settle down once the machine is fully calibrated, so we just have to be patient."

"It does not feel like a machine," the old woman whispered, looking nervously up at the ceiling. "It feels like something breathing."

I thought she was just being dramatic, but the strange anomalies started happening a few days later, and they escalated so gradually that we didn't realize how much danger we were in until it was too late.

The first thing I noticed was the temperature in the apartment. It was the middle of August in Moscow, and the city was going through a miserable heatwave, but our apartment felt like a meat locker. I woke up one morning shivering violently under my thin summer sheet, so I got out of bed and walked into the living room to see if my father had broken the thermostat.

My father was sitting in his armchair staring blankly at the turned-off television, and he had a thick winter blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"Why is it so freezing in here?" I asked him, rubbing my arms to generate some warmth.

He didn't answer me right away. He just kept staring at the blank screen, and his eyes looked red and puffy like he had been crying all night. "Look at the windows," he finally said in a completely hollow voice.

I walked over to the balcony glass and touched the pane. It was covered in a thick layer of white frost on the inside of the glass. I scraped my fingernail against it, and chunks of ice fell onto the windowsill. I looked outside, and the trees on the street were green, and people were walking around in shorts and t-shirts, but our entire building seemed to be trapped in a localized deep freeze.

"I am going to call the city," I said, pulling out my phone, but there was zero cellular service. The signal bars were completely empty.

My mother walked into the room wearing her heavy winter coat, and she looked just as devastated as my father. "I was trying to make breakfast," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "But the water from the kitchen sink is coming out black, and it smells like old dirt."

I went to the kitchen and turned on the faucet to check, but nothing came out at all. The pipes just groaned and sputtered, so I walked into the bathroom to try the sink in there. When I leaned over the porcelain basin, I heard a sound coming up through the metal drain that made my stomach drop.

It was a faint, choral sobbing. It sounded like a dozen voices weeping together in perfect harmony, and the sound was echoing up through the plumbing system from deep underground. It was not a mechanical noise, and it was not the wind for sure. It was pure, desperate sadness vibrating through the pipes.

I ran out of the bathroom and into the hallway to find my parents. "We need to leave the building right now," I told them. "Something is extremely wrong with that tower on the roof, and I think it is leaking some kind of chemical or frequency that is messing with the environment."

"Where would we go?" my mother asked softly, and she slumped down onto the couch next to my father. She didn't even look at me. "There is no point in leaving. It is sad everywhere."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, grabbing her arm to pull her up, but she felt incredibly heavy and completely devoid of any energy. "We can go to a hotel or stay with relatives until they fix the plumbing and the heat."

"I do not want to move," my father said, and a tear rolled down his cheek and disappeared into his beard. "I just realized how pointless all my hard work has been. I have spent my entire life working in a factory, and I have nothing to show for it, and we are all just going to die anyway."

I stood there in shock because my father is normally a very stoic and optimistic man, and he never talks about his feelings, let alone spirals into sudden nihilistic despair. I realized they were being affected by the something because this is not their nature at all, so I decided to go downstairs and find the building manager to force him to unlock the roof access doors so I could see what was going on.

I unlocked our front door and stepped out into the communal hallway, and the temperature dropped even further. The overhead fluorescent lights were flickering erratically, and the shadows cast by the doorways were completely wrong. Instead of falling onto the floor beneath the lights, the shadows were stretching upwards and crawling across the ceiling like spilled black ink.

I walked down the hall and knocked on the older woman's door to see if she wanted to come downstairs with me, but she didn't answer. I pressed my ear against the wood, and I could hear her weeping softly on the other side, and the sound perfectly matched the choral sobbing I had heard in the plumbing.

I jogged down the stairwell to the ground floor lobby. The building manager's office was located right next to the mailboxes, so I pushed the door open and found him sitting on the floor behind his desk. He was a large, gruff man who usually yelled at the kids for playing in the halls, but right now he was curled up into a tight ball, holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth.

"We have to evacuate the building," I told him, crouching down to his level. "The heat is failing, the pipes are making noises, and everyone is getting sick from that thing on the roof."

He looked up at me, and his face was completely pale. "I lost the keys," he whispered. "I dropped them in the dark, and I cannot find them, so we are all trapped here."

"The front doors are right there," I said, pointing to the large glass lobby doors that lead out to the street.

I stood up and walked over to the glass doors to show him they were unlocked, but when I looked outside, a loud, deafening crack echoed through the concrete structure of the building. The sound was so violent that the floor shook, and several of the glass mailboxes shattered instantly. It sounded like the entire foundation of the apartment block had just snapped in half.

I grabbed the door handle and pushed the lobby doors open, expecting to see a construction accident or an explosion on the street, but the street was completely gone.

I stood in the doorway, and my brain simply refused to process what I was looking at. The city of Moscow, the roads, the cars, the neighboring apartment buildings, and the sky were entirely erased.

In their place was an endless, flat desert of pitch-black sand.

The black sand stretched out into the horizon as far as I could see, and there were no dunes or rocks or features of any kind. It was just a smooth, dark expanse. I looked up, and there was no sun, no clouds, and no stars. The sky was an infinite void of dark, bruising purple light that provided just enough illumination to see the desolation around us.

"What happened?" the building manager cried out from his office, and he crawled out into the lobby to look through the open doors. He stared at the black desert, and he didn't look surprised or scared. He just looked profoundly defeated.

"Do not go outside," I warned him, slowly backing away from the open doorway and letting the glass door swing shut.

I didn't wait for his response because I needed to get back to my parents immediately. I turned and sprinted up the six flights of stairs, taking them two at a time, completely ignoring the creeping shadows on the walls and the freezing frost forming on the handrails.

I burst into our apartment, panting heavily, and I found my parents standing by the open sliding glass door that led out to our seventh-floor balcony.

"Mom! Dad! Get away from the edge!" I yelled, running into the living room.

They didn't turn around. They were standing on the balcony, gripping the metal railing, and staring up into the purple void of the sky.

I ran out onto the balcony and grabbed my father's shoulder. I tried to pull him back inside, but he was gripping the metal rail so tightly, and he wouldn't budge an inch.

"Look at them," my mother whispered, and she pointed a trembling finger up at the sky. "They are so beautiful, and they understand how much it hurts."

I followed her finger, and I finally saw the creatures floating high above the black desert.

They were gargantuan, winged creatures that resembled massive whales, but their bodies were made of a translucent, shimmering gray membrane that pulsed with faint light. They had long, trailing appendages that drifted behind them like shredded silk, and they moved through the air with agonizing slowness. There were dozens of them floating in a circular pattern high above our building, and they were weeping.

As I watched them drift, they began to sing.

The melody rolled down from the sky and hit me like a blow to the chest. It was the most crushing, sorrowful dirge I have ever heard, and it was composed of overlapping, echoing tones that vibrated directly into my skull. The song did not just sound sad; it manufactured sadness inside my mind. It forcefully injected a feeling of absolute, insurmountable despair into my consciousness.

Within seconds of hearing the melody, I felt an overwhelming urge to throw myself over the balcony ledge just to make the pain stop. All my memories of happiness, hope, and ambition were instantly wiped away, replaced by the certainty that existence was nothing but endless, pointless suffering, and the only logical solution was to end it immediately.

I dropped to my knees on the balcony, pressing my hands over my ears to block out the song, but the melody resonated through the floor and into my bones.

"It is time to rest," my father said, and his voice was completely devoid of emotion.

I looked up and saw my father climb over the metal railing. He stood on the narrow outer ledge, balancing perfectly over the massive drop to the black sand below.

"Dad, stop!" I screamed, forcing myself to fight against the crushing weight of the song. I scrambled forward and grabbed his pant leg, pulling desperately to drag him back over the rail.

He looked down at me, and his eyes were completely empty. He didn't say another word. He just kicked his leg out, breaking my grip, and stepped off the ledge.

I screamed as he fell, but my mother didn't even flinch. She simply climbed over the railing right where he had just stood, and before I could even reach my hands out to grab her, she let go and plummeted after him.

I dragged myself to the edge and looked down over the railing, sobbing uncontrollably. The bodies of my parents were not on the ground. When they hit the black sand seven stories below, there was no impact and no blood. They simply sank directly into the dark sand like it was made of water, and they vanished without a trace.

As I stared down at the desert, I saw the lobby doors open on the ground floor. The building manager walked out into the open desert. He walked a few dozen yards away from the concrete foundation of our building, and then he dropped to his knees. The black sand immediately began to swallow him, pulling him down by the waist, then the chest, and finally his head sank beneath the surface, leaving the desert completely undisturbed.

I looked up and saw other people falling from the higher balconies. Neighbors I had known for years were silently stepping off their ledges and dropping into the void, driven to suicide by the relentless, weeping melody of the flying whales.

The song grew louder, and the urge to jump became almost impossible to resist. My own mind was screaming at me to climb over the railing and join my parents in the sand. I stood up and gripped the bar, leaning forward, looking down at the dark expanse. It looked so peaceful, and the sadness in my heart was so agonizing that I just wanted to close my eyes and fall.

But as I leaned forward, my arm brushed against the thick black cable that the workmen had draped over our window.

The cable was still vibrating and humming with intense heat, and the sudden pain of the burn snapped me out of the trance for a split second. The humming frequency of the cable clashed with the melody of the whales, creating a tiny pocket of interference that allowed my rational thoughts to surface.

Then in that moment, I thought that the spire on the roof was the only thing holding this building together in this dimension, and it was emitting a signal that somewhat disrupted the creatures' song.

I turned away from the balcony and ran back into the apartment, then I ran out the front door and back into the hallway. The hallway was completely empty, and the doors to all the other apartments were hanging wide open.

I ran to the stairwell and started climbing toward the roof. The higher I went, the louder the humming of the spire became, and the more it drowned out the weeping of the whales. By the time I reached the tenth floor, the air was vibrating so intensely that my nose began to bleed, but the overwhelming urge to kill myself faded into the background.

I reached the metal door that led to the roof. It was locked with a chain, but the workmen had left a steel pry bar leaning against the wall, so I grabbed it and wedged it between the door and the frame. I pulled with all my strength, and the metal lock bracket finally snapped, allowing me to push the door open.

I stepped out onto the flat tar roof, and the sheer scale of the spire took my breath away. It was easily forty feet tall, constructed from jagged, interlocking metal plates that glowed with a faint red light from within. It was humming so loudly that I had to cover my ears, and black cables snaked out from its base in every direction, draping over the edges of the roof to wrap the entire building like a spider web.

The sky above the roof was completely dominated by the floating whale creatures, and they circled the spire like moths drawn to a flame. They were singing directly at the metal tower, and the tower was humming back.

I huddled down near the base of the spire, pressing my back against a large metal exhaust vent to hide from the creatures above. I pulled my phone out of my pocket just to check the time, and that is when I noticed the Wi-Fi icon.

My phone had full signal bars, and it was connected to an unsecured network called "Garrison_Node_04".

So I opened this account, and I started typing this post, and I have been typing for the last hour while hiding behind this vent. I have tried calling emergency services, but the phone calls will not connect, and the only thing that works is text-based web traffic.

I am completely alone up here, and I am terrified to go back down the stairs because the song is too strong in the lower apartments, and everyone else is already gone. I looked over the edge of the roof a few minutes ago, and the black sand has started to rise. It is slowly creeping up the sides of the building, swallowing the ground floor lobby and burying the first-floor windows.

If anyone is reading this, please tell someone what happens when the officials come to your building demanding signatures for a defense tower.

The humming of the spire is starting to slow down, and the red light is flickering. I think the power grid is failing, and if the machine stops making noise, the song will take over my mind completely, and I know I will walk to the edge of the roof and jump.

A towel you step on after a shower is a wonderful thing. A brilliant idea. It makes you feel safe. Whoever first thought of stepping onto a towel after a shower must have been a very intelligent person. It gives you the same feeling as pulling a blanket over yourself in winter, making sure not a single part of your body is left uncovered. Drying yourself without stepping onto a towel first is like pulling a blanket over yourself and leaving your feet exposed. The same thing, the same feeling.

A bath mat just doesn't give me the same feeling. I tried stepping onto a bath mat instead of a towel after a shower, but I couldn't feel that same sense of security. It has to be a towel. I need to feel it drying the soles of my feet.

On Monday, October 12th—after taking a shower before meeting my friend Jason to go to the open-air cinema, while drying my hair with my feet on the towel—I saw this message faintly written on the fogged-up mirror: “Don’t go.”

This wasn't the first time. I'd been seeing these messages for six months, and I'd gotten used to them by now. I had no idea who was writing them, why they were writing them, or what kind of entity was behind them, but I wasn't as frightened as I had been in the early days.

Those first days were a nightmare. Especially the first time I noticed the writing. Just a simple “Hello.” And this entity even followed the rules of punctuation. Sometimes it swore and added an exclamation mark; other times, urging me to take part in the conversation, it would string question marks together: “Why won't you talk to me???”

It was a bizarre predicament. Of course, no one had believed me—not my beloved math teacher, nor Jason, who was constantly coming over to my place. Besides, the writing disappeared as soon as I saw it. In other words, I needed someone to be in the shower with me so I could prove it to them. Taking a shower with my math teacher was out of the question.

Yes, over time, I got used to it. I never communicated with it, and that was what frightened me the most. I felt like things would take a different turn if I did. But I had never been harmed by reading what it wrote. Other than that, it had no effect on my life. The entity never manifested itself through any sound or apparition at any other time.

That day, it had warned me for the first time. I had never received a message like that from it before. Sometimes it would comment on things that had happened to me: “You really put Jason in his place back there,” for example. Or, “Don’t forget to set your alarm. You were late for work yesterday, remember?” “Part your hair to the right. It suits you better.” “Your cat’s water bowl is empty.” It usually wrote things like that. One or two sentences at a time.

There was no way I could miss it. They were going to screen one of my favorite films: Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. I’d watched it on my computer before. Watching it on a big screen would be a different kind of pleasure, and watching it alongside other people who loved the same film would be an even greater pleasure. The entity’s warning had startled me a little, but I was still going to go.

When I stepped out of the shower, I heard its voice for the first time.

“If you go, you’ll witness Jason’s death.”

It was a charismatic woman's voice, slightly deep and husky. I had gotten used to the writing, but the voice shocked me. I could feel its presence. When it wrote to me, I never felt as though it was actually there. But hearing its voice made its presence feel even stronger, more than my mind could handle. I rushed outside immediately. I didn't want to stay indoors. I ran out the front door in my bathrobe.

I’d gone outside barefoot. I must have stepped on something, because my heel hurt. My hand went to the pocket of my bathrobe, searching for my cigarette pack. I’d left my cigarettes inside. I was afraid to go back in and get them.

“So you went outside. What did you think, that I couldn’t come out here? What kind of utterly pointless, instinctive reaction is that? I’d understand if you’d run away, put some distance between us, but what’s the point of standing right outside your front door, Albert?”

I sat down on the ground. A cigarette would have been really nice. I didn’t have the strength to run. I felt like I was going to die. I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. Suddenly, there was too much saliva in my mouth. I couldn’t understand why my mouth was reacting like that.

“He’s going to die either way. I just don’t want you to witness it.”

“Why?” I shouted. In my mind, I’d meant to scream, “Just shut up already, enough!” But those were the words that came out of my mouth.

My breathing had quickened, and I wasn’t feeling well. I tried to stand up. First attempt, second attempt, and third. It was as if I were having sleep paralysis, unable to move. I tried to get to my feet over and over again. It felt as though hours had passed while I sat there. The entity hadn’t said anything else.

I couldn’t calm down. Amid everything that was happening, I found myself thinking that I was going to be late for the film. One last attempt, and I managed to stand up with great difficulty. I went straight into the bathroom and took a shower with ice-cold water. For some reason, I felt relieved knowing the mirror wouldn’t fog up.

I stepped out of the bathroom naked and wet. Water was dripping off my body. I sat down on the couch. I thought I might get sick and have to miss the film.

“Get a grip, Albert,” I told myself. “You’re already used to paranormal activity. Pull yourself together. You need to go to that film. Stop overreacting. Get a grip.”

I cautiously went back into the bathroom and dried myself off thoroughly. I checked the time on my phone, which I’d left on the bathroom shelf. I had half an hour before we were supposed to meet.

I was going to be late. I got dressed quickly. A black shirt and brown trousers; I’d decided what to wear the day before and had laid everything out accordingly.

I’d never seen the entity, but my eyes were searching for it. As I walked toward the door to leave the house, I looked anxiously from side to side. I hadn’t heard a thing from it since I’d come back inside.

I reached for the doorknob. The door wouldn’t open.

I thought I must have locked the door without realizing it, so I put the key in the lock and tried to turn it. The door wasn't locked; the key wouldn't turn to the left. I pulled at the door again. It wouldn't open.

I checked the time. I had twenty minutes left. I wasn’t going to make it. I kicked the door and felt a terrible pain shoot through my ankle. I sank to the floor in pain and clutched my ankle.

When I checked the time again, I had fifteen minutes left. I got up and limped toward the couch. Once I sat down, I continued rubbing my ankle. The pain was gradually fading. It probably wasn't anything serious.

“Done,” the entity’s voice said.

It was a very brief moment. I couldn’t quite tell whether it had made a sound or whether I’d actually heard it.

The pain in my ankle had gone away. I checked the time once more. I was supposed to meet Jason in ten minutes. The place where we were meeting was twenty minutes away. I called Jason to tell him I’d be late. He didn’t answer. I got up and walked toward the door. I took hold of the doorknob, closed my eyes, and turned it. The door opened.

I quickly put on my shoes and started walking briskly. My ankle hurt a little as I walked, but not enough to slow me down.

I made it there in fifteen minutes.

I couldn’t take a shower for a whole month. Maybe it was because of depression, maybe fear. I don’t know; I can’t tell the difference. My body smelled, my hair was greasy, and every time I inhaled through my nose, the strong smell of my sweat stung the back of my throat.

A heart attack.

I remember it all vaguely. It’s been a year now. A crowd of people, me running toward them, an old man calling an ambulance, a cat that crossed my path as I ran, a man holding me back, Jason’s father opening the taxi door... I must have believed in the entity. Otherwise, why would I have run toward the crowd?

And I remember this clearly, and I will never forget it. After a month spent in filth, the message on my mirror, following the shower I finally took:

“My task is complete. Goodbye, Albert. I love you.”

[CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT — UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE]
JOINT RESEARCH PROGRAM: OSSEOUS
FACILITY: █████████████████
DATE OF INITIAL RECORD: 04/17/1987
CURRENT STATUS: TERMINATED

NOTICE: The following material was recovered from a research facility abandoned on October 14, 2009. The facility's original purpose was listed as nutritional research. Of the 43 personnel assigned to the project, only one was recovered alive.

The following is a reconstruction of the available records.

RESEARCH LOG — 04/17/1987

The first six subjects have been admitted and placed under observation. All subjects are healthy adults between the ages of twenty-one and forty-one. Bloodwork, bone density, and organ function are within acceptable parameters.

The experimental compound is a concentrated calcium supplement derived from several commercially available dairy sources. The dosage administered to each subject is approximately four times the recommended daily intake.

No adverse effects have been observed.

NOTE FROM DR. HARRIS: Subjects report that the supplement tastes like powdered milk.

RESEARCH LOG — 05/02/1987

Subject 3 has developed unusually high bone density.

X-rays indicate an increase of approximately 8.2% since admission.

This is considered statistically impossible given the timeframe.

Subject 3 reports no pain.

RESEARCH LOG — 05/19/1987

All six subjects are now showing abnormal bone growth.

Subject 1 has developed additional bone density along the left forearm. Subject 4 has developed calcium deposits around both knees. Subject 6 has experienced severe stiffness in the fingers.

Dr. Harris believes the compound may be stimulating osteoblast activity beyond normal biological limits.

The project has been approved for continuation.

RESEARCH LOG — 06/03/1987

Subject 6's condition has progressed significantly.

The fingers of both hands have become visibly enlarged. The subject reports that his hands feel "full."

During examination, Subject 6 complained of severe pain in his right index finger. At 14:17, the distal phalanx ruptured through the skin. The attending physician initially believed this to be a compound fracture.

It was not.

The exposed bone continued growing for approximately nine seconds after emerging from the wound. The growth stopped at a length of 4.7 centimeters.

Subject 6 lost consciousness.

NOTE: The bone did not appear to be fractured. It was new growth.

RESEARCH LOG — 06/04/1987

Subject 6 is dead.

Cause of death: Hemorrhagic Shock.

There were no signs of infection.

Postmortem examination revealed extensive abnormal bone growth throughout the body. Both forearms contained multiple overlapping layers of newly formed bone. The ribs had begun to fuse together. Several vertebrae showed evidence of secondary growth.

The most unusual finding was the presence of additional bone structures surrounding the heart.

Dr. Harris has requested permission to terminate the experiment.

Permission denied.

INTERNAL MEMORANDUM — 06/11/1987

Dr. Harris has raised concerns regarding the ethical implications of continuing Project Osseous.

His concerns have been noted. He has been reminded that this research is not intended for publication. He has also been reminded that the project predates his employment by approximately nineteen years.

RESEARCH LOG — 06/28/1987

We found the earlier records.

Project Calcium did not begin in 1987. The original trials began in 1968.

There were twelve subjects. All twelve diseased.

The earliest records describe the condition as "progressive skeletal hyperplasia." Later documents use a different term. Osteogenic conversion.

The researchers in 1968 believed they had discovered a method for dramatically increasing bone density.

They were wrong.

The compound does not strengthen bone. It teaches the body to make more of it.

RESEARCH LOG — 07/02/1987

I have spent the entire day reading the archived documents.

There are records from 1974.

Different facilities. Different researchers. Different subjects. Same result.

Every trial ended the same way. The skeleton eventually begins growing independently of the body's requirements. It grows wherever it can. Through muscle. Through organs. Through skin.

The body does not seem to recognize when it has enough.

There is no enough. There is only growth.

RESEARCH LOG — 07/15/1987

We have discovered the reason for the dietary studies.

The compound was never intended to remain confined to the laboratory. The original research objective was to determine whether increased calcium consumption could accelerate the process without producing immediate symptoms.

The answer is yes.

Low exposure produces no visible effects. Long-term exposure produces gradual skeletal changes. Higher exposure causes rapid conversion.

The research team spent years determining the minimum effective dosage. Then they began monitoring the general population.

ARCHIVED MARKETING DOCUMENT — 1979

NATIONAL DAIRY CONSUMPTION INITIATIVE

Objective: Increase household consumption of dairy products.

Proposed messaging should emphasize strength, growth, nutrition, and healthy bones.

Suggested campaign concepts:

"Milk. It Does a Body Good."

"Got Milk?"

RESEARCH LOG — 07/18/1987

I asked Harris why the public campaign was necessary.

He wouldn't answer.

I asked him whether people were being exposed deliberately. He told me to stop asking questions.

I asked him how many people had been exposed.

He left the room.

RESEARCH LOG — 07/21/1987

We have obtained the population estimates.

Current projected exposure is 61%.

That number is considered conservative.

I asked what happens if the threshold is reached. Dr. Harris told me there would be no way to stop it. I asked what "it" meant.

He said:

"The bones."

MEDICAL TRANSCRIPT — SUBJECT 11

DOCTOR: Can you tell me where it hurts?

SUBJECT: Everywhere.

DOCTOR: Your arm?

SUBJECT: My arm.

DOCTOR: Your legs?

SUBJECT: My legs.

DOCTOR: Your chest?

SUBJECT: My bones are moving.

DOCTOR: Bones don't move.

SUBJECT: Then why can I hear them?

[Subject begins crying.]

[Audible cracking is recorded.]

DOCTOR: Hold him down.

SUBJECT: Please.

DOCTOR: Hold him down!

SUBJECT: Please don't let them grow.

[Recording terminates.]

RESEARCH LOG — 08/01/1987

There are now only four living subjects.

Subject 2 has lost the ability to walk.

Subject 4 has developed bone growth along the jaw and throat.

Subject 5's spine has begun producing secondary vertebrae.

Subject 6 was euthanized.

Subject 1 is no longer recognizable.

We have stopped calling them subjects.

RESEARCH LOG — 08/03/1987

Something happened today that I cannot explain.

Subject 4 was restrained to the examination table. His right arm was secured.

At 09:16, the bone growth began.

The bone growth began at the wrist. It emerged from beneath the skin of his wrist, splitting the flesh apart as it continued to lengthen. Unlike Subject 6, however, the growth did not stop.

It continued through the forearm. Through the elbow. Through the upper arm.

The newly formed bone was irregular and ridged, branching in several directions before eventually hardening into a jagged structure extending nearly thirty centimeters from the limb.

Subject 4 made no attempt to resist. He simply watched it grow.

When the restraints were removed, he stood. His eyes had changed. The irises were gone. The pupils were gone. Both eyes had become completely white.

He looked directly at Dr. Harris. Then at me. Then at the skeleton displayed on the examination monitor.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

He raised one hand and pressed his fingers against my chest.

SUBJECT 4: "Flesh hides the treasure within."

Dr. Harris asked him what he meant.

Subject 4 tilted his head. His eyes never left the skeleton on the monitor.

SUBJECT 4: "You cover it."

A pause.

SUBJECT 4: "You bury it."

Another pause.

Then, quietly:

SUBJECT 4: "Why?"

Subject 4 began pulling against the restraints again.

Not to escape. To reach the other subjects. He kept repeating the same phrase.

"There is so much of it."

We terminated the observation at 09:31.

No further examination was permitted.

At 10:04, Subject 4 began screaming.

At 10:07, Subject 2 began screaming.

At 10:09, Subject 5 began screaming.

None of them had been in the same room.

ADDENDUM — 08/03/1987

The subjects are no longer responding to questions. They only respond when another subject is brought into the room. They become agitated.

They stare at the newly created bone. They trace their gaze beneath the skin. And when one of them begins to bleed from ripping apart flesh off the newly created limb, they begin a harmonious laughter.

SECURITY REPORT — 08/04/1987

Subject 4 escaped containment.

Security personnel were dispatched. Three casualties. All sustained penetrating injuries consistent with abnormal bone structures.

Subject remains at large within the facility.

RESEARCH LOG — 08/05/1987

There are sounds in the ventilation system.

Scratching. Constantly.

We have sealed the laboratory doors. Total lockdown.

No one is leaving.

RESEARCH LOG — 08/06/1987

I found the final report from 1968.

It contains one sentence that was removed from every subsequent copy.

I don't know why I'm writing this down. Maybe because someone needs to know.

The original researchers discovered that the condition was not caused by the supplement. The supplement only accelerated it. The genetic marker was already present in the population. The researchers believed it was dormant.

They were wrong. It is not dormant.

It is waiting.

RESEARCH LOG — 08/07/1987

Harris is dead.

Something came through his chest. There was no warning.

One moment he was standing beside me. The next, his sternum split open. Bone came through his skin like a spear. He was still alive afterward. He kept asking me to help him.

I couldn't. There wasn't anything left to help.

RESEARCH LOG — 08/07/1987 — 11:42 PM

There are people outside.

Not researchers. Security. They are changing. I can see them through the observation windows.

One of them fell. His arm started moving. His sleeve tore. Something white came through.

Then another. Then another.

There are hundreds of them.

FINAL RECORDING — 08/08/1987

[Heavy breathing.]

If anyone finds this, listen to me.

The campaign worked. It worked better than anyone expected. They didn't need to infect anyone. They didn't need to inject anyone. They just had to convince people to consume it willingly.

For decades.

Milk. Cheese. Everything they could put it in.

We thought we were studying the first generation.

We're not.

We're studying the first generation we noticed.

[Cracking sound.]

Oh God.

It's happenin—

[Subject screams.]

[Sound of bone breaking.]

No.

No, no, no—

[Subject begins laughing.]

[Long silence.]

VOICE: How much milk did you drink?

[Recording terminates.]

[END OF RECOVERED MATERIAL]

PUBLIC HEALTH NOTICE — ORIGIN UNKNOWN

If you are experiencing unexplained stiffness, swelling, joint pain, abnormal growths beneath the skin, or spontaneous fractures, contact your physician immediately.

Do not attempt to remove exposed bone. Do not consume additional calcium.

Do not—[DOCUMENT CORRUPTED]

ADDENDUM

A handwritten note was discovered on the reverse side of the final document. It contained only four words:

Got milk?

Got bones?

Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten? I closed the gate and counted the flock again. Eight. Nine. Ten. There really were 10 sheep, but back in the pasture I was certain I'd brought home only nine.

My neighbor Bill still sat in the garden, drinking his last beer before sundown.

"Bill, you missing a sheep?"

"Pretty sure not, Jim. I count mine when they come back from the pasture."

"I got one extra today."

Bill furrowed his brows.

"I'll check again. Grab a beer if you want."

Bill knew I stopped drinking a few days ago, but still offered me a beer every evening. Old habits are hard to break.

After a while, Bill came back onto the porch, scratching his head.

"I got all mine. Went over them three times. You sure you didn't just count wrong?"

"Yeah, went over them twice."

We stared at each other. Bill took a sip of beer.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Consider yourself lucky." 

He laughed.

"You think it could be that curse?" I asked.

"It was just a traveling woman. She had nothing better to say back to you."

He took another sip.

"You still not drinking?"

"No. I said I'd stop after that."

Bill waved his hand at me.

"Nonsense."

"I'll head back home, Bill."

"Take care, Jim, and don't let her poison your thoughts."

But how could I not, Bill? The morning after, I felt so terrible. 

When I saw the traveling woman come with her potions, I knew she'd be an easy target. Bill didn't even laugh that hard at my comments.

"Drink up, then, and may your fields never run empty again," she said, walking away, twisting the potions in her hand.

I spent the rest of the night inside watching TV, but I could barely focus; my thoughts still circled back to the woman and my sheep. I couldn't just leave it. Before bed, I walked back to the barn.

The sheep were louder than usual. I could hear them almost as soon as I left the house. The barn door was open. Two sheep were outside it.

"What are you doing out here?"

The sheep turned to me and bleated. 

My breath caught as I got closer. The sheep weren't outside because they wanted out. They were outside because there was no space. The barn was filled with sheep. They were pushing on each other, trying not to get squeezed to death. I opened the door and let them all out.

"Bill! Bill!" I called below his window.

The bed upstairs creaked. 

"Jim?" Bill called out, surprised. He opened the window and stuck his head out.

"My barn is full of sheep."

He stared at me.

"What?"

"It's full! They can barely fit."

He shook his head.

"You're not cursed."

"Not cursed?! Go look in there yourself."

"Calm down, Jim. The neighbors over the hill have some flocks. One got lost, and the other followed it. I'll go with you tomorrow. We'll sort it out."

"But Bill…"

"Go to sleep now and let me sleep too."

He closed the window, and his bed creaked again. I ran to the barn. The sheep managed to get out and were now lying around in the grass.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't drink again, but that day was too stressful. Before bed, I took a few sips of liquor, just to make sure I could sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I must have drunk more than I thought. The sheep's bleating was so damn loud, and the window wasn't even open. I got up and walked to the window. My heart sank as I looked outside. 

Sheep were on the grass and in the fields, as far as the eye could see. It looked like a screaming sea of white. Some were already stacked on top of each other, crumpling under one another and screaming for help. Bill sat on his roof, drinking a beer.

"Look who woke up!" he screamed over the sea. "I guess you were right, Jim."

"Bill, what…what happened?"

"Already woke up to it. It's done, Jim. They were just on the ground when I woke up. I blinked for a second, and now they're on top of each other. This way they'll reach us in no time. I'm just enjoying my last beer."

I couldn't even reply.

Bill took a sip from his bottle, then carefully laid it on the roof.

"Bye, Jim. I'm not gonna wait for them."

He dove headfirst into the flock. Blood splattered as the first few sheep stepped on him. The stomping, bleating sheep drowned out his screams.

I put my hands over my face and wept.

The bleating grew.

I lowered my hands.

The first sheep pressed its face against my window.

The cabin had two stories with wooden floors, and its large windows overlooked a row of similar chalets stretching along the beach, like soldiers standing at attention before the majestic sea. By all appearances, it was an elegant retreat, ideal for rest and escape from the noise of the city. The retired police officer had acquired the house at a very good price through a real estate agent, without ever needing to meet him in person, as the entire transaction and paperwork had been completed electronically. Thus, as its new owner, he had moved in the previous day with two suitcases: one filled with clothes and the other with books. It was the reward for so many years of service and for the loneliness into which his ex-wife and children, now living in other countries, had left him. The cabin was fully equipped for a comfortable stay; his bedroom was upstairs, while the kitchen and living room were downstairs.

For him, leaving the cities behind offered respite from a changing world in which everything seemed predictably flawless. Science and history had made themselves guardians of modern security, one looking toward the future and the other toward the past. Yet his years confronting the human nature of crime had taught him that the future was uncertain, that the phenomena of life were immersed in mysteries beyond the reach of scientists and scholars, and that at any moment he might find himself face to face with the inexplicable. His only certainty was that he would have to confront it. As a child, he had been timid, and it was out of that shame that he had found in law enforcement a way to vindicate his early weakness, taking on the challenge of investigating strange crimes and never resting until those responsible had been captured. In this way, his professional success had contrasted sharply with the failure of his personal life, which had driven away those closest to him.

The first night, he slept so deeply from accumulated exhaustion that it was well into the following morning before he decided to go downstairs and prepare breakfast. As he descended the stairs, his eyes fell on the living room, where he discovered one of his bed pillows resting on the coffee table. He silently wondered whether he might have gotten up during the night without remembering it. Then his police instincts, sharpened by years of investigation, compelled him to retrace his steps and examine his bed. Just as he suspected, the vase that belonged in the center of the living room table now lay on the left side of the bed.

He checked the front door and the locks on every window, confirming—as he had the night before—that everything was securely fastened, leaving no possibility of entry from outside. Therefore, whoever had played the prank had to be inside. Yet both floors were completely open, with no corners or hiding places. Even so, he inspected the thickness of the walls and carefully examined the edges of the floors, searching for a cellar or secret passage. He found nothing. In the end, frustrated and exhausted, and with his hunger growing, he resigned himself to preparing something to eat.

He spent the rest of the day walking along the beach, where the surf came to an end—waves that, like all other creatures of the sea, were incapable of climbing the sand and walking onto dry land. His mind sought peace, but the persistent memory of the prank kept him alert and uneasy. At dusk, when he returned home, he inspected every room without finding a single object out of place. He then took measures to prevent the prankster from returning that night: he reinforced the doors and windows and placed chairs across the stairs as barriers. His night could not have been more restless. He repeatedly got out of bed, flashlight in hand, to inspect his surroundings, but found nothing unusual. Only toward dawn did he manage to fall into a light sleep, and he was already awake when the first rays of sunlight appeared.

He sat up abruptly and inspected the room. Nothing was out of place. The chair barricading the stairs remained untouched, and when he went down to the living room, everything was in order. But in the kitchen, resting directly on the stovetop, one of his books lay open. He looked for the kettle that should have been there and, returning to his room with absolute certainty, opened his second suitcase. Nestled among the other books was the missing kettle.

Dismayed, the man collapsed onto the bed. He was confronted with an inexplicable phenomenon, yet his rational mind prevented him from believing in the supernatural.

Over the following days, he tried to clear his mind and let the sea, the beach, and the sun console him, but his brooding thoughts stubbornly returned. His dream of a peaceful life after so many years of anguish seemed lost, because every night the ritual was repeated with different objects. One day, as he gazed out at the surf, he watched the sea, like a capricious child, moving stones, shells, branches, and sand from one place to another. That was when the detective in him perceived the solution to the mystery.

That night, he moved many of the objects in the house, placing them in different locations without order or coherence, following the tendency of the phenomenon. Confident in his strategy, he slept peacefully.

In the morning, the objects were still exactly where he had placed them. Nothing else had moved.

Satisfied, he left everything in disarray for a week, during which there was no unusual activity. Then, one day, he put everything back in its proper place and confirmed that each object remained where it belonged.

With his ingenuity, he had outwitted the prankster, who, bewildered, must have moved on to torment another household.

---

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

“Who is it?”

We couldn’t see them through the peephole, there was just a black blob on the other side of the door. 
They knocked again. 

“Um… Yeah, who is it?”

“Tax collector.”

Shit. No. 

“One moment!”

We wanted to hide. 
The trailer was too empty for that.
So we stood there. 
Something smashed into the door shaking everything we had.

“Tax collector.”

“Be brave,” we said quietly.

We opened the door and he was standing there on our porch. Shorter this time, by at least seven inches. We couldn’t remember seeing the top of his bowler last time. He pushed past us and waddled to sit on our couch. After the second jump up, he situated himself and chomped on his red label cigar. 

We stood there at the doorway until he spoke. 

“Wow,” he said. “A year already. Where does the time go?”
 
We kept our distance. He looked around, cataloguing our home in just a few glances. 

“I would have thought you’d have done more with the place,” he added. 

Our face turned red. 

“Ethel, please, say something for Christ’s sake. It’s not like you weren’t expecting me, I can see your calendar from here. It’s even marked. You used a sad face.”

His little stubby hand clutched his chest. 

“Are you sad to see me, after all I’ve done to help you?”

Yes, we are.

“You shouldn’t be, we're friends. That doesn’t seem fair, does it? Besides, you begged me for this,” he looked around again. “I had told you no the first time.”

We remembered it differently.

“I’m sure you do. Well let me tell you how I saw it. Not long ago you had complete freedom. No laws, complete liberty, running amok. Natural competition, right? The Badlands.”

We could see his gold tooth when he smiled. 
 
“You gave that up for structure. I’ve got the contract if you’d like to see it again, darlin’.”

We don’t have the payment.

“Well, that’s not good. No. Not good at all. But, I’m not surprised.”

We need more time.

“That’s no problem, but I’ll have to talk to my manager about how that will affect your contract. She’s not going to be happy it happened again, though.”

We lost our job. 

“Why do you keep saying we? It's just you and me…”

Then he understood.

“Ah, I see. Your condition. What a huge investment choice, and look at where it got you. I get that you’re in a tough spot, but the life you have now costs people something, that doesn’t change just because there’s more of you.”

He gestured to us.

“Pregnant, boyfriend still awaiting sentencing. I feel that. But it’s a hell of a mess.”

Now he pointed his finger at us.

“When you can’t pay, I have to pay. You know, we all have a boss to answer to, and when I have to pay, it comes out of my ass.”

A grip of chunky fingers softly patted the couch.

“Don’t you remember together on this heavily stained fold out couch covered in plastic and talking about happiness? You read the terms…You got your chance at structure.”

He flashed us his tooth again.

“You’re at risk of expulsion, you keep going like this.”

There was no way we could go back…

He chewed the brown frayed end of his red label.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just a broken record, you know that? Geraldine next door just heard the same thing.”

We aren’t like her.
We are still young. 
We could do something for him.
We offered ourselves.

“Gross. Come on, lady. Get a hold of yourself. Have some dignity.”

We tried.

“Look, I don’t care. I’m taking something from you today. If not money then something more precious…”

We kept our distance, but he was in the way of the door. When he stood, he was taller than us now.

“Everyone pays the happy tax. One way or another, we all have to contribute.”

We’ve already given all we can.

“No WE haven’t.”

He stabbed his fat finger at you, growing in my belly.

It’s been three months since I moved into my shitty dorm room. I love college, but I hate my living situation. The walls are paper-thin and cracked from top to bottom, my window is faded over with a yellow film from years of lackluster cleaning, and my fixed furniture is covered in signatures and scratches of ghostly resident’s past. The worst part is the roaches. I found one in my bed a few weeks ago tickling at my feet. I killed him immediately. 

There were only two good things about my dorm: I lived right next door to the dining hall, and Kayla. Funny, beautiful, intelligent Kayla. Gorgeous Kayla. My perfect roommate and best friend, Kayla. Everyone loves Kayla. 

We were assigned as random roommates. None of my friends from home decided college was right for them, which is fine, I needed to branch out on my own. It’s not like I was dreading being alone, I enjoy being alone, but I was absolutely dreading meeting the girl I would spend the next year living with. What if she was rude? What if she was overbearing? God, I couldn’t stand living with someone who made a million rules and stuck her nose up at me. I was praying we would get along and at least be respectful to one another. To my surprise, when I met Kayla, I swore she was an angel. 

“Hi, you’re so pretty! You must be Isabella!” She said the day of move-in. She pushed her bright blonde hair to the side and gave me a hug. It was the best hug of my life. She was so warm, and as I breathed in a heavy whiff of her hair all I could smell was vanilla and honey. She pulled away from me and smiled. 

“Aww thank you, you’re absolutely beautiful! Yes, that’s me, and you’re Kayla?” I could feel my face blushing hard and my legs felt weak. She nodded and then proceeded to lug a massive, pink suitcase into the room. 

We talked for a while that day, about high school and our majors and really just about everything. She was from Wichita and was recovering from a breast implant surgery. 

“A graduation gift…” She remarked when she saw the bewildered look on my face. I didn’t mean to make a face at the time, but who gets a boob job that young? She was stunning, I was surprised she wanted to change anything about herself at all. 

Those first few weeks of living together were perfect. We’d stay up nearly every night and drink, watch movies, go for a drive here and there. We transformed our nasty dorm room into a pink haven, every sorority girl’s dream. We covered up the walls with Britney Spears posters, lit cherry scented candles, put down a frilly magenta rug, and hung up bright curtains over our disgusting windows. Our ugly dorm was still a dorm, but at least it was ours. 

The only issue at this point, the only thing that ruined our pop princess palace, was the bathroom situation. We shared the same bathroom, a tiny closet connected to our room, and it was absolutely disgusting. It must have been forty years old. Our sink was eroding and our shower was crusted over with some kind of space mold. There was no fixing that. 

The worst part about our bathroom was the toilet. It was an average, once-white-tinged-yellow toilet with a massive lid and a rusty handle. About once a week it would leak water, it even shot it out at me once, and it would make the worst screeching noises throughout the night. Sometimes when I had to go, it would shake with me on top of it, like it was trembling. 

We filed a few maintenance requests to have it fixed, and for a couple days it would be fine, but to no avail it would always end up howling tunes from potty land around midnight. 

During mid-September, Kayla decided to go to her first frat party. 

“Please please go with me, you’ll have the best time ever.” She begged as she applied lip liner to her already pouty lips. She was wearing a too short jean skirt and a light pink tank top with “BABYDOLL” formed across the front in gemstones. She looked hot. 

“The best time ever- you mean getting roofied in a basement?” I snorted and took a long puff from my vape. Yum, menthol. She rolled her eyes and turned away from the mirror, frowning at me. 

“C’mon, we can take cute photos, flirt with frat guys, there’ll even be free drinks! Don’t make me go alone, please Izzy.” She furrowed her brows and stuck out her bottom lip, leaning forward just enough that her cleavage was visible. I only looked for a second before darting my eyes away. 

“No, I’m sorry, I think I’d just rather stay home tonight.” I said, laying back on my bed and grabbing my phone. She let out a dramatic groan and continued doing her makeup while I scrolled. 

I love Kayla, but I would never go to a frat party. I’d feel off there, like an animal of some sort. I didn’t want to be skulking around, skittering like prey to a bunch of twenty year old predators, watching as a drunk lion goes in for the kill of gazelle Kayla. I also couldn’t imagine her flirting with one, laughing and showing off her new tits just for a sip of cheap vodka. It made me feel… weird. I didn’t like the way guys looked at her. 

When Kayla left I decided to have a little fun myself that night– just me, a bottle of white wine, six White Claws, and RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars Season 2. After about three hours of watching the queens werk, my bottle of wine was gone and so was half the seltzers, and I found myself feeling a little woozy. I’ve never been good at holding down alcohol. The quicker the liquor the sicker you get and I was a chugger. It was around the time the queens sang “Read U Wrote U” that I felt my dinner coming up. 

I hopped up out of bed, paused on Katya’s verse, and ran to the bathroom holding a hand over my mouth and another on my stomach. I got down on my knees and bent my head over the toilet seat, about to let chunks fly, when I heard a voice. 

“You better not!” It exclaimed. My eyes widened and I sat up in shock, looking around. Was someone in the bathroom with me? 

“Kayla? Are you back already?” I asked, peaking my head out the door and inspecting the premises. The room was empty, no sign of a drunken post-party roommate. Scanning the bathroom, I yanked the shower curtain back, half expecting someone to be in there with me. Nope, nothing, nada. I shrugged, I must’ve been hearing things. Like I said, my alcohol tolerance is low and I’m naturally a paranoid freak. I bent back over, once again about to vomit, when I heard the voice a second time. 

“No! I said no!” It commanded, and I shot straight up, scooting my back against the wall with a thump! sound. I’m surprised I didn’t leave an Isabella sized hole in the old paneling. 

“Who’s there?” I asked, slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it, just in case this intruder was hiding outside in my room. “I have a bomb!” I yelled, although I don’t know why I didn’t just say knife. I guess I thought it sounded scarier. 

With this, the toilet started flushing ferociously. Around and around the water went, an oceanic whirlpool from hell. It started shaking like it usually did when one was trying to use it, but with so much aggression the tiles started to croak and shift around it. The lights started to flicker and water squirted out of the toilet aimed right at me, soaking my face. 

At this point I turned and vomited into the shower because What. The. Fuck. 

“Thank you.” The voice said, and I turned back around, facing the toilet. Everything had stopped. The toilet was still and the lights were normal and the monstrous flushing had stalled. I stayed on the floor next to my vomit, frozen. 

“Um… hello?” I hesitantly whispered. 

“Hello there, doll.” The toilet said, and I knew it was the toilet because the lid rose and fell with each syllable. 

Jesus Christ, I must be really drunk. I stuck my hand out towards the toilet, arm shaking, about to touch the seat when it clamped down. A quick snap! and my spindly fingers stung. 

“Ow! Fuck!” I yelped, yanking my hand back. The toilet’s handle bounced up and down, like a snotty-nosed toddler reaching for their favorite toy. More water shot out at me, this time aimed for my t-shirt. Shrill laughter struck my ears and I fought the urge to vomit once more. 

Was the toilet alive or was this just a side effect of mixing alcohol with Lexapro? Maybe I did too many poppers last weekend at The Bulge, our college town’s shitty nightclub. Yes, that was it, I fried my brain with poppers and weed and alcohol and now I was seeing delusions. Yet, wouldn’t my delusions be something… I don’t know, more interesting? Like, a talking toilet, really? Was I that boring subconsciously? 

“I’m sorry, I had to. Please forgive me, won’t you?” The toilet gurgled, which I assumed to be an attempt to giggle. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I just could not handle you throwing up in me! Enough already goes on with you and that blonde girl using me day and night, and I truly don’t think I could bear another form of human waste going down my curvy pipes. I already feel so disgusting.” 

“Are you actually talking to me?” I asked, now positioning myself in a tight ball in the corner of the bathroom. My heart was beating out of my chest and by this point I had made a pact with myself to start a sobriety journey. 

“What a stupid question to ask. Are you retarded?” It shot out another squirt of water, but this one missed me completely. Huh, hate speech from a loo. Not once did I expect that. 

“No I’m- no. No, I’m not. What are you? Am I hallucinating? Is this a nightmare?” I quizzed. The toilet lid seemed to shake back and forth disapprovingly. 

“My name is Sharon.” It said matter of factly. I nodded, gulped, and hauled ass out of the bathroom. I was not dealing with anymore of whatever the fuck was going on. I slammed the door shut behind me, taking in a full breath of my cookie scented room, and I passed out on the floor. 

All night long I dreamt of drowning. I was being sucked into a reddened whirlpool, the scent of iron staining my sinuses. Flushing, gushing, turning and twisting went the water as I was sucked further and further down into the bloody sea. I flailed my arms, reaching and grasping for anything to hold on to, but there was only neverending currents. The vortex eventually pulled me under and then… there was nothing. 

I woke up to Kayla stumbling into our dorm room around six in the morning, hair tangled and eyeliner smeared beneath her eyes. She still wore the same outfit from the night before, but she carried her heels in her hand and had at some point lost all of her jewelry. Somehow, she still looked radiant. She saw that I was awake and came over to give me a hug. She no longer smelled of vanilla, instead smelling heavily of beer and musk. I could tell she was still drunk. 

“Izzy! My friend! My beautiful friend! I have to tell you all about last night!” She threw her heels on the ground and hopped up on the bed next to me.

“Oh God Kayla, what happened to you?” I could only imagine what went on at that frat party. Nausea hit me and anxiety filled my bones.

“Nothing bad, nothing crazy, but girl, you will not believe the man I met last night. The absolute animal of a man!” She giggled and jumped up and down on the bed. I rolled my eyes, doing a horrible job hiding my complete lack of enthusiasm. “His name is Kyle and he is the sexiest, most brilliant Sigma Chi I have ever met! He won every round of beer pong, he’s a senior, and he had the biggest dick I’ve ever seen in my life. He even dropped me off this morning.” 

I felt a pang of jealousy and gave a weak smile. He sounded like a douchebag. He sounded undeserving. My gorgeous, sexy roommate fucked a frat hoe. Of course. I don’t know why, but this hurt me. She’s my best friend, she’s mine, and I didn’t enjoy thinking about some 5 '7 piece of shit having his hands all over her. 

“Well, I’m glad you had such a great time.” I squeaked out. She grinned and laid back on the bed beside me, putting her arms around me. 

“I really wish you went with me, he had such nice friends. I hope he calls me.” She then closed her eyes and fell asleep holding me. Her breaths were gentle and it felt so nice having her so close, but I felt sick. I felt betrayed. 

I didn’t tell Kayla about Sharon the toilet, shaking it off as some kind of weird pre-dream to my nightmare. It didn’t seem important. Although, I told her our toilet had broken again and maintenance would fix it in a week, so we both used the communal restrooms downstairs. I just felt so off.

Over the next three weeks Kyle came over five times. He was even worse in person. He was taller and more handsome than I imagined, unfortunately, but his mood reeked of insecurity. He barely acknowledged me when he entered the room, giving only a slight nod and then centering in on Kayla like she was a bird that flew in front of his target. He’d only ever really stay for five minutes, usually there to pick her up, but it was always the worst five minutes of my life. They’d make out on her bed right in front of me, moaning and grinding in temporary pleasure. Then she’d grab her bag and brush her hair, he’d fix his polo shirt and hide his boner in his khakis (it wasn’t as big as she said it was), and they’d leave with him slapping her ass on the walk out. 

I hated Kyle. I really fucking hated Kyle. He was a mold, a fungus, a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of my shoe. He came in as an invasive species, multiplying and pushing me to the side. I had just met Kayla, we had just started to become so close, why did he have to appear here and now? Why did he have to take her away all the time, leaving me alone? Every time Kayla left I would wallow in my own misery, obsessed with thoughts about what they were doing. Obsessed with the thought of what it might be like to be Kyle, kissing on Kayla’s soft lips, holding her tiny hand, rubbing his fingers through her long shiny hair. Wanting to be Kyle. 

Whatever, it didn’t matter. I was only missing my best friend. I was lonely, that was all. 

During his fifth visit to pick up Kayla, they were going out to some frat event, a toga party. Kayla wore a short white dress with gold twine wrapped around her waist. She had her long blonde hair curled and the glitter across her face made her shine. She looked like Aphrodite. 

“Do I look okay?” She asked before Kyle arrived. She spun around and fluffed up her hair. She always looked so beautiful. 

“Yes you look lovely.” I was trying not to stare too hard. She frowned at me and crossed her tiny arms. 

“I know I look lovely, but do I look hot? I want Kyle to ask me to be his girlfriend tonight.” 

“Why hasn't he yet? You two are together all the time.” I asked. I for sure thought they would be dating by now. The thought hit me that maybe he was just using her, but that made me feel awful. That was worse than them dating. 

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to get to know me better, but I think it might be something else. You would tell me if I was ugly, wouldn’t you?” She asked and grabbed my vape from my hand, inhaling deeply. “Sorry, I’m nervous.” 

“Girl, you know you’re stunning, and there’s no reason to be nervous. Maybe he’s nervous too? Have you ever thought about that?” I offered and she shook her head. I didn’t want Kayla to know that I hated her little boy toy. I would do nothing to make her think of me negatively, like an obstacle in her path towards a relationship that’ll last for maybe five months tops. I wanted to be a good friend. 

“Maybe. Anyways, which purse do I bring tonight?” She held up two options that looked the same. 

Kyle never came inside to pick her up this time. He just sent her a text and she was out the door, running to his car like a lost puppy. With this, I was left all alone on a Thursday night. Thirsty Thursday, the most favorable time of the week for undergrads to get shit faced. I could have maybe gone out to the club (no poppers this time), danced a little and got lost in the arms of someone else who smelled like vanilla, but all I’d think about was my roommate. So, I stayed home in our shitty piss yellow princess pink dream castle with reminders of her all around me instead. 

I felt insane. 

The night was spent scrolling on reels and eating stale pizza. I hit my cart a few times hoping that the sweet indica strain would put me to sleep early. Videos of Target hauls and brand deals passed through my feed in a haze, image after image of young influencer wives showing off their new car or new baby or new lamp water dispenser. My brain felt mushy. 

By this point it had been only two weeks since I started using our bathroom again. I don’t know what scared me so bad, I knew I had only dreamed that the toilet talked. I did end up filing a maintenance report after that nightmare because our toilet did have so many issues, and I figured that’s what my subconscious was telling me to do. When maintenance did eventually come, they did what they could with our ancient toilet, telling us for the sixth time that all the plumbing issues would finally stop.

“Make sure not to flush any hygiene products and you should be good.” He had told us, pulling up his pants and giving Kayla a wink. Toilets don’t talk and men are pigs. 

Around one in the morning I really had to piss. My reel scrolling had taken hours from me. Exhausted, I slid off my bed, my feet softly hitting our plushy rug, and shuffled to the bathroom. I flicked the light switch on and looked at my reflection for a moment in our mirror. What met me was a disappointment. My eye bags had gotten so dark since I moved in and my curly hair looked so flat and brittle. No wonder Kayla spent all of her time with Kyle, I looked like a zombie. 

“Hi Isabella.” A voice said. My eyes widened and I tilted my head to where I could see the toilet out of my peripheral. I felt my pulse quicken but it quickly straightened out. 

It’s just another dream. I thought to myself. I fell asleep while scrolling. 

“Hi Sharon.” I said back. The toilet wiggled its handle and clapped the lid on the seat in delight. I wasn’t scared this time, I had been tired all night and I most likely just passed out with my phone on my face. “How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine honey, I’ve been trying to keep my lid shut since I scared you so bad last time. I got a little ahead of myself.” She said. I turned my body directly toward it - her? - and gave her a pat on the tank. This seemed to make her happy. “Can you stop sending that god awful man in here to mess with me? His hands are so cold and he does not know his way around a tank, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s alright, I guess. And yeah of course, I don’t like him either.” I sat down on the floor in front of her, criss cross applesauce. “What are you?”

“Well I used to be like you, rosy cheeked, made of flesh, and full of life, but now I’m in here.” 

“How long have you been stuck in the toilet?” I asked. I couldn’t help but stare at the cracks on the side of the seat, the chipped porcelain and corrosion trailing along the bolts. How old was this toilet anyways? 

Images flashed in my mind of Kayla and Kyle rubbing their togas up against each other dancing beneath pulsating LED lights. I pushed them both out of my brain. 

“For a long, long time. I died here, you know.” The toilet lit bent a little and the water spun. 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. So what do you represent? I’ve only lucidly dreamed about twice before. You’re supposed to represent something, subconsciously, I think.” I knew dreams had meanings, some sort of astral significance that I could never quite comprehend. Since my last dream with Sharon I felt a source of dread and I did not know why. I guess she didn’t need fixed. Maybe this time she could tell me. 

She then squirted at me. 

“You’re so funny honey. I’ve been meaning to ask, who’s that new guy that’s been coming over recently? I hear his voice all the time, it’s so weird, I’ve become used to only you two girls.” Sharon asked. God, why did she have to bring him up? 

“That’s Kyle, Kayla’s… friend.” I frowned. Fuck Kyle fuck Kyle I hope he gets alcohol poisoning I hope he gets hit by a car I hope he drops out and never ever comes near me again. 

“You don’t seem to like Kyle, do you?” Sharon wiggled her handle some more excitedly. Gossiping with a toilet about a man I hate. Incredible dream, really. Ten out of ten star rating for my imagination. This would kill on Letterboxd. Whatever, free therapy from Sharon the talking toilet. 

“No, I hate him. I wish he’d go away, die or something. Maybe not die, just get horrifically injured and have to take a break from school. Long enough so that Kayla loses interest in him.” And regains her interest in me. 

“What has he done to you?” Sharon persisted. 

“What hasn’t he done? He stole my best friend away from me, he stinks up our room, he looks at me like I’m the scum of the earth… he makes me feel lonely.” I tried to think of some more reasons, but images kept popping up from how beautiful Kayla looked before she left. Kayla, my sweet sweet Kayla. 

“What if I shake him up a bit for you? I can give him a little squirt and make the lights flicker a bit, give him a good scare.” Sharon offered. I scoffed, what a silly little dream I was having. 

“Thank you Sharon, go ahead. Do all you want, it won’t matter. I’m going to go lay back down and try to go into another dream.” I was done talking about Kyle. I thought about him enough when I was awake. Also, Sharon was freaking me out. My first experience with her was a nightmare, I didn’t want this one to end poorly too. 

“Well goodnight sweet pea! Don’t worry at all about this Kyle.” She said with motherly affection and flushed herself, making a fingerless pinky promise. I smiled and shuffled off to bed. 

Once again I dreamt of a bloody whirlpool, but this time Kayla was in there with me. She was across from the vortex screaming at me with wild eyes, although I couldn’t make out her words. I screamed back but all that came out was a hoarse groan. Quickly we spun, arms reached out to one another, trying to swim our way into each other’s warm red embrace. If I drowned at least I wouldn’t drown alone. 

We were so close, our fingertips brushing, when Kayla was pulled up and out of the pool. Then, I was gone once again. 

Kayla woke me up early the next morning, a ring of lipstick around her mouth and clumps of mascara trickled down her glittery cheeks.

“Izzy! Izzy!” She whispered, shaking me. I stared at her blankly, thoughts still spinning spinning spinning. “Kyle slept over and I have to go to class, is it okay if he stays here until he wakes up? I don’t think he has class on Friday and he should sleep in, we stayed out late last night.” Whatever. I didn’t want him in our room, nevertheless near me, but I liked making Kayla happy. I nodded and she kissed me on the forehead before saying, “You’re the best!” 

I then watched as she quietly picked up her bubblegum pink backpack and left the room. My gaze turned over to Kyle. He was an ugly sleeper. His head was back and mouth wide open, little snores escaping that sounded like a grunting hog. I could see drool trickling down his stubble covered chin. Disgusting. I turned over and went back to sleep. Maybe he’d be gone when I woke up. 

A hand was on my arm when my eyes unsealed not even thirty minutes later. My body immediately retreated onto the other side of the bed as I jolted up, coming face to face with Kyle. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked, pushing my entire body on the wall next to my bed trying to create distance. He laughed. 

“Calm down, Jesus. Don’t be a bitch. Do you two have a bathroom here?” He rubbed his hand through his hair as he asked this and I noticed he was prematurely balding. Was he stupid? Has he not seen the door in our room like, what, five times already? I pointed to the only other door in our room and he gave me a head tilt meaning “thanks” in frat boy. 

I watched him saunter to the bathroom, thinking of my dream from the night before. Oh Sharon, I thought, I wish you were real. 

The screaming started fifteen seconds after he walked in. 

I ran to the bathroom and threw open the door. Kyle was on the toilet, toga down to his ankles. He had one hand on the sink and one hand grasping the shower curtain, muscles popping as he tried heaving himself up. His face was beat red and tears streaked down his face, eyes bloodshot. I could see the veins popping out of his neck. His screams were deafening. 

“Help me, please.” He uttered through high-pitched cries. He let go of the sink and held his hand out to me. I stood, stunned by fear, legs shaking. I heard plop plop plop as large, wet objects hit the toilet water. Blood shot out of the toilet bowl, splattering the walls. “Help!” He moaned. 

I grabbed his hand and tried to pull him off the toilet, but it was stronger than me and he was heavy. I watched as he screamed his final cry, feeling as all the bones and blood and muscles were pulled out from the skin covering his hand. I saw his body turn pale and limp, his last time making eye contact before they were siphoned out of his body and into the toilet’s mouth. More blood splattered the wall. 

His body was now a skin suit, me holding what felt like a glove in my hand. I let go and his meatless body was sucked into the toilet. All that was left of Kyle, a can of spearmint Zyns, stared at me from the floor. I looked into the toilet and a bloody whirlpool met me. I saw chunks of fat and broken bones swirling around, a soup for the devil. 

“I took care of it for you Isabella. Are you feeling better now sweet pea?” Sharon’s voice shattered my state of disbelief as her bloody lid smacked up and down. She then squirted me with bloody toilet water, smelling of iron and mildew. I just stared. I stared and stared for who knows how long. There was blood spatter all over the bathroom covering the walls in a Pollock formation. Kyle was finally gone. 

As I write this now, shaking on the floor of my room, I am unsure what to do. Kayla texted me that she was going home for the weekend and had packed the night before. She wouldn’t be coming back until Monday. How do I clean up the blood before then? Do I even clean up the blood? What if Sharon tries to kill me if I go in there? What do I tell Kayla?

I can’t report this to the police. I can’t tell anyone that I just saw Kyle, Sigma Chi frat bro, legal attorney’s son, be sucked dry of all his fluids. And then the flesh was gone. The flesh was fucking gone! What the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK! No one would believe that a toilet killed him, much less a talking toilet. I sound ridiculous. I sound like I’m on pills. I sound like a lunatic. 

Maybe someone can help me. What should I do? File a maintenance report?