The apartment was bugged. I didn’t know it when I moved in. Otherwise, I would’ve run screaming from the place the very first day.
I was desperate - my relationship and the lease on the apartment I’d shared with my long time boyfriend Adam had both run out around the same time. In the midst of debating whether to search for a new place or re-up on the old one, things between us had reached their long-awaited breaking point.
In a snap, we were finished. A bell that you can’t un-ring. If we were both being honest with ourselves, it hadn’t been good for a while. Maybe years, even. I’ve never been good at that though. Being honest with myself.
We held on for as long as we did because that’s easy and it’s safe.
Even when the moment came, I still didn’t want it. Wasn’t ready. Adam made his choice though.
Anyway. The apartment.
Adam left and like I said, I was desperate. I couldn’t stay in the unit that he and I had shared - not only would the bad memories be numerous and overpowering, we could hardly afford it when we were together doing a 50/50 split of everything.
No, I needed somewhere to lay my head cheap and quick. I spent any and all hours I wasn’t working alternating between a full on emotional breakdown and scrolling through the ads for roommates on Private Personals.
Most of the listings on the site were either too expensive, too weird, or a combination of both. I was in a rough situation, but had no desire to see myself chained up in some maniac’s basement after answering the umpteenth misspelled and shady ad.
Eventually, right around the time that I’d resigned myself to the nuclear option of reaching out to temporarily move back with my parents, I stumbled on the exact listing that I was looking for. A small two bedroom , two bath row home asking only $500 a month as an inclusive payment and urgently seeking a roommate ASAP. The ad was well written and concise, not dripping with ill intent the way you’d expect.
It was too good to be true, but I’d reached a point in my desperation and mania that I had to at least shoot them an email. The poster answered back almost immediately, offering to let me come view the property that afternoon if I was free.
Pulling up to the address, the house wasn’t the nicest. Not the worst either. It was in a less than favorable part of town, but I’d lived in St. Claire long enough to know that even the less than favorable parts of town were mostly ok as long as you didn’t wander too far alone in the middle of the night.
I parked in the street and made my way up to the front screen door of the house, rapping it lightly with my fist and hearing the hollow metal clang . After a moment, the wooden door behind the screen swung open, and my knocking was answered by a slightly disheveled-and-tired-but-hardly-threatening looking man.
He stared at me quizzically , and neither of us spoke for a long second.
“Hi?” I phrased the statement like a question. “I’m Ann. I sent you an email earlier about coming to check the place out. You need a roommate?”
The man, who had identified himself via said email as Curt, nodded. “Right.” Was all he said as he reached out and unlatched the screen door to welcome me inside.
I scanned all I could see as I walked through the door. The place honestly wasn’t much worse on the outside than the inside. Small and unspectacular and not even looking very lived in. The common area in the main room had just a sad small couch and nothing else. No television, nothing. I got the impression that Curt and the previous roommate didn’t interact much. Worked for me.
“This is it,” Curt said as he gestured toward the room with open arms. “Common area is right here, kitchen’s this way and the bedrooms are up those stairs.” He pointed to the one staircase in the house as he pushed past me to lead into the kitchen.
The kitchen was just as mild as the living room. I nodded along as Curt showed me the fridge and the oven, walking over the aged and yellowed tacky floor tile. The house wasn’t a dingy or filthy crackhouse like I’d half been expecting though. It was actually fairly well maintained. Clean fridge, clean if not long overdue for an upgrade floor. No sign of bugs or pests. Too good to be true. Curt led me up the stairs next and showed me the bedrooms.
They bordered each other, sharing a wall. He pointed to the door on the right. “This would be your room. No bathroom in here, but there’s one down the hall up here that would be totally yours to use. Mine’s in my room.”
I looked over the bedroom. It was small, but I didn’t need something grandiose. Just enough room for a bed and a dresser and maybe a tv, a bookcase. Curt seemed affable if distant , standing there rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, horn rimmed glasses pressed up on his forehead.
I turned to him. “So what’s the catch? I mean, it’s not the best neighborhood but the place is clean and you seem pretty normal. $1000 a month between the two of us seems way too low to keep the lights on.”
Curt nodded. “The landlord, the owner, whatever, he’s pretty hands off. Way it was told to me, when he took this place over , he really wanted to fill the vacancy for whatever reason. So he offered the first people who lived here a pretty choice renting agreement and it just kind of always stuck.” He shrugged. “I felt the same way when I first moved in but, it is what it is.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the landlord? Why are you giving me a tour then? Why not him?”
He pulled his glasses back down over his eyes and continued. “I’ve lived here a while now, he trusts me. I’ve helped him out with the last few applications. After all, I’m the one who’s gotta live with the person we choose.” The logic was somewhat specious, but I figured that was fair enough. “Most recent roommate dipped out in a flash, and we’re just looking to fill the room ASAP.” He looked at me, silently asking for a decision.
I placed my chin in my hand contemplatively. I figured I didn’t really have much of a choice. It was this admittedly weird but not necessarily red flag inducing arrangement , or homelessness. “When can I move in?”
By Friday the following week, the movers were dragging the last of my meager possessions into the house and up the stairs to my new bedroom. I didn’t have or need much - I was never a terribly materialistic person. Most of my life I’d been okay with nothing but books, the occasional record. Books. Reading.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. That shared interest was one of the things that brought Adam and I together many many years ago.
It’s just so hard - how can you be expected to move past every memory you’ve ever had of someone you love?
I tipped the movers and sent them on their way, and began the meticulous task of unboxing and arranging my new life. Curt had stayed holed up in his room for the duration of my moving in process - he’d mentioned during our few terse text exchanges the last week that he did tech support from home , and rarely left his computer during work hours.
I’d been scheduled off Saturday and had switched shifts with someone for today in order to supervise the movers and give myself some time to get my bearings.
The arrangement would be simple - I’d give Curt a check on the 15th of every month. The fridge was divided into two halves , one for each of us. That was pretty much it. We wouldn’t see much of each other and that was fine by me.
I was withdrawing another book from the overstuffed cardboard box when I heard the skittering. Immediately , my head snapped over the source of the noise. The shared wall between the two bedrooms. I frowned. Animals in the walls? Bugs? The sound was loud enough that I’d heard it across the room.
“God dammit…” I whispered to myself. Was I now stuck in a roach or rat infested apartment shared with a lying , shady roommate ?
I stood from my seat and walked over to the wall, pressing my ear against it. The room had gone silent again, and I waited. Suddenly, the scritching returned, louder this time and blasting directly into my ear.
The sound of diminutive legs (or claws?) rapidly scratching and moving against a hard surface.
Well shit. I wondered if Curt was even aware of a pest problem in the house - or had he conveniently overlooked it to make the sale he was clearly desperate for.
The thing was, if the place was infested, the vermin sure cleaned up after themselves well. In the house where I grew up, sometimes we’d get the odd squirrel running around inside the roof. All it takes is the odd little hole for them to squeeze through.
I wondered if this was just the rational part of my brain descending into irrationality to cope. The thing was, I was stuck here for the next few months no matter what.
My train of thought was suddenly broken by a new sound emanating from the same location. Not a loud , manic scratch. A dull and quiet noise. Almost undetectable it was so close to silent.
I leaned close to the wall again to make sure my ears weren’t deceiving me.
It was a whisper. A low, raspy murmur. I couldn’t make the words out, but the cadence was slow and methodical. I sat up and looked around the room in confusion. I didn’t know what I was searching for, some impossible answer in my immediate surroundings.
Was it Curt? It didn’t sound like him. It was too close, even with its indecipherable language , the voice was right next to my ear. Filtered only by the wall’s thin plaster.
I leaned in yet again, and the voice was louder now. It sounded agitated, angry. The rapid scratching started again as the voice uttered the first word I actually undersood.
“Kill.”
I immediately stood and swung my bedroom door open, walking into the hallway. Curt’s did the same, and he wandered out of his bedroom still wearing his work headset. He must’ve seen the confused and wide eyed expression on my face.
“Uh…” he muttered.
I stared at him, trying to keep my composure. “Did you…” I started and trailed off, unsure of how to phrase my question.
“Did you hear that?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The… the wall.”
Curt nodded as a look of understanding crossed his face. “Oh yeah, that. Yeah I dunno, sometimes the odd squirrel or something gets in through this tiny hole up near the gutter. Start squirming around in there. I’ve told the landlord about it but… you know. I probably should’ve mentioned it before but to be honest I didn’t expect there to be an issue so quickly.”
He brushed past me and made for the stairs, headed down to the common area. “If it’s a problem for you let me know, I’ll give the big guy a call.”
Curt stopped in his tracks suddenly and began fishing around in his pocket. He turned toward me again and handed me two standard looking silver keys, labeled B and H respectively. “For your bedroom. And the house.” He answered my silent question. “Forgot to give them to you when you first got in. Guess which is which..” With that, Curt descended the steps and left me alone in the hallway with my thoughts. I made a beeline for the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing my face with cold water.
I stared into the eyes of my reflection. Maybe the stress of the last few weeks was finally getting to me. I mean, there really just wasn’t any other sensible kind of explanation. I was either collapsing under the unbearable weight of everything, or something living in the walls was talking to me. Neither option filled me with joy.
I tried to keep myself busy the rest of the day. I unpacked the rest of my things, made a grocery list to shop for in the morning, read a couple chapters of Bentley’s latest. It barely worked. The entire time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that that’s all I was doing - busy work. Pointless tasks for my eyes and hands to focus on as my mind wandered.
As the minutes and hours crawled by, I couldn’t stop thinking about Adam. Adam, and the wall. The voice I’d heard so clearly, uttering that one single word.
Kill.
It was the first day and I was already feeling suffocated by the place. I stood, stretching my back and grabbing my phone and car keys from the bedside table. Maybe getting out and getting something to eat would ease my mind a little. I knew it wouldn’t, but I started out the bedroom door anyway. Locking my bedroom behind me as I went, I glanced at Curt’s room as I stepped into the hallway. His door was still firmly shut as it had been most of the day. I’d only heard him leave and clomp up and down the steps into the kitchen once or twice in the last six or so hours.
Hard working, a shut in? Probably both.
As I walked off the bottom step and into the common area, I immediately heard one of the upstairs doors creak open. Curt’s? Not like there were many other options.
I raised an eyebrow and stood firm in my position as something inside of me told me to wait and see. Just, wait and see. Nothing. I didn’t hear Curt’s heavy footsteps on the hardwood, didn’t see him crest the top of the staircase and start making his way down toward me.
It was like he opened his door and stood there. I could just feel in the air that he was waiting too. Waiting to hear the sound of the front door swinging open and crashing closed. Waiting for me to leave.
I wondered if Curt could also sense the tension in the air. Did he know that I knew? Was he up there, standing in his doorway, wondering why I wasn’t leaving?
That silence hung in the air for a long few moments before I finally relented and quickly walked across the room and out the front door. I was sure that the second Curt heard that door slam shut, that lock click, that he’d immediately begin doing whatever it was he was waiting to do.
I returned home about two hours later. I’d grabbed some pho at a spot Adam and I had enjoyed - places we hadn’t been to at least once through the years, let alone enjoyed, were in short supply. Didn’t have much choice. Every bite made me think of him. Stopped off at the bookstore as well, finding nothing interesting but grabbing a coffee. Dusk was settling as I parked and walked up the street, unlocking the front door and heading into the house.
Right away upon entering, I was greeted by the sight of Curt. He emerged from the darkened kitchen, container of cold chinese in hand. He nodded at me casually. “Little late for coffee huh?” As had quickly become our rapport, he didn’t wait for my response before walking back upstairs into his room. The strange, faceless tension of earlier was gone. Much like the talking wall, I wondered if my guarded reaction to Curt earlier was yet another stress symptom. Maybe he was waiting for me to leave so he could jerk off in peace.
At any rate, the little excursion had seemed to alleviate my mania to a degree. I sat on the bed with my coffee and flicked on the TV. I mostly just left it on while reading as a source of white noise, but my attention was immediately drawn to the news report that flashed across the screen.
Strobing red and blue lights, a cluster of emergency personnel, police tape and a general sense of chaotic energy. The ticker that crawled across the bottom of the scene along with the unseen news anchor’s melancholy report told me what I needed to know.
They’d dredged a body from the depths of the Lebanon River, the largest body of water just outside St. Claire. Not just a body though. A mangled, headless torso. Unidentifiable and bloated and desecrated from its time spent in the murky abyss. Right now, they couldn’t even say if it was a man or a woman.
I swallowed hard, suddenly losing all interest in my nearly full coffee. I glanced out my bedroom window, dusk having fully turned to night and darkness surrounding me. I nearly jumped through the ceiling when I heard it.
Almost as if on cue. That frenzied skittering from inside the wall. My surprise turned to some kind of zen like curiosity. A trepidatious calm. In a daze, I stood from the bed and then planted myself on the floor, sat cross-legged and ear pressed to the cool surface.
The sound stopped right away, the second my face met the wall. It knew. It could tell I was listening.
The voice came, as it had earlier. That same raspy murmur.
“Killer. Next door. Killer, killer, killer. Need to do it quick, do it before it's done to you.”
My eyes widened. Next door? The next room? Curt?
I felt beads of sweat forming on my brow.
The voice continued. “Blood. Kill. Need to do it quick, do it now. Kill. Kill. Kill. *KILL*.”
That final word boomed out louder than what should’ve been possible, and I flinched backwards, smacking the back of my head on my bed.
The voice was gone, the skittering fading into nothing as whatever was speaking to me skulked away.
I felt the trance lift from my mind as I rubbed the back of my head. What the hell was wrong with me? Full on auditory hallucinations. Telling me to kill my roommate. Kill. I shot a sideways glance at the TV. Glanced at my bedroom door, making sure it was locked. I lunged for the remote and shut the television off, and ran my hands over my face in the new silence of the room. I needed to consider calling a therapist. Hell, a psychiatrist.
I’d never been good at lying to myself. I knew a hallucination from reality. As I scrambled for my headphones to block out the noise of the outside world, I withdrew a bottle of extra strength allergy meds from one of the last boxes I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking. These were sure to knock me out.
The sound of Curt’s door swinging open and his already familiar footsteps cut into the air as I downed the pills. I felt that I caught the briefest hesitation as he passed my door, just a singular moment where his cadence slowed more than it should’ve. I gripped my bed tight as I inserted my headphones with my free hand. I threw on a random podcast and stared at the ceiling as I laid back.
I thought of Adam, of course. I thought of Curt and the strange, almost imperceptible behavior that he thought I couldn’t perceive at all. There was just one word for it. Predatory. Thought of the voice. Killer. Do it quick, before it's done to you. Thought of some thick shelled centipede glazing through the walls, carapace clacking against the wood and millions of sharp legs moving like flowing water, and a headless body removed from its grave.
I woke early the next morning, well before I’d normally get up on a day off. I’d slept for close to 12 hours, but hardly felt rested. Quite the opposite - the mental fog of an artificial sleep hung over my head and lingered behind my eyes.
Trying not to think about the crushing weight of everything, I stood and headed for the bathroom.
After quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth, I scooped up my car keys and headed out the door. I was in an adrenaline whirlwind, and decided that now was as good a time as any to do my food shopping for the week. As I was walking back out of the bedroom, I stared at the wall that joined the two rooms, half expecting to hear that maniacal skittering from the night before. Nothing.
About two hours later, I was walking back into the house, grocery bags in hand. I headed into the kitchen and began the process of meticulously laying my purchases on the side of the fridge and pantry labeled with my name (Incorrectly spelled as “Anne”.)
I was doing well so far in distracting myself from my roaming thoughts, but that was put to an end when Curt walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Instantly, I thought of the news report. The voice from the wall. The twisting, writhing centipede.
Curt waved at me half-heartedly and withdrew a box of cereal from one of the cabinets. He stood there expectantly as I blocked the fridge. I reached onto his side and withdrew the container of almond milk I assumed he was waiting for, and the words started flowing before I could stop myself.
“Listen…” I began. “I know its only my second day here, but is there any way I could take you up on that offer to contact the landlord about whatever is knocking around inside the wall? It was so loud last night that I had to sleep with noise cancelling headphones.”
Curt frowned as he poured his bowl of Fruit Loops. “Really that loud for you? I barely heard it at all.” I simply stared at him, saying nothing. He raised his hands in acquiescence. “Ok, ok.” he relented. “I’ll talk to him. I wouldn’t get your hopes up though, truthfully.”
I shook my head in annoyance. “Maybe you should’ve mentioned this on the day I toured.”
Curt sighed heavily. “Maybe you should’ve asked.”
I scoffed, leaving the kitchen without another word. “Look I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Curt called out as I left. “I’ll talk to him. I will.” I shrugged in response, not looking back.
The rest of the day was surprisingly calm and placid. I read, listened to some podcasts. Tried to maintain some sense of peacefulness. There was a part of me that wanted to peruse the roommate listings on private personals, but I figured I’d wait to confront that particularly nasty piece of reality until things got a little worse.
The whole situation at the house was weirder than I had initially read, and I was kicking myself for jumping into a strange scenario so hurriedly. I had been doing poorly with impulse control lately.
A few times throughout the day, I attempted to absorb the silence and half listen to Curt. See if I could catch him talking on the phone to this mysterious landlord. I never heard a peep. Just the occasional slam of his door and footsteps going up and down the stairs.
I spent the entire day in a state of reserved tension, waiting to hear the voice from the wall. It never came.
Eventually, day turned to dusk turned to evening. I had an early morning tomorrow, first one back at work after my two day break.
I decided to turn in, laying my head down and staring at the wall as I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
I was awoken in a loud flash, the noise so ear puncturing that it caused me to see white. The scratching and grinding of sharp and insectile legs against rotting wood. I sat up in bed and placed my hands over my ears. The wall seemed to shake and vibrate from the force of the movement inside. The voice was so loud now that I didn’t even have to press my ear to the wall to hear it.
“KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL”
It screamed over and over, rasping and hoarse. I shook my head, hard, hands still covering my ears. I glanced at the TV. It was on now, playing news coverage of that same story, the headless body dredged up from the lake.
“DO IT NOW”
I stood in the blind dark, crashing out of the room and into the hall. Almost immediately, Curt’s door swung open. “What the fuck?” He asked groggily. My face twisted into a snarl of anger. “You’re telling me you didn’t hear any of that?”
“Any of what?” came his incredulous reply. I stomped over to him, entering his personal space and thrusting a finger into his face. “You never called the landlord. Give me his number. I want to talk to him. It’s been two days and I’m already over this nonsense. Something is seriously wrong with this place. There’s an infestation in the walls. Or… something.”
Curt’s own expression turned down in annoyance now, and he ran a hand over his face. “Listen, I told you the landlord isn’t the most proactive. I tried him a few times today, didn’t get through. I dunno what you want, I’m not a miracle worker.”
I threw my hands up. “What a joke this is.” I laughed derisively as the words left my lips. “Give me the landlord’s number. Now.”
I stared into Curt’s eyes. Some kind of feeling, something passed between us. He didn’t answer, simply shook his head from side to side. I scoffed. “I’m sleeping in my fucking car then.”
I headed back into the bedroom to grab my car keys, and instantly a piercing pain cut into the very base of my head. It was the voice, the skittering. The loudest it had ever been. I doubled over in pain, hands wrapped around my head as the voice seemed to come from within my own brain.
“KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL NOW NOW NOW NOW”
I shut my eyes tight, wincing and grimacing in agony. It felt like an ice pick chiseling at the insides of my ears.
I saw it clear as day now. The coiled, writhing and massive thing twisting through the walls. Occupying every inch of empty space.
Then, something passed through the air. A feeling. Everything went silent. All I could hear was a dull ringing in my ears. I opened my eyes, just in time to see Curt enter through my open bedroom door, steak knife in hand.
He lunged at me, and I threw my forearms up in a defensive shielding motion. The knife cut into my arm, but not deep. My arms still joined together, I batted at him and knocked the blade from his hand. “What the FUCK?” I screamed.
Curt didn’t respond. Just stared into my eyes. A darkened glaze had fallen over his face, glasses knocked from his head in the melee.
He reached out and wrapped his hands around my neck. Curt wasn’t a large man, but he still had a positioning and weight advantage over me. He squeezed as tight as he could with both hands, and I felt my face starting to turn purple and hot. “Killer…” he mumbled. The edges of my vision started going white. I reached up feebly, resting my hands on Curt’s face. Keeping my eyes locked with his.
He didn’t loosen his grasp. Showed no mercy. But I saw the slight tint of sympathy behind his empty expression. I plunged my thumbs into his eyes, using my last ounce of strength to force them as deep as they’d go, until I broke past the tension and felt a soft and wet squish. Curt howled in raw, animalistic pain, but still didn’t release me from his grasp.
I figured it was over for me as the room went dark, but finally he relented, falling backwards and clutching at his face, bile and blood and ichor running from his empty eye sockets. I sat up in a coughing fit, trying to catch my breath and regain my vision. Curt was babbling incoherently now, laying on his back on the floor and clutching at the air.
I clumsily stood to my feet, using the bed for balance. I stared down at Curt, into his missing eyes. Somehow he knew. His babbling ceased, and I caught the last thing he said as I picked up the knife. “It knows.”
I plunged the knife into Curt’s throat, slicing and stabbing in raw and unrestrained fury. Dark blood mixed with chunks of wet gore, pooling on my bedroom floor. By the end, Curt’s head was nearly severed from his shoulders.
I stood, burying my face in my blood stained hands, and screamed into the night.
A sound from the wall. Not scratching, not a raspy and commanding voice. A dry and creaking noise of ancient gears turning in place.
My eyes widened in disbelief as I looked through my crimson coated fingers at the sight unfolding in front of me.
My bedroom wall raised from the floor, drawn up like a curtain, disappearing into nothing. Behind it wasn’t Curt’s room, but a massive and empty abyss that seemed to stretch forever.
Nothing.
I heard it coming.
That sound of a million legs working in rapid synchronicity. Becoming louder and louder as it got close. From the darkness, its head emerged first. Just as I’d seen in my mind's eye, a dark and chitinous shell with pawing, grasping antennae protruding from its head.
There was an infestation in the walls alright. It was nearly the size of a golf cart, and so long that its entire body never emerged from that endless abyss.
I watched in pure terror as the massive centipede extended itself toward Curt’s mangled body, prodding against it with its antennae. It suddenly snapped and turned to face me, and I saw it clearly now. Its hideous, awful face.
It grinned at me, wide and broad, with its massive mouth full of square yellow teeth. A visage almost comedic in its wrongness. I was petrified, frozen in place by the fear. I waited for it to lunge at me, to do whatever it was going to do. Drag me into the void.
Instead, it turned back after a few long moments.
As it raised itself up in the air and then came down to wrap its limbs around Curt’s body, it uttered a single word in that now familiar raspy voice, only now I could hear glee and approval in the delivery.
“Killer.”
The sound of its limbs became deafening once again as it shot backwards into the dark, Curt’s body in tow, leaving a long streak of dark blood on the floor as it disappeared and the wall slammed back down from whatever other place it had been suspended.
I scanned my surroundings. Slapped myself in the face once, twice, three times. Hard. Making sure that this was reality and I was really here.
Feeling like I was in a trance, I stepped over the pool of Curt’s blood and walked into the darkened hallway and down the stairs. Out the front door and into the still of the night. Everything seemed so quiet, more silent than it should’ve been. I couldn’t hear the sounds of the earth. No insects chirping, or the distant low sounds of life in the city. It was like I was walking through a soundproof room.
As I popped my trunk, I thought of Curt. Thought of stabbing again and again and again in blind hatred and rage, unable to control myself. Slicing and gouging until his head was severed from his shoulders.
Except, I wasn’t thinking of Curt. Not really.
I withdrew the plastic bag from the spare tire boot of my trunk, stinking and leaking with the decomposing and rotting bits of Adam’s head.
It knows.
I imagined Curt had seen the news reports too. I knew now that he’d also heard every single thing the landlord said. Not just speaking to me. To both of us. A race between two veterans, kill or be killed.
Curt couldn’t have been the first, but I did wonder how he reacted the first time he saw it. How he came to put himself in this situation to begin with. How long he’d lasted. How long I would.
I raised Adam’s head to meet my gaze, staring into his milky and empty eyes. The eyes I loved for so, so long. I wished things could’ve been different. Could’ve stayed the way they did for all those years. Wished we hadn’t fought that night. I just couldn’t bear to part with all of him when I’d pulled up to the Lebanon that night in a blind, adrenaline panic. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe I’d saved myself.
I brought Adam’s face to mine and kissed him one last time, feeling his soft and melting lips through the plastic and breathing in the sweet stench of death.
Tears streamed down my face as I reentered the house, walked up the stairs, and placed Adam on my bedroom floor. I left the room as I heard those creaking gears for the second time that night. I had no interest in seeing Adam get pulled into that other place. I’d already seen him leave once.
I don’t know what it is, where it comes from. It feels like it chose me, though, and I’m smart enough to know what it wants. Really, what else do I have?
So, if anyone’s looking:
I’ve got a room for rent in St. Claire. Your own clean, private quarters. The landlord is a bit of a pest, but if I bug him…
I’m sure I can get you in quick and cheap.
---
Credits
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