The Man in My Attic

  

Kim: I saw a man up in my attic tonight.

You: Lol. Whut?

Kim: I heard a noise up there. Creaking. Like weight being shifted or someone walking up there.

You: Okayyeahsure.gif

Kim: At first I tried to ignore it. Told myself it was the house settling or my imagination.

You: Is this a story you’re working on or something?

Kim: But then I heard it again. So I went out to the hallway where the attic door is.

You: And then you remembered it’s been stuck for like three years? You probably have bats living up there for real.

Kim: But it wasn’t stuck any more. It was open and the ladder was down. So I went up.

You: So spooky! What happened next?

Kim: I got to the top of the stairs and the light didn’t work. I thought about going and getting a flashlight, but I didn’t want to turn my back on the dark, you know?

You: Yeah…

Kim: So I just used my phone. The attic isn’t that big, and you have to kinda stoop up there. Remember when you helped get down my suitcases that time we went to Nevada? It’s still like that. Half with plywood floor, half with just beams and insulation. And I don’t keep anything up there other than a couple of boxes I haven’t seen in years.

Kim: That’s why it was so easy to see the man.

You: OhHellNo.gif

Kim: He was naked. Crouched in the corner with his back to me.

Kim: I was so scared. I should have gone back down. Gotten out of the house. I knew it, but I was still shuffling toward him, shaking hands making the light bob, barely able to breathe.

You: Should have got him some pants!:P

Kim: But then I saw he had a light too. He was holding something, and I could see the glow of it. It glowed green and pink and red and it made me sick just to see the colors. But I still NEEDED to see what it was. Idk why, but I did.

Kim: When I got closer, he looked up at me. He reminded me of somebody, but I don’t know who, and his eyes were so sad. He kept smiling and giggling to himself as he stared at me, but those eyes…I thought he might be the saddest person I’ve ever seen.

Kim: And then he showed me what he was holding. It was this tiny spark of light, like a Christmas light that kept changing and flickering, except it wasn’t really a light. It was me. It was what I really am.

You: Kim, did you take something tonight? Are you okay?

Kim: I wanted to die when I saw it. But I knew it wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t change anything.

You: I just tried calling you but you didn’t answer. Please pick up. I don’t know if this is a story or a joke or what, but you’re freaking me out and it’s not funny.

Kim: I told him to take it away, to make me forget, but he just laughed.

You: Pick up. PICK UP YOUR PHONE WHEN I CALL. If you can text you can answer.

Kim: I told him I’d do anything. Give him anything he wanted, if I just didn’t have to know that anymore.

Kim: So he told me what he wanted, and I gave it to him.

You: Okay. Since you won’t answer the phone, what did he want?

Kim: The two people I loved the most.

You: What does that mean?

Justin: Fuck, man. Did you hear about Kim’s brother? They just found him outside his apartment. They say he jumped.

You: What? Is he dead?

Justin: Tenth floor. Yeah, he’s gone.

You: Kim, I’m coming over. I just heard about your brother. I’m so, so sorry. Brt.

Kim: Yeah, they called me a few minutes ago. That’s why I’m warning you.

You: Warning me about what?

Kim: You’re the other name I gave the man tonight.

Kim: I tried warning Elliot too, but he wouldn’t listen. Now it’s too late. But maybe not for you.

Kim: Don’t let him show it to you. It’ll ruin you the way it’s ruined me. I think he might take it away like he promised, but it hasn’t faded yet, and I’m so scared it won’t.

You: Kim, you’re just upset. Let me come over and we’ll talk about it.

Kim: No, you’re not listening. I’m not at home. And you need to pick two names. Two people that you love the most. Offer it to him before you see what’s in that light. Please. Please please do this for me.

You: I can’t do that. And even if I was going to, you’d be one of the two.

Kim: He won’t let you pick me. He already showed it to me, so it does him no good. Pick two more. You have to.

You: This is crazy I

You: I just heard something in the other room. I swear if this is all some big fucking joke…

Kim: Don’t go in there until you have your names. Please.

Kim: Hello?

You: What the fuck…who is that?

Kim: You know who it is. I’ve already told you

You: Oh God. Why did you send him to me?

Kim: Don’t look at the light! Cover your eyes and tell him you’ll give him two others! Please!

Kim: Hello?

Kim: Hello?

You: He’s gone. He made me see before he would answer me at all. I did what you said and he finally agreed, but nothing has changed.

Kim: It will. It’s fading for me now.

You: I hate you. I’ll hate you forever now. I hope I forget it all except how much I fucking hate you.

Kim: I know.

Kim: I’m sorry.

 

---

Credits

Don’t Ever Take A Drug Called DOTS-Dissolution of the Self

  

Last week I flew for the first time in four years. I never loved it before, and I certainly don’t enjoy it now, but I needed to fly out for my little sister’s college graduation, and after hanging out with her and her friends for a few days, I admit to some measure of relief at returning to the airport for my flight back home.

My problem with flying isn’t the flying itself. It’s the people. The forced proximity to strangers, the mixture of agreed upon politeness and detached friendliness that was probably meant to lubricate these kinds of awkward situations, but always wound up making me feel claustrophobic and anxious. That’s why, on most uses of mass transit, I find a wall to prop against and pretend that I’m asleep.

That had been my plan on the flight back home too, but at soon as someone sat down in the seat next to mine, I could feel their eyes on me. The idea irritated me. I couldn’t look to be sure they were staring in my direction—if I did, they’d know I wasn’t asleep. But I could still tell. Why were they doing it? Were they just that bored or rude?

“You do a bad job of faking being asleep, you know.” The voice was that of an older man, pitched soft and low as though he was sharing a secret with a co-conspirator. “Your breaths aren’t slow enough. Or deep enough. And your hands are tensed.”

Feeling a flush of embarrassment, I cracked an eye open to look at the man beside me. He was a heavyset man with a grey handlebar mustache and a black leather vest that I guessed wasn’t being worn ironically. When I met his gaze, his amused smile broke into a grin.

“There you are.” He raised his hand. “And hey, no judgment. These plane trips can be nightmares. If you want peace and quiet, I’ll keep my yap shut.”

I shifted in my seat as I let out a small laugh. “Nah, it’s cool. My name’s Jordan.”

He nodded, tapping his forehead as though doffing an invisible cap. “Mine’s Breckin. Good to meet you.” He gestured toward the passing stewardess. “I’m going to get a beer when we take off. You want anything? It’s on me.”

I shrugged. “Just a water is fine with me.”

Breckin nodded. “So where you headed?”

“Home. My sis graduated, so I flew out for the week.” I fell silent for a moment before feeling compelled to add, “What about you?”

He grinned. “It’s good you did that. Family is important.” Chuckling, he rolled his eyes. “Me, I’m heading out to a conference. I work for a large pharmaceutical outfit, and part of my job is going to speak at these nerd herds a couple of times a year.” Breckin grimaced. “I hate it, so back a few years ago I decided to adopt a persona when I go to one. It’s like a cartoon version of myself that dresses like an urban cowboy and tells weird jokes and uncomfortable stories to people he corners at the conference or the hotel bar.” He snickered. “At first, it was just a way to get over nerves and make things more entertaining. Now I look forward to it.” He looked up at the stream of air coming through the vent above him and moved to adjust it. “Hell, I’ve just had to come to terms with the fact that I like fucking with people from time to time.”

I surprised myself by laughing loudly once everything he was saying sunk in. “So you go to the things, see a lot of the same people year after year, and none of them know the real you? Just this made-up cartoon character you play on trips?”

Breckin nodded. “Yep. The way I look at it, it’s not even lying. What’s the ‘real’ me or you anyway?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until the flight had taken off and the seatbelt sign darkened. Gesturing to the aisle, I said, “Well whoever I am, I have to piss. Be right back.” Breckin laughed and moved his knees in as I scooted by. When I got back, he was sipping on a beer and my bottle of water was waiting for me.

Sitting back down, I pointed at his outfit. “It is funny though. I never would have pegged you for a chemist.” Opening my water, I took a deep swig before thinking better of what I’d said. “No offense, you just don’t look like what I’d picture. But then I don’t think know any other chemists either.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, no offense taken. I see myself as more than just a chemist anyway, though that’s what I get paid for. I’m more of a shaman.”

I snorted water and sat the bottle back down. “A shaman? Like a priest or something?”

Breckin shook his head. “No, like a guide. Someone that can open the way.” When I looked confused, he waved his hand in the air like he was erasing a board. “Let me start over. Try to sound like less of a hippie or religious nut.” He opened one hand and tapped his palm. “What connects you to this world around us?”

I frowned and gave a shrug. “Um, the internet?”

He rolled his eyes as he muttered under his breath. “For fuckin…no, I mean the actual world, not that crap. Your body. Your body lets you see and hear and feel and all that, right?”

Blushing, I nodded. “Um, yeah.”

“Okay, well your body is connecting your brain to the world, too right? I mean, without your body, your brain couldn’t see or hear or feel on its own.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“And your brain connects to who you really are—call it your soul or your essence or whatever you want, but fair to say that whatever is the real you, you wouldn’t be able to use your body to interact with the world without a brain.”

I nodded agreement, but Breckin was already speaking again.

“And what connects all of these things? Chemicals. Beautiful, wonderful electrochemical reactions that lets your eyes see the world, your brain understand it, and that central core that is you experience that which we call existence.” He spread his hands out like he was opening a large book or map before giving me a wink.

“I mean, yeah, that makes sense. It’s kind of cool when you think about it like that.”

He raised a finger. “It is cool. But it’s also more than a little bit of a lie. Because unfortunately, we are bound to this…” The man slapped his arm loud enough to make me jump slightly. “…this meat. And the meat lies to us. It tells us that this is what we are. Our soul is calcified by illusions of will and phantasms of personality. We become so caught up in the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain, the fears and aspirations of the meat, that our true being, our true purpose, is obscured, even from ourselves. And so many of us wind up living in service of this false self, never seeing things as they truly are.”

Wiping my mouth, I sat down my bottle. “Okay…so what do you think our true purpose is?” I was genuinely interested, which kind of surprised me given my normal skepticism and avoidance of anything that sounded too religious or new-agey. I was also feeling weird though—I wondered if it was the altitude, or just needing to eat something. When was she going to bring by the sna…

“That’s not for me to say. You need to experience it for yourself.”

I frowned at him, disappointed. “What…you want me to go to a sweat lodge or something?” I giggled a little. “Not trying to be shitty, it’s just…I don’t really go in for that kind of string. Thing. That kind of thing.”

He grinned at me. “No worries. And no need. You don’t need to do anything. Because you’ve already done it.”

I stared confusedly at him. My head was feeling warm and tight all of a sudden, and it was hard to see Breckin now, like he was far away. “I have? What have I…done?”

Patting my leg, he nodded at the empty water bottle. “You drank 50ccs of my special recipe. It shares some of the same characteristics as DMT and ahyusca, but the base formula of this stuff is radically more potent. And what you just drank? It’s not the base formula I make for the company. It’s a private blend just for me and my good friends.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “No worries. You’ll be falling away soon.”

Squinting at him, I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. “Special recipe? You drugged me?”

He cut his eyes toward me with a frown. “I just gave you a gift. I call it DOTS. It’s short for Dissolution of the Self.” Breckin broke into a grin. “Ah, there you g…”

The smiling man was gone. So was the plane. I wasn’t blind or unconscious, and I had no idea of being asleep or in a dream.

The world around me was flat and grey, mounds of dust rising and falling in the distance, as though kicked up by some momentary gust of wind or an animal burrowing into the ground. As I watched, I realized I could see shapes in the dust clouds—people, places, perhaps even a person named Jordan sitting on a plane somewhere. The thought of how I was seeing at all in this land of grey dust and black sky never occurred to me. But then I wasn’t concerned about my lack of fear, either.

I didn’t know it at the time, but it was because I wasn’t thinking about me as I usually do. I wasn’t scared of dying or making a mistake. Wasn’t concerned with how other people viewed me or how I was going to succeed or fail in that physical world I was usually trapped in.

It’s not that I was a blank—just the opposite. In many ways I felt more real and more powerful than I had ever felt before. It’s just that all the extras had been stripped away—all the distractions, the rabbits I would normally chase, the holes I would step in, they were all gone. And looking at the shifting grey shapes all around me, stretching out forever to mimic an infinite variety in that place I’d come from, I felt like I was seeing the truth behind the world. It was all dust and shadow, dancing to distract you from the real.

The dark lands were suddenly lit by a flash of purple lightning in the distance, except this lightning didn’t fork to the ground and fade away. It leapt along the ground, growing closer with every bound, and soon joined with more arcs from other directions. I was transfixed for a moment, both by their beauty and their effects on the undulating columns of dust—the grey twitched and shudder, growing more solid and more violent as the light grew closer.

And as the lightning drew near, I began to make out shapes in it. Terrible things that I could see in this form, but could never truly understand. I would have screamed if I’d had a voice, or closed my eyes if I had a body. But I had nothing but the core of my pure self, a being that could perceive and understand much, but lacked any cushion or buffer for the sharper edges of the truth.

And the truth was, these things racing toward me were on the hunt. They could see me because I could see them, and in some indefinable way I knew they were filled with a rage and a hunger and a violence so profound it defied any definition or analogue in the world I’d been born in. I wasn’t thinking of that world or my birth or my body at the moment though.

I was thinking about the lightning about to strike me, with all those golden teeth buried deep inside.

I was pondering what this sensation was, this raw emptiness, like a wound in the center of the perfection of my pure self, and then I recognized it. Understood it.

Apparently even in this place, without time or deception or the trappings of the meat, I could feel fear.

---

I jerked awake with a gasp, the world of the plane and my body in the seat overwhelming me for a moment. “Ahhhh…Gahhhh….I…” I huffed heavily, my forehead against the seat in front of me as I slowly became aware of the sweat running down my chest and a dull ache in my right leg. When a heavy hand began to pat me on the back, I flinched before looking over to see…who? A man. He was beside me. His name was…

“Breckin…What did you do…to me…”

He smiled, but his eyes weren’t as bright as I was starting to remember they’d been before. “I pulled you back out. It would happen naturally in a few hours, but we’re about to land and I didn’t want to risk them getting too close.” Breckin shrugged. “Time doesn’t really work there, but things still somehow happen if you stay too long.” His lips thinned slightly. “Did you see them?”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. There were parts of my time in that other place, that other, maybe truer version, of this place, that were already fading away. Fading or changing so they made sense to me over on this side of the curtain. But the things in the lightning…I couldn’t picture them entirely, but I remembered them coming for me. That and their burning, golden teeth.

“What are they?”

He shook his head slightly. “I still don’t know. Not exactly. One of the lifeforms on that level of existence? I’ve seen them since I started using my formula five years ago. For a long time they were just flashes far away. But then something triggered them. Maybe I went over too much, or I did something they didn’t like. Since then, they follow me around, even when I’m not over there.”

Squinting against an encroaching headache, I leaned against the cabin wall so I could see Breckin better. “Why did you do that to me?” I heard a raw, plaintive fear in my voice I couldn’t fully understand even as I said the words. “They saw me. They were coming for me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the idea. They have a real hard-on for me, but they’re not that hard to distract. I know it sucks, but you’ve probably bought me a few days or weeks of peace from them hunting me, depending on how long you last. And I really do appreciate it.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re using me as bait? As some kind of sacrifice to throw them off the trail?” When he just stared at me, I leaned forward, my jaw clenched as I tried to keep myself from attacking him. “Well fuck you. Because I’m never going back. And if I ever seen you again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Breckin snorted and shrugged. “That’s fair. But you don’t get it. You didn’t go to some other place. You just saw what’s really here. What’s really everywhere around us. Those things that are after you? They can’t kill your physical body, no. But when you slip back across the veil, most likely they’ll be waiting. And you better figure out fast how to get away or get back, or they’re going to…well, I don’t know exactly what they’ll do if they catch you, but my advice is to not find out.” He chuckled. “It’s advice that has served me well over the years.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going back or ‘across the veil’ again or whatever. I’m done. And if you ever try to find me and dose me again, I’m not joking. I will kill you.”

The man leaned back in his chair with a disappointed sigh. “You know why you’re not yelling for a stewardess right now? Calling for a cop or an air marshal? Because you know I’m telling you the truth, and you know there’s nothing you can do about it. Even if you could convince them I did something to your water or injected you in the leg to wake you up, it wouldn’t help you. Because what you experienced was real.” His eyes were almost seemed sad as he glanced back in my direction. “I bet you know another truth too. I bet you can feel it the same way I did after my first time.”

I leaned back, my lips trembling. “I don’t need another dose, do I?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It was a refinement of my private brew I didn’t foresee. When I fell away the first time, it changed me forever, and for months I took it as a blessing that I would sometimes find myself back in that strange and wonderful place, the world behind the world, I call it. I even got where I can control it sometimes, but only to fall away when I want.” Breckin rubbed his face. “I haven’t found a way to stop it from happening at other times, and when I go now, those things are always after me.” He gestured to me. “Unless, of course, they’re off running down another rabbit.”

There was no question. He was right, it did change you in some ways. And there was no question that he was telling me the truth, horrible as it was, as some part of me already knew it before he said it. There was a doom circling me now, looking out at me from behind the world, waiting for me to come back within its grasp.

“You motherfucker.”

Breckin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I know, I know. And I am sorry. You seem like a good kid. But I’ve been having to do this periodically for over three years, and I’ve learned I can’t be picky on who I dose. Targets of opportunity and all that.”

“I’ll kill you.”

The man shrugged. “You could, but I think you know it won’t help with your problem. Our problem. If anything, you’d just be getting rid of another rabbit for them to chase.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know what happens when we die, but I’m pretty sure we don’t stay here. On this side or the other.”

Slumping into my seat, every breath felt like an effort. It was probably my imagination, but it was almost like I could feel those things close by, watching us hungrily. “What am I supposed to do?”

Breckin shrugged again. “Live your life. Practice moving when you’re over there. It’s different, not physical, but you can move around if you can understand how. It’s hard to explain. But it’s also helped me stay alive a few times when they got too close.”

I glared at him. “Maybe they’ll just go after your ass again now. Or split up to get both of us.”

He smiled thinly. “Always a chance, but they seem to like fresh meat. It excites them. They never forget about me, but they don’t tend to turn down a run on a new rabbit.” Breckin glanced up toward the stewardess at the front of the aisle. “Well, looks like we’re finally getting off.” He stood up and grabbed a small bag from the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him. Pausing, he looked back down at where I was staring at him bleakly from my seat. “It really was nice meeting you, Jordan. And I am sorry.” He sighed. “For all my big talk, I’m still scared. Scared of dying on this side. Scared of what they might do to me on the other.”

When I just looked at him, he went on awkwardly. “Stay hydrated and take Vitamin D supplements. Both of those can reduce the frequency of falling away, don’t ask me why. And don’t give up. I’ve survived it for this long, and for the first few months it was just by getting away from them. And who know, you may be better at it than I am.”

I felt my cheek jump slightly. “Why’d you stop?”

Breckin frowned. “Stop what?”

“Stop just…running from them when you went over. If you’re so sorry for fucking over other people by using them as bait or distractions or whatever, why didn’t you just keep running away from them instead?”

His cheeks turned red as he glanced away, stepping forward a bit as another passenger moved past him. “I…I could tell they were getting smarter. Or better at knowing what I was going to do. Where I was going to go. I kept having to go farther and farther, faster and longer each time, and even over there it takes a toll on you. And no matter where you go over there, you still come back over here to wherever you left your body. The farther away you were, the harder it is here too. The last time I ran far…the last time before I started using other people as distractions, I was in a coma for nearly a week.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t take that chance again.”

I wanted to ask more, but he was already edging back into the aisle. He met my eyes one last time. “Sorry again, Jordan. Sorry for…well, for waking you.”

And then he was gone.

 

---

Credits

Passenger

  

An unlucky driver is taken for a wild ride by otherworldy forces...

It was a chilly, dreary day, and my 'check engine' light was on.

I frowned. Since I'd walked out of that fast food place along with the rest of my shift, driving had become my only source of income. If it broke down, I was screwed.

Not that I was getting much work. The miserable rain was keeping people indoors, away from all the bars and restaurants that were my usual source of drunks and cheating spouses in need of a ride.

My phone pinged. A job? I checked the location. Whoever this was, they needed a ride into town from the middle of nowhere. I must've passed by that spot a million times; there was nothing out there but leafless trees and abandoned factories. My frown deepened.

I looked in the mirror. Between the weather and the month-long abstinence challenge I'd accepted--mostly to forget about my precarious work situation--my expression was turning into a permanent scowl. I sighed and turned out of the parking lot, on my way to a random spot on the side of a state route.

As expected, there was no one waiting for me: just an empty black road, a rainy gray sky, and dead brown leaves as far as the eye could see. Parked in a gravel pulloff, I checked my phone again. There had to be some mistake.

Nothing moved outside my foggy windows. I was starting to get a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd seen plenty of videos of drivers being lured out to remote locations and robbed--just what I needed, I thought. I sent another polite but irritated message to my passenger.

When I looked up from my phone, I saw two people standing just a few feet away from my car. I jumped. Where had they come from? The first was a frat boy in a blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and salmon shorts and loafers: clothes for a well-heated downtown bar, not the side of the road. It was hard to tell anything about his companion, covered in so many layers of baggy clothes, hood up, face hidden.

"C-can we come in?" The frat boy asked. He looked pale and drained; his teeth chattered.

"...Uhm." I grunted. "Yeah. That's what I'm here for, isn't i--"

It happened faster than blinking. The frat boy's companion threw him aside like a bag of trash and whipped into my backseat. The frat boy himself scrambled to his feet. He mumbled to himself as he ran woozily through the trees. In the back of my car, the darkness and silence deepened.

"I hate this time of year," came the voice from my backseat. It was as sweet and melodic as a pop star's, but with something unnerving rumbling beneath it. I heard the sound of scarves, jackets, and other layers being shed. Unable to see anything in the fogged-up rearview, I moved to--

"Don't turn around!" My passenger commanded. I did as I was told, looking at my phone, I noticed the 'ping' was getting further away. The fratboy. If he had been my supposed pickup...then what was in my car?

"Umm…" I began. My tongue felt sticky. The interior of my car was like a sauna. It was hard to think clearly.

"Oh, what?" The voice in back pouted. "You want money? Here, you got it." My passenger threw a skinny leather wallet onto the seat beside me. It looked exactly like the kind a fratboy might have. "Now let's just sit here for a bit. Relax. We all need to relax, right? Especially this time of year. It's so lonesome. Aren't you lonely?"

"Uhm." I grunted again. Now that I'd been asked, yes, I did feel lonely. I'd sworn off dating apps for the month and the only conversations I had were superficial exchanges with passengers. The days all blended into each other, as gray and featureless as the November sky overhead.

"Of course you are," the voice from the backseat cooed. "Don't you miss the warmth of a tender, intimate touch?"

"I mean, I guess," I gulped, "but look, who are y--"

I felt two fingers on my throat. The touch was warm and intimate, so much so that my hair--and everything else--suddenly stood on end. Although there was a current like electricity coursing through my veins and I could feel the throbbing of my heart, the animal part of my brain screamed danger. It screamed that just two fingers shouldn't be long or wide enough to coil around my whole neck. Human fingers didn't have so many joints or the texture of talons.

"I can make you feel even better…" my passenger was so close that I could feel the warmth and moisture of their breath in my ear. I was still struggling to process what was happening when they lay their neck on my shoulder. If only it had stopped there. Instead, the neck slithered down my chest like a hungry anaconda. The next thing I heard was the sound of teeth unzipping my jeans.

The wave of pleasure swept through my worn-out brain like a tornado through a trailer park. Its roar drowned out my fear, my reason, and even my self-awareness. It was like dying and being reborn a thousand times per second.

When I finally came back into this dull reality and my wasted body, I no longer felt my passenger's touch. I felt empty, like I'd been drained of something that I could never get back.

Compared to the overwhelming sensation I'd just experienced, nothing else in life had any meaning at all.

I had to have more.

I tried to twist in my seat, but I was as weak as a shipwreck survivor. In the mirror, I saw a girl.

The perfect girl.

And as our eyes met I felt sure that if I were gay, I'd be looking at the perfect man; if I had any fetishes, they'd be embodied in the thing sitting in my backseat. Instead, the girl--who looked like a combination of my high school crush, my favorite actress, and (uncomfortably enough) my Aunt Karen--smoothed out a sundress over her tanned athletic legs and flashed a winning smile.

"S-s-so," I finally managed to stammer. "Where to?"

"Anywhere with people. Campus, maybe." When she spoke, the fear came flooding back: that voice that didn't belong to the body it came out of. "Now that I've got enough energy to change form, it doesn't really matter." My passenger shrugged, leaned back, and looked out the window. Without blinking once.

Barely noticing where I was going, I drove to a spot by the university with a lot of clubs and bars.

“Here.” My passenger ordered. I pulled up to the curb. The knot of fear and desire in my gut made me grip the wheel until my knuckles went white. The door opened and closed faster than I could react, which was probably for the best. Outside the foggy window, my ex-passenger smiled at a pair of students crossing the windy quad. They looked at each other, grinned, and waved back.

I'm sure they didn't notice that the thing that crossed the dead grass to walk with them had moved impossibly fast. I wondered what it looked like to each of them. It started to rain again and the three figures disappeared beneath a dorm awning.

I haven't turned off my work app since then. Every time I get a job, my heart pounds with the hope that we'll meet again--it's the only thing that keeps me going, and that terrifies me.

Maybe this is a warning. To trust your gut. To be careful around anything too perfect or too strange. Or maybe it's just a way to pass the time…

Until we meet again.

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Credits

I Thanked The Man Who Murdered My Only Friend

  

I am not a social man, and I have had few friends in my life. Sal, the bartender at my favorite pub, was one the select few in my inner-circle. I know what you’re thinking: he’s a bartender, he HAS to be friendly to get a good tip. You’re wrong, it goes beyond that. I’d known Sal for over 25 years, and sat across from him at the bar almost every day since we met. When I got married, Sal was my best man. When my wife threw me out, it’s at Sal’s home that I stayed. When she took full custody of my daughter, it was Sal who consoled me. He was a good friend, always willing to listen to me and give me advice, like any bartender would. Unlike the other ‘tenders; however, Sal actually cared.

 

Now, Sal was a very private man with a rather quiet demeanor. That said, on the few occasions where he chose to let loose, he talked a LOT. Sal had a way of capturing the attention of everyone in the room. This might sound a bit clichéd, but he’d regale us with stories of his youth. He told us about his cross-country trips, his overseas adventures, his mishaps, and his entertaining anecdotes. When he spoke, his audience sat on the edges of their seats, hanging on his every word as he gave them the juicy details of his endless tales. He was old now, and couldn't travel quite as often. He didn't seem to mind: he always had a smile on his face and a cheerful attitude that brightened the mood of everyone he came across.

 

One evening, as I was enjoying a drink, I noticed a man in a booth staring at Sal from across the room. At my angle, I could barely make out his short and spiky raven hair. I pointed him out to Sal, and he told me he’d been coming in every night that week, never ordering anything. Sal, being the big softie that he was, couldn't bring himself to kick the guy out. Considering I went to the pub every night, I was surprised I hadn't seen the stranger until that evening. I was probably too drunk to notice.

 

Later that night, after drinking one too many drinks---as I tended to do all too often, according to my ex-wife--- I passed out across a row of chairs. Sal trusted me enough to leave me there, even after closing time. I woke up long before dawn, and made my way through the dimly-lit bar to the backdoor, which could only be opened from the inside. This wasn't my first time taking a snooze alone in the bar, so I knew my way around well enough not to run into any of the tables on my way out.

 

As I opened the door to the back alley, I heard what sounded like applause, but it turned out to be the sound of three dozen crows taking flight. They hovered above the cold alleyway for a few moments, and then landed on and around the leaky dumpster in the front. I jumped when I saw the damned birds. I'm not afraid of crows, mind you. I even feed the ones at work during lunch. They startled me, is all. A hunter’s moon peeked through the clouds and illuminated the scene: there was someone standing on the other side of the dumpster, in the forest of crows. It was the man I had seen earlier that night. He had his back turned to me, wearing a black trench coat and boots laced with multiple buckles. There was a large crow perched on his shoulder. Something was odd about his back: a bulky mass moved under his coat, causing it to shift around like curtains in the breeze.

 

The dumpster smelled particularly putrid tonight, I thought. I glanced at the stranger, who stood between me and the street. I moved towards him and saw that his crow was chewing on something. At first, I thought it was a gummi worm, but as I approached, I realized it was much darker and oozed crimson blood onto the cold, wet pavement. Then, I saw Sal. He lay on the ground, his body ripped open, serving as a buffet for the hungry crows to feast on. They pecked at his innards, taking turns chewing on his softer organs. I could hear the crunching sounds as they broke apart his bones with their abnormally strong beaks. Bringing a hand to my mouth, I emitted an audible gasp. The sound caught the stranger’s attention, and he slowly turned to face me. His golden, serpentine eyes reminded me of headlights. Something in his left hand gleamed in the moonlight: it was a short silver dagger, the edge covered in liquid that belonged in my friend's veins.

 

I should have been terrified…angry…sad…but…I felt strangely calm. My eyes were transfixed on the surreal scene and the man at the center of it all. Though he held a weapon, and though he had used that weapon to murder my friend, I did not feel as though I was in any danger. The man gave me the quiet smile of a Grecian statue, projecting calmness despite the feeding frenzy at his feet. His footsteps echoed down the narrow alley as he made his way towards me. My heart thumped hard in my chest. Paralysed with fear or disbelief, I watched him outstretch a hand to my face, with a gentle elegance seldom attributed to the male gender. The crow on his shoulder tilted its head as its master scraped his long black nails against my cheek. I felt a faint stinging sensation, no worse than that of a paper cut. The man gave me an amused hum as he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted a few drops of my blood.

 

I'm not sure how long it took me to snap out of the shock, but when I finally did, I looked towards Sal’s final resting place, and saw that there was nothing left of my old friend, not even a drop of blood. The stranger turned his back to me, and a sudden flood of adrenaline compelled me to grab a wooden plank from the floor. I threw myself towards the man, but stopped all of a sudden, when his trench coat slid off. Two massive black wings clutched to his back like climbing vines. Black veins lead to and from the appendages, which flared out with a sound similar to that of an unfurling sail. The man gave me one final look, and spoke to me in a deep, booming voice. "You’ll thank me one day.", he said. With that, the crows took flight, and the man disappeared. I was left alone in the alleyway as the sun rose: no evidence of the man, his crows, or my dead friend.

 

I tried going to the cops, but what could I tell them? I sat in front of the police station, going over the facts in my mind. They’d never believe that some sort of…crow-demon and his army of minions ate Sal. I ultimately chose inaction, hoping I’d merely suffered a booze-induced nightmare. It was no nightmare: Sal was reported missing by the pub’s owner a few days later. An investigation began, and what the police uncovered shocked even me, who had seen a guy get eaten by a flock of crows. They found evidence linking Sal to no less than 15 cases of missing children. He had kept trophies of their remains hidden in a safe under his bed. Then it hit me: the reason for Sal’s frequent trips in his youth. He’d been doing the wretched deed far from home so he wouldn't get caught.

 

This may sound weird, but I am still grateful for Sal’s friendship. As I explained earlier, I'm not a very social man. When you get to be over 20, it becomes a lot harder to meet people outside of work, and the friends you do have tend to drift away. Sal helped me through tough times, and I’ll always be thankful for his friendship. I still mourn him…not…the bad parts. I mourn the loss of the man I thought he was. It may seem strange to you…but that’s how I feel. These days, I've stopped drinking. I haven’t set foot in that pub since the day Sal died. My ex and I even got back together. I get to see my kid every day, and that is the greatest gift of all. I guess in a way, losing Sal was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

 

On my way home from work yesterday, I saw a crow with familiar snake eyes gleaming like headlights. He gave me a knowing nod, and I knew we understood one another. Among the horrific things found in Sal’s home, they had retrieved a fully-packed duffel bag, a single one-way ticket to Mexico for the day after he was killed, and hundreds of photos of my wife and daughter. The crow man saved them. And that, my friends, is why I smiled to that crow and uttered two simple words: "Thank you."

 

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Credits

I Was Called in To Investigate a Campers Murder in 1983

 

I suppose its about time I told this story. I'm not getting any younger and I think its a story that needs to be passed on, considering the state of the world. This was in my early days at the DNR, thats the department of natural resources of course, in a unit jokingly called the Night Stalker Unit. It was our job to deal with the cases deemed CZE, thats classified zoological entities. Anything found in the natural world that requires special care and diplomatic contingencies. Dogmen, sasquatch, merfolk, any of those entities which defy scientific conventions, display an intelligence similar to our own, or present a formidable threat to our species which requires a high level of discretion and tact on our part. If someone has an encounter with a CZE, thats not something we look into, other than to make sure they haven't gathered any evidence that might compromise the CZE's privacy. What concerns us are the cases of negative contact. If a company is attempting to develop an area which is causing distress to the local CZE population, if one or more hunters have been attempting to catch or kill a CZE, if a family or town has been targeted by one or more CZEs in a dangerous way, or, as was the case I will describe here, someone turned up dead in an apparent attack by a CZE.

This case happened in 83', back when I was still a greenhorn working under Conner Duncliff, my mentor and a legend in the Parks and Wildlife crowd. We were called out to a park area known as the Land Between the Lakes, over by Kentucky and Tennessee. This was a fairly popular area for hunting, hiking and camping. It was before the big summer rush that a family had parked their RV in the campground located in the northern part of the area to begin what would have been a perfect family summer camping trip. What they got instead was a nightmare beyond anything they thought was possible.

The report came to us about 8 hours after a local had found the family dead. By then, the local police and Park Rangers had gone over the whole terrible scene. The family had been butchered, ripped to shreds by either a wild animal or an axe murderer they didn't know, which is how it ended up on our desk. Conner and I went to the scene and tried to smooth things over with the locals, get them busy with crowd control and patroling. Anything to minimize the trauma they would experience having to process a scene like this.

The campsite looked like the killing floor of a slaughterhouse. The father was laying just outside the door of the camper, split down the middle. The shotgun at his side had only been fired once and based on the evidence hadn't managed to hit anything but dirt. Inside the camper, the little boy was in peices all around the main living area. He couldn't have been a day over 11. Further in the back we found the mother, in the bathroom at the rear of the camper. The door to the bathroom had been torn off the hinges and crushed like a tin can. We found defensive wounds on her, so she had tried to put up a fight at least. Conner was the one who noticed there were clothes and dolls for a young girl in the camper as well. We searched the area, hoping and praying that she got away and hid somewhere. We found her not 40 yards away, 20 feet up in a pine tree, torn apart and stuck there on a branch the way shrikes will stick bugs on a black thorn.

I had never seen something so terrible before. Conner looked like he was about to faint or lose his lunch. I'd never seen him so mad. After we had both gathered ourselves, we started in on the case. All evidence pointed to a Dogman attack, what we called a Black Dog case at the DNR. The father had been drawn out, most likely by a noise or a tap on the camper. Once he was dispatched the mother and children barricaded themselves in the bathroom and the CZE tore the door off, killed the mother and proceeded to drag the children out to be slaughtered. Conner was convinced there had been more than one, which meant this wasn't a rouge loner and meant this was a serious threat to the people in the area. Something had to be done and I had no idea what that might mean. 

After we made sure the teams had everything under control, we went back to the motel we had rented in the area. I remember Conner spending most of the night on the terrace outside, smoking like a chimney and looking like he was considering something truly unpleasent. The next morning I couldn't be sure he had ever managed to sleep but he looked at me hard and told me there was a way this could be fixed if I had the courage and was sure I wanted it fixed. I told him I'd do anything to make things right for that family and he nodded with a condemned expression.

He told me to go and fetch supplies for a camping trip, for at least 3 or 4 days. We had tents and lights and things like that in the truck, so I got food and water and other nesseccities. When I got back I saw he had a bag of evidence taken from the scene. When I started to ask about it he just nodded and checked the supplies. 

We drove further north into Kentucky, deep into the country where the road turned to gravel and gravel to dirt. We seemed to be following an old logging road. When we came to a fence marked protected land we left the truck and hiked deeper into the woods for most of the day. On the way I noticed Conner picking prarie sage by the hand full and stowing it in a bag. We had brought a bow and a few arrows and Conner told me to keep an eye out for any game we could bring down. I spotted a decent sized jack rabbit and we managed to bag it, even though I wasn't much of a bow hunter. It was nearly night when we reached a spot flat and open enough to set up on. 

Once camp was set up and he got a fire going, he tossed in a handful of the sage he'd collected. The green leaves created an acrid heavy smoke that permiated the area. It reminded me of my grandmother, who used to burn sage around her house all the time. I asked him if I should clean up the rabbit to make us some food but he said the rabbit wasn't for us. I had been running through different explinations for what we were out there to do but nothing made enough sense so I finally had to ask. Conner looked up at the red orange fading light and drew in a deep breath.

What we're here to do, he said, is something we do not do lightly. I haven't done it in goin on 20 years now, and I don't suppose I'll ever need to do it again. It was taught to me by my grandfather and his grandfather before him, and before him the indians who were either taught by their grandfathers or came up with it on their own. You know that the creatures who were responsible for that horror back at the park, they've been around longer than any of us, before the settlers, before the indians. Our relationship with them has changed throughout our shared history. Sometimes they would have the upper hand and we'd live in fear of the woods, or we'd have the upper hand and they'd be forced back deeper to keep away from our guns and machines. As you know, they are highly intellegent, on a different level than we are I suppose. I believe they were a sort of evolutionary cross road where the human race split between the thinking society and the primal tribes. They evolved along a different path, a more natural path you might say. They may not be able to speak our language or build cities like we can, but they are just as sharp, just as observant and adaptive as we are, perhaps even more so, seeing as how they don't have language or histories cluttering up their thinking. The point is, they are not animals in the way wolves or bears are to us. Evolutionarily speaking they are on the same level as we are and because of this we have to consider our relationship with them diplomatically. We don't want to live in fear of them, and they want to be left alone. To maintain this peace, the ancient humans had devised a line of contact between us, in the event of some unacceptable event. A way of reaching out and making peaceful contact. 

Obviosly, this is not something either side enjoys in any sense. The Dogmen have cultivated a powerful distrust of humans over the centuries, and I can't say I blame them for that. They respect us as a threat, but they dispise us as a species. This of course is not true of all of them. Like us, there are some among them more prone to peace and coexistence just as there are others who would wipe us out given the chance. That is why this contact is extremely risky for us.

I remember feeling distant, like what he was saying was bouncing around in my head and I couldn't get a hold of it. Was he seriously telling me we were about to meet with one of the Dogmen? A whole pack of them even? For what? To talk to them? Ask for their help? I just sat like a statue as he talked and threw more sage on the fire. 

The ritual, which is what my granddaddy called it, was to be followed to the letter. The meeting place is deeper into the woods and we were to bring no tools or weapons or even clothes. Nothing but the offering and the evidence. This would put us completely at their mercy, which is the only way they would let us get close. That was the first thing to land in my mind. No weapons? No clothes? I thought he might be trying to kid me but when I looked at his face I could see he wasn't just serious, he was scared. To see a man like Conner in terror was something I'll never forget. He tossed another clutch of sage on the fire and gestured to it. The sage burning, he said, was part of the ritual. The indians believed it would ward off evil spirits in the area. My grandaddy had a different idea what it was. He called it an olfactory beacon of sorts. A strong smell to get their attention and one they associate with the contact ritual, letting them know we would be attempting contact. He lifted a branch of the sage to his nose before tossing it into the fire.

We waited until the moon was high and the path was lit enough for us to walk in the dark. I was staring up at the moon through my tent wall when Conner called to me and said it was time. I felt my stomach do a gymnastics routine and crawled out to see the fire was out and Conner was already completely bare. I took off my clothes numbly and went to join him. I'd never felt so vulnerable as I did standing in that dark wood, naked and shivering. It wasn't cold but I imagine I could have been mistaken for a eunich I was so nervous. I grabbed the rabbit we'd killed and sort of clutched it to my chest, trying to feel less naked. Before we set out, Conner grabbed a handful of the ashes from the fire and held it out, blowing a puff of soot over me before tossing the rest on himself.

We walked and we walked. It seemed like we had walked until I was sure the sun would be coming up. Up until now the forest had been wet with sound. Birds in the trees, bugs chirping and whirring. The whole orcestra of nature. But at some point everything went quiet as a church hall. It was like someone found the volume knob on the woods and turned it off. I hesitated for a moment until I remembered Conners instructions. Walk steady and calm, keep your eyes on the path, pay no mind to anything you might see or hear, and most importantly you were not to look at anything if it should look at you. As we walked the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the crunch of leaves beneath us. Until I started to hear something moving in the woods to our left. Something big. I kept my eyes forward as the sound trailed us, matching our pace. Then came a sound to our right, a deep, low, guteral, growl that made every thing inside you shudder and clench. I had heard the researchers mention infrasound, a sort of low frequency sound that can cause anxiety and feelings of dread in people. They said it could be detected in a tiger's roar and that our reaction to it might be tied to our ancestral fears. Maybe it wasn't tigers they were worried about after all. Either way, being there in the dark, with nothing between them and us, I can't begin to decribe the terror I felt. 

As we walked, the two at our sides kept abreast of us. One of them jumped onto the path behind us and let out another growl that made my teeth vibrate before charging us. I could hear the crash of the leaves, feel the thuds of its feet hitting the dirt not two feet behind me. It took everything within me not to spin around and bolt for the woodline, screaming and pissing myself. I heard it slide to a stop and felt the dirt and sticks it kicked up bounce off my calves but I just kept walking and Conner did the same. I couldn't feel my body anymore but I just focused all my sanity on walking and looking stright ahead.

When Conner finally stopped, we had come to a clearing. The grass and prairie sage was a bright silver in the moonlight which was so strong it looked to be daytime. For a moment we just stood, the forest was still and silent as a graveyard. Then I caught a glimpse of eyes reflecting the moonlight in the bushes ahead of us. 

A large shape emerged from the forest in front of us. It crawled forward on all fours, its black fur seeming to absorb all light. A living silhouette with two glowing pearls where its eyes should be. Two others emerged along side it like bodyguards, one of them looked like spun silver in the moonlight and its eyes held a spark like amber when you rub it against wool. The other had patches of black and eyes that glowed like the dying cinders of an old bonfire.  I almost broke my composure when I felt hot breath on the back of my legs and heard a snuffling. I twitched involuntarily and the thing let out another low warning growl before touching its cold nose to my backside as it sniffed and circled me. Another black shape was circling Conner as well and I couldn't see his face but something about his calm demenor settled the thundering in my ears. The dogman circling me growled again and tried to look up into my eyes and I looked away quickly, dodging its stare like a nervous kid being confronted by an angry policeman. It lunged at me and I heard the snap of its teeth and felt the rush of air as it bit the air in front of my crotch, sending an shudder through me that made me glad I had emptied my bladder before leaving.

The large black dogman eyed us for a moment before shifting. Something inside it popped like a twig being snapped in a wet towel and it slowly rose onto two legs. The other two followed suit. The two at its sides had to be 7 or 8 feet tall, but the black one had to be closer to 10 feet. I had never seen something so massive so close before. It almost blacked out the moon over us. Conner looked at me and made a gesture to the rabbit I held. I felt like I was in a slow motion terror dream and my body wouldn't respond. A low growl behind me snapped me out of it and I stepped forward.

I could feel the eyes on me like hot pokers held inches from my skin, waiting for an excuse to close the gap. I laid the rabbit at the feet of the largest, stepping into its shadow that seemed to be an extention of itself, as though I might be stepping into a vast open mouth. A snort came from high above me and I felt a snuffling at my hair. To my absolute horror a nose entered my feild of vision, then a muzzle, then the bright bioluminecent pearls of its eyes. Something left me in that moment, like it had reached into me and taken something, what it was I couldn't be sure. I looked away from those points of light in the black mass before me with great difficulty. Then I stepped back, carefully moving to Conner's side once again.

The largest sniffed at the rabbit before making a gesture to one of the attendents, who grabbed the hare in one hand. It looked like a gorrilla holding a kitten, even though I thought the rabbit had been quite large for its species. It disappeared into the woods and Conner took the bag of evidence from under his arm. He began to pull objects out and laid them on the ground before him. There was a peice of bloodied cloth, a wedding band stained black with blood, a child's shoe, and finally a lock of golden hair. The alpha sniffed at the items intently, growling low as it got to the hair. It stood at its full height and watched Conner as he pulled the last items from the bag. A clutch of fur found in the father's hand, saliva samples taken from the bodies, and small vial of urine soaked dirt taken near the site. The alpha sniffed at these items and snorted before grunting and standing. It growled deeply for a moment before turning to disappear into the dark with a brief step, covering the distance to the trees like a cloud passing in front of the moon. The others soon followed, looking back at us with low warning growls.

After they had gone, Conner and I just stood in shock until the sounds of the forest returned as quickly as they had gone. A great weight seemed to lift off me and I felt like I might pass out. Conner took a long breath in and let it out slow, shaking just the smallest bit. He looked at me and grinned. I think she likes you, he said and I almost fell over at that, my knees buckling slightly. 

The trip back to the camp seemed to happen in double time, like someone rewinding a tape. Once we found the lanturns, Conner and I pulled on our clothes and climbed into our tents without a word. I felt like I might never sleep again, my heart still thudding in my ears, but I ended up falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next few days were spent camping and waiting. Conner had told me we had to stay in the area until we had gotten some indication that they had done something about our mutual problem. He told me about his first time performing the ritual of contact. It hadn't been here, though he said he had contacted this pack before. This was apparently something done all over the country. The ritual changes slightly in certain areas but the purpose was the same. On the third night we heard far off howling, deep and piercing even at a distance. It sounded the way a coyote pack will sing in chorus, all baying and howling and yipping at different volumes and intervals. The next morning we found, laid on the ground before our campfire, three massive clawed hands severed at the wrist and lined up. Conner smiled when he saw it. Looks like they took care of it, he'd said, lifting one to examine it. He handed one to me and it felt heavier than it looked, like holding a gun for the first time. The one hand was bigger than both my hands together and the long claws at the end of each finger had to be 5 inches and retracted slightly. The fur on each was a different color and each one was clearly a left hand. Conner dropped each into a seperate bag and said the lab boys would be over the moon about these. They tended to collect their dead fairly religiously so remains are difficult to come by. 

And then we packed up and went. We hadn't heard of any further activity in the area and we told everyone we were authorized to tell that the situation was resolved and we had performed a highly successful contact. After that I felt a bit like a celebrity at the DNR. It was something I'll never forget and something I wouldn't considering doing again unless the situation was dire. Although, with the reports we've been getting lately, it might be something we won't be able to do at all anymore very soon. We don't know why they've been becoming more active and aggressive lately but it certainly makes the continued peace between us more and more unreliable. What that means for the future, I can only fear the worst.

 

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Credits