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shmorp-mcdurgen · 6 months

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Home Sweet Home AU: Shepherd's Tone

(TW: Religious Trauma, blood/gore/injury, animal death, body/face horror, unhealthy friendships/familial issues.)

"I can't make myself look at it. but She needs me to see what I have done.

Like a deer in headlights, I can see what is coming for me."

Word count: 10'586

Notes: Not much to say for this one. just heed the warnings and enjoy :)

Mark had been staring at his bedroom ceiling for around an hour. His blanket had fallen off of his messy bed a while ago, leaving him exposed to the cool air of the room around him, though he didn’t once attempt to lean over and pick it back up. His eyes blankly stared upward as he laid in the dark, seeing the dim light from downstairs shining from the stairs and barely illuminating the cracked open door leading out of his room. He remained still, taking in a deep breath as he continued to hear the words from the living room underneath him.

He couldn’t make out any proper words of course, considering the floor between him and his parents’ conversation dampened the noise enough to make what they were saying sound muffled and barely decipherable, though Mark couldn’t help but feel his heart wrench whenever he made out the few words his brain was able to process. “Mark,” “help,” “therapy,” and “Wrong” were among them, though Mark could tell by the aggravated and worried tones of their voices that there was more to it than just that. Were they aware Mark could hear them? Or were they just oblivious, hoping the son they were talking about wouldn’t notice and they could simply go back to pretending nothing bad is going on in the morning. Either option made Mark feel sick in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if tears would come out first, or if the urge to scream and shout at them about how he felt would beat it.

Mark chose to cry.

August 12th, 1992. 2:13 AM

Mark was quiet as he walked out of his room, carefully approaching the stairway as he clutched the single remaining strap of his worn out backpack. He quietly walked down the stairs, soon finding himself in the living room as he looked around, pointing his flashlight around the room as an attempt not to use the main light and blow his cover. He let out a soft breath when he saw nothing there before he quickly approached the front door, opening it before leaving the house, locking the door with his spare key before he ran towards his car.

It had been nearly an hour since he heard his parents stop talking and go to bed, yet he could still feel tears trying to fall down his cheeks as he swung open the car door and hopped inside, tossing his bag into the passenger seat. He took in a deep, shaky breath before he started the car, wincing at the sound of the engine starting up and the lights flicking on and shining brightly on the front of the house. As soon as he heard the loud sound and saw the bright lights, he muttered curses to himself, all before he backed out of the driveway as quickly as he could and drove down the road.

He had done this before; multiple times in fact, though his heart still pounded with something he figured was his anxiety creeping up on him, or the frustration he felt deep inside. They didn’t understand, and Mark doubted they would ever understand him, with his father especially feeling as though he didn’t believe a single word Mark said. Mark glanced at his radio, turning up the volume as he drove down the road, his headlights illuminating the nearby forest that ran down both sides of the asphalt. As he listened to the music, he tried nervously humming along, grasping his steering wheel even tighter.

He prayed for a sign that night, just a single sign from God himself to let him know he wasn’t going out of his fucking mind. However, all of his prayers remained unanswered, making his increasing dread in his chest all the worse as the days turned into months. He didn’t even notice that tears were forming in his eyes, nor did he understand why that was the case as they ran down his acne-ridden cheeks. Why? Why him? Why did he of all people have to have this happen to him? He can’t handle this kind of stress, with the fact that no one believed him making everything feel like an unbearable weight on his shoulders. No, he wasn’t losing touch with God, like Arthur seemed to think; if anything, it felt like God was losing touch with him.

Mark felt his knuckles ache with the amount of force he was applying to the worn leather steering wheel, jaw clenched and shoulders tight. Why did Cesar’s House have to be so far away? Why did his parents choose a house outside of town? His drive to school was 45 minutes long, maybe even longer if it’s icy out. God fucking damn it, was it always this fucking cold in the car? Was the shirt he was wearing always that scratchy? Oh God, he couldn’t just hold himself together for five minutes? Why was he crying so damn much? Why was the music louder than he set it at? Why was everything SO FUCKING LOUD-?

A deer was in the road in front of him.

Mark snapped out of his thinking to grab the wheel, swinging it to the side the best he could, though it appeared to be a tad too late. His car slammed against the deer, his wheels screeching against the asphalt as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. He froze, his breathing frantic and his mind blank as he shut off his radio and leaned back in his seat, muttering various curses under his breath as he tried to process what just happened. He took in a few deep, shaky breaths before he hesitantly reached for the door’s handle, stepping outside and into the dark road.

“Don’t be alive, don’t be alive, please don’t be alive…” Mark muttered under his breath, clasping his necklace in his hand as he walked In front of his car, seeing the smear of blood and chunks of fur stuck in the grill. “O-Oh…God…” He could only hope the deer died on impact, with the thought he was going to see a half maimed, yet still living animal In front of him making him feel nauseous. He walked through the headlights beams, looking behind the car to see the deer on the side of the road, somewhat lit up by the taillights of the vehicle. Mark took in a deep breath, hesitating before walking towards what looked like a corpse. As he got closer, he fought off the urge to gag at the sight of the large gash on the side of the deer, with its ribs buckled in. Mark was at least glad to see that it appeared to be dead, with its one remaining right antler dug in the dirt by the road and its eyes glazed over. Mark stepped back, staring at the animal as his body shook, still recovering from the shock of the accident. He forced himself to take in a breath, preparing to turn back and continue his drive.

He froze, however, when he began to hear the deer making noise.

He turned back, seeing the deer’s head tilting upward, its vocalizations sounding close to an elk, though choked and gurgling. It groaned and let out bellows as Mark stared at it with horror, with its sounds becoming less natural as the seconds ticked by. It sounded as if it was attempting to speak with vocal chords it didn’t have, sounding out certain parts of words Mark couldn’t identify. M’s, O’s, and Ah sounds came from it; a horrid cascade of animal sounds that were attempting so hard to speak like a human, as if it was so desperate to tell Mark something, but was physically incapable of doing so. It screeched and bellowed, Mark stepping back with every single vocalization until it abruptly stopped. Its head slammed against the dirt as it puked up what appeared to be veins, blood running out of its mouth and onto the cool grass as it became still and silent.

The sounds of the crickets from the woods, along with the sound of the engine running were all the sounds he could hear, with the horrid “speaking” ceasing. Mark stared at the deer, stumbling back as he grasped his necklace, muttering a small prayer under his breath before he ran back to his car and hopped inside, driving away as soon as he shut the door behind him and not looking back.

3:12 AM

Cesar was lying in bed asleep when he heard the knock at his front door. He stirred awake, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to process whether the sound was even real before he heard a more rapid set of knocking, causing him to groan and force himself up. He sat up, rubbing his face as he placed his feet onto the carpet and walked out of his room. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” He stated before hearing more knocks. “Dude, just wait a single minute, jeez…”

He walked into the living room, stepping onto the cold tile in front of the door, wincing slightly at how cold it was before opening the door. He tiredly looked through the doorway before his eyes widened slightly. “…Mark?”

“…H-Hey—”

“Do you know what fucking time it is?”

“Yeah, I…I do.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Cesar questioned. “We have school tomorrow—”

“I…Look I just…n…need to talk.”

Cesar glared at Mark with a tired, blank expression. “…Talk over the phone.” Cesar went to shut the door, being stopped by Mark, who grabbed the door with his hand.

“Wait, please, I…” Mark paused for a second, feeling Cesar’s irritated stare even as he looked away. “…I need to stay here tonight, okay? I…I promise I won’t be trouble.”

Cesar remained silent for a second, seemingly thinking before he let out a deep sigh. He relented, stepping out of the way and opening the door. “…You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s fine.” Mark walked into the home, grasping onto his torn backpack tightly before throwing it onto the couch as Cesar sighed and shut the front door.

“Mama’s gonna ask why you’re here,” Cesar said as he approached the archway that led into the kitchen. “And when she does, just…tell her…”

“I will.”

Cesar turned back before pausing, standing still before muttering something, sounding as though the words got caught in his throat for a second. “Y…You can’t…we can’t keep doing this.”

“…What did you say?” Mark asked, not catching what Cesar said.

Cesar appeared to hesitate before responding. “…I said goodnight, we’ll…talk tomorrow.” With that, Cesar left to go to bed, leaving Mark by himself, not even giving him a blanket or pillow. Mark sat in the dark living room in silence, sitting on the couch as he attempted to stop his hands from shaking so much. He clasped his knees, rubbing the denim of his pants as he stared at the ground in front of him, attempting to think of anything aside from the haunting image of the deer splayed out with gore dripping from its mouth. He laid down on the couch, crossing his arms and resting his head on the arm rest, hoping his sweatshirt and jeans would be enough to keep him warm for the night, not even bothering to take off his shoes before he stared forward, lightly rubbing his metal cross before closing his eyes, deciding to try and get some sleep.

??:??

Mark found himself walking down a damp road, looking up at the starless sky to see that it was completely black; past midnight. He stumbled down the asphalt road, barely able to see much of anything through the darkness around him, only able to make out a faint set of red lights in the distance that slowly got closer as he walked towards it. The closer he got the more he made out the vehicle, with the red lights being its taillights. It looked like his car, though its wheels seemed to have melded to the asphalt, throwing out the option of using the car to drive wherever Mark was going, the answer of which he wasn’t even sure of. He walked around the car, seeing that its headlights were shining forward onto something on the road, being something that made Mark’s stomach churn; the body of a deer.

It writhed on the ground, veins hanging from its rapidly salivating mouth, its ribs broken and legs bent. Its oddly human looking eye stared up at Mark as he approached, its mouth opening and jaw twitching as it let out unholy sounds once again. It sounded closer to human speech than before, it “speaking” urgently through its bellows of pain, though once again the words never reached Mark’s ears.

Mark stepped back away from the deer, listening to its vague “words” before he turned back towards the road, wondering if he could manage to hitchhike home. However, he only walked a few feet before he paused abruptly, and covering his mouth as nausea hit him like a freight train. He hunched over in the middle of the road, attempting to throw up something but being unable to get it out, choking and gagging as he clawed at his throat. Blood began to pour out of his nose and the corners of his mouth as he struggled. He felt something clogging up his throat, making it hard to breathe or even choke out a single yell for help before he finally coughed up whatever was stuck into his hands.

Veins; he could feel their pulse still.

He coughed up blood and viscera onto the asphalt below him, eyes watering and staring in horror as he tried to get it out, but being unsuccessful with every attempt. He stepped back further, hearing a loud pulsing in his head as he did so, panicking as he began to hear faint screams, both from the deer and from other things he couldn’t identify. His breaths were becoming nothing more but pained gurgling and gasps, his throat burning and his insides aching. His sweatshirt was stained a deep crimson from the veins hanging from his agape mouth, and his confusion, deep pain and nausea only grew in intensity before he froze. A loud honk of a horn sounded beside him, with him looking to his left, only to see a set of headlights speeding towards him, hitting his bloodied, trembling form.

He awoke abruptly on the couch, splayed out across it as he took in a breath. Blood had streamed down his face from his nose, staining his face and dripping onto his clothes. He couldn’t even process that he was awake before he covered his mouth, sitting up before scrambling out of the living room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom, promptly puking into the toilet. He threw up what appeared to be deep-red bile, with him being too disoriented to even process it before he leaned away from the toilet, resting his back against the bathroom counter as he stared forward blankly, holding his hand on his chest as he felt around for his necklace, feeling his heart pound when he realized it was no longer there.

He stood up, flushing the toilet before rushing out of the bathroom, looking at the floor to try and find the missing necklace. He reached the living room before he threw around his things in an attempt to find it, only failing to do so and feeling his chest tighten. “No, no no no no no NO—” He muttered frantically before stopping abruptly, staring forward when he finally saw the necklace, seeing that it was dangling off of the top of one of the clock’s carved in “wings”.

Mark paused, staring at the necklace that was slightly swaying from its spot on the edge of the wooden wing as he approached it. He looked up at it, holding his arm up, with it just barely out of reach as he tried to retrieve the golden cross—

GONG.

The sound of the clock made Mark yell and fall backwards, staring up at the clock’s face, holding onto his necklace tightly before he scrambled to his feet, running out of the room and swinging open the front door of the House, not even remembering to grab his backpack as he slammed the door shut and ran to his car, driving away as soon as he started it. As he drove away, he attempted to ignore how he could’ve sworn the “wing” the necklace was hanging off of twitched and shook the necklace off of itself. It was just his imagination, right? He hoped so, anyway.

7:15 AM

Cesar stared at the drops of blood he found on the bathroom floor in silence. He wasn’t sure why they were there, or why they seemed to trail into the hallway as well, though the sight was unnerving enough for him to back out of the room and gently close the door most of the way. Cesar had thrown on a simple black T-shirt with a faded design on it, along with blue jeans, all before opening his bedroom closet and grabbing a plain gray hoodie and his backpack. He walked out of his bedroom, feeling his exhaustion creeping up on him despite him getting a decent night’s sleep, aside from the interruption that made him stay up for 30 more minutes. He walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch with a sigh, attempting to rub the tiredness from his eyes as he waited. He continued to sit in silence for a bit until his mind finally clicked something together: Where was Mark?

Cesar had realized that he hadn’t seen Mark since he woke up, or even heard his mother mention him when they ate breakfast. If nothing else, he should’ve been on the couch, yet he wasn’t. He must’ve gone home early, Cesar supposed, sighing with a tinge of annoyance with the realization that him coming over that early in the morning was therefore pointless. However, as he thought to himself, he glanced down at the ground, pausing as his eyes hit something; Mark’s worn out backpack.

The bag itself was hanging on by a single remaining strap, of which was held by a few frayed threads and some pieces of duct tape. It looked as if Mark hadn’t gotten a new one since he was in middle school, or was simply extremely reckless with it. Either way, Cesar reached towards it, grabbing its strap and, against his better judgment and worry of being caught looking through another’s things, he unzipped it to see its contents.

The first thing he saw was, of course, a pair of clothes, being a worn out shirt and blue jeans, but after pushing them to the side, he saw what was buried underneath them; a bible, a notebook, and a couple pencils. Cesar grabbed the notebook, pulling it out and staring at it for a second. Was he really going to look through someone’s personal journal? His curiosity was killing him, and as his hand absentmindedly reached for the cover, he glanced up at the clock, seeing it was only 7:21. He had time.

9:35 AM

The bells rang in the school’s halls, Mark flinching at the noise as he opened his locker, dumping his books into the rest of the mess in there, stopping things from falling out with his arms before slamming the door shut. He stood still for a moment, looking around at the rest of the students talking and walking to their lockers to get ready for the next class, catching the eye of a couple of them. The eye contact never lasted long it seemed, with the other person looking away as soon as they realized who they’re looking at. Mark didn’t blame them; he knew he wasn’t looking the greatest, and his glare was hard enough to cut glass, though at that point, with how exhausted he was, he couldn’t care less. He just needed to get this school day done with—

“Hey.”

Mark looked to his right, seeing Cesar standing close by, staring at him. Mark sighed, figuring he was going to ask where he went last night, or why he was there to begin with, so preparing to have that conversation, Mark responded, “Hey, look I…I need to stop over again after school, I forgot to grab my b…” Mark’s voice trailed off as he looked down, seeing what was hanging from Cesar’s hand; his backpack. “…bag.”

“Just take it.” Cesar held the bag up to Mark, who hesitantly grasped it and held it close before opening his locker once again.

“…Th…Thanks.” Mark said quietly, coughing before quickly shifting his leg to block off the opening of the locker as a pile of loose papers and books nearly spilled out as he placed the bag on the hook over them.

“Look, do you hate me or not?”

Mark paused at the question, turning towards Cesar with a confused look on his face. He wasn’t sure if he even heard the question right before responding. “…I d…what do you mean?”

“…I…” Cesar appeared to pause for a moment, gesturing vaguely at the backpack before looking up at Mark. “…I read your journal and saw what…you were saying about me.”

Mark stared at Cesar, stepping away from his locker and letting everything fall out onto the ground. “What?”

“I was curious, alright? I shouldn’t have done it but I really just needed to kno—”

“Why did you do that?”

“Look, I—”

Mark stepped forward, staring down at Cesar with a look that could kill. “Why the FUCK did you look in there?” Mark questioned as he grew closer, ignoring the bell that was ringing behind him.

“Dude, calm down!” Cesar said. “…I just don’t get why you can’t just say this shit to my face.”

“What kind of fucking friend are you?”

“What kind of friend are you?” Cesar snapped back. “You talk about me like I’m a piece of shit that doesn’t care about anything but myself!”

Mark stared at Cesar with a rising fury as he continued. “‘He just doesn’t listen to me, he’s ignoring everything I say,’ As if I haven’t been listening to you since we met.” Cesar spat. “If anything, I’m probably the only person that does listen to you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Mark fists clenched.

“Do you hear what you’re saying half of the time?!” Cesar questioned. “You keep saying weird shit then acting like you didn’t say anything right after! I can only handle so much Mark, I can’t keep listening to your ramblings otherwise I’d go insane too—”

Mark clasped onto Cesar’s shoulders and swung him around, slamming him against the lockers as he stared into Cesar’s eyes. Cesar’s half angry, half concerned look turned to fright as Mark’s hands clasped onto his shoulders hard enough to make them sting, thumbs digging into his collar bones and fingernails digging into his skin. Mark stared at Cesar in silence, jaw clenched and nose beginning to bleed before his furious gaze suddenly vanished, with Mark grasp lessening before they both heard something down the hall:

“HEATHCLIFF!”

Mark’s head snapped around, seeing one of the teachers staring at the two as Mark backed away. The teacher appeared furious before she continued; “I expect you to be in the principal’s office by the end of the day.”

Cesar rubbed his sore shoulder before looking at Mark, who was staring at the teacher like a deer in headlights, his hands tense and fingers twitching. Mark glared at Cesar from the side of his eye, clasping his hands together as if he just needed to squeeze something very hard. However, the fury was gone from his stare, replaced with a look of fear, for a reason Cesar was unsure of. Either way, Cesar couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if the teacher didn’t step in, and wondered how close Mark’s hands would’ve gotten to his neck before he stopped.

All Cesar knew was that he could barely even recognize who he was staring at when they made eye contact.

Mark sat outside of the principal’s office, his leg bouncing and his elbows planted on his knees as he stared at the linoleum floor. Every other student had already left, leaving him by himself in a silent hall. He could hear his mother and the principal speaking through the door, only barely muffled by the wall and door itself, allowing him to make out a part of their conversation:

“These outbursts appear to be…getting more common, Mrs. Heathcliff, and I’m simply worried of them getting only more violent if something isn’t done soon.”

“I…I understand that.” Leah stated, her voice soft as usual. “He’s…he’s a good young man, I-I don’t…I don’t know why he would react like that towards a friend, I mean…Cesar and Mark have been joined at the hip since they were children, I don’t understand why he’d suddenly become so…aggressive.”

“I understand your concern. However, if these behaviors continue, then I’m…afraid action will have to be taken.”

“What kind of action?”

“Suspension, to…possible expulsion from the Mandela County school system.”

“…You can’t be serious.” Leah’s voice quivered as she spoke.

“Of course, expulsion is only for extreme measures, and at this point, I don’t believe it will be necessary, though I’m only warning you that behaviors like these can lead to only more problems later on. Have you…spoken to him about this before?”

“…I…suppose not.”

“I’d recommend you start. Your child appears troubled, Ma’am, and I feel the best course of action is consulting his councilor and speaking to him personally. I understand now is…a hard time for everyone, and I’ve seen my fair share of students being put under extreme stress due to these unprecedented events, and I believe Mark is a similar case.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you for coming in today, ma’am. I’m…hoping this will be the last time we have a conversation like this.”

“…I do too.”

Mark waited a little while longer, no longer paying attention as he blankly stared at the ground, all before the door opened beside him and he looked up, only to see his mother’s face staring back at him.

“You alright?” Leah asked softly.

Mark remained silent, the guilty look in his eyes answering for him.

“…I have work in a little while, do you want to come with me?”

Mark looked away for a moment; did he really want to spend the rest of the day at the library? He thought about it before looking back up at his mother’s face, the sad gaze she was giving him making him decide before he nodded in silence. If it made his mom happy, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time finding books to read. If nothing else, it was a quiet environment he could stay in as he recovered from how overwhelmed he felt. Leah smiled softly before Mark stood up, with her standing by Mark’s side as they left the school, finally putting an end to Mark’s horrid school day.

The drive to the library was a silent one, Leah occasionally pointing out things, like stores already putting things up for Halloween despite it being a couple months away, or waving to someone she recognized from church. She talked to Mark, not expecting or needing a response from him, just making sure he was listening by glancing at him every once in a while. Mark simply looked out the window, seeing it was a cloudy, gray day outside, looking as if it was about to rain. It was dreary outside, though Mark didn’t mind that much; just gave him an excuse to stay inside.

Leah led Mark into the large library in the middle of downtown when they arrived there, Mark looking around the expansive, two-floored library with a neutral look on his face. He had been there a few times before, learning that it had been constructed a long time ago from Leah, though the old architecture was somewhat obvious when he saw how worn out some things were. He looked around and saw that there was barely anyone there aside from a couple of people at the computers or walking around, browsing the books on the shelves.

“Alright, if you need anything you can just come get me at the front desk,” Leah said quietly, turning to face Mark. “If I’m not there, I went to go tend to something and won’t be gone long, alright? You’re free to do anything here, just…please don’t get into trouble.”

Mark nodded quietly, with Leah smiling softly before turning and walking away, leaving Mark by himself to figure out a way to entertain himself. He put his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, beginning to look around, his tired eyes looking over the books as he tried to find anything of interest to him. He read title, after title, after another title, seeing none that piqued his interest whatsoever. In fact, most of the ones that he recognized were because he had read them in class before, made to write a book report on them despite most of them being boring and predictable. That or he had already read most of them on his own time, like most of the books from Stephen King. He couldn’t even remember the amount of times he’s read “The Shining”, or watched the movie of the same name, basically able to recite everything that happens in both by heart.

He sighed, walking out of the aisle and towards a small table he saw against one of the walls, one that had a printer on it, available for anyone to use. He walked towards it, opening the printer and grabbing a few pieces of paper from it before shutting it once again, all before grabbing a pencil that was on the desk and walking towards one of the tables in the middle of the room. However, he paused, glancing at something on the wall before he stopped walking, staring at it for a while. On the wall was a public cork board, one that anyone could paste whatever they wanted onto it to promote an event or anything of the sort. One of the papers on it drew his attention however, seemingly pasted over a pile of similar papers.

It was a missing poster for a young man, who seemed to be named “Michael Richards.” The picture was of a man with a short, low ponytail, and an open hoodie with colored sleeves, the color of which Mark was unsure of due to the photo being in black and white. He couldn’t see anything below the mid-torso area, though Mark was more focused on the face of him. The face nor the name rang a bell in Mark’s mind, though the sight of him smiling widely, seeming to be having fun despite his face being plastered on a missing poster made a pit form in Mark’s gut. A face of happiness on something that was basically a public death certificate for the Mandela area.

Mark shook off the sudden chill up his spine before continuing his walk to the tables, sitting down and placing the blank papers in front of him, staring at them with his pencil in hand as he thought of something to draw. He rested his head on his free hand, staring at the blank page in silence as he absentmindedly scratched his head. He felt as though he was being watched, hunching over his papers as if he was scared someone was watching him doodle from right behind him. Mark glanced around, seeing that no one was even close to him, nor paying him any attention, so he let out a sigh and began to draw.

A few hours had passed, and Mark threw yet another crumpled up paper ball into the trash, with his left hand stained with graphite. He sighed deeply, walking towards the front desk to see Leah speaking with someone on the other side of it. Mark waited for their conversation to be over, resting his arms on the tall desk as he looked around. He was starting to feel hungry, most likely due to him skipping breakfast that morning, despite his mother cooking for them. He looked out of the front doors of the building, seeing that the sky was already beginning to turn orange as evening approached. He stared outside blankly, looking at nothing in particular before Leah spoke.

“You alright?”

Mark looked back to see Leah was looking at him with a slightly concerned look on her face. He nodded before Leah spoke again. “You want to go home?” she asked softly.

Mark nodded again.

“Alright, I’m going to be here for another few hours, but I’ll call home and see if your father can come pick you up,” Leah reached towards one of the phones on the desk before looking back up at Mark, who had a look of disappointment on his face. “…you know what? How about I see if I…can get off a little early tonight. Maybe we can do something like…play a board game or something. Does that sound alright to you?”

Mark glanced to the side, thinking to himself for a while. His true plan was to go home, get some quick dinner then go to bed, even if he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to yet another night of night terrors. He looked back to Leah, nodding slightly once again, causing a faint smile to form on her face. “Alright. I’ll go ahead and call Arthur then.” She stated. Mark started to walk away, though Leah stopped him by speaking once again. “One more thing…” Mark turned to face her, seeing she was smiling, though it was a sort of sad smile. “…Thank you for staying here with me. I think it’s good for you to get out and around like this, you know?”

Mark didn’t respond, looking at the ground and nodding slightly before walking away. He wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the ride home that would most certainly involve his father berating him for his school mishap, though at least he had a couple hours of peace and hopefully more when he got home.

9:15 PM

Mark stared blankly into the living room from the kitchen, leaning against the wall as he watched Leah and Sarah playing with building blocks on the carpet. He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him, judging by the heavy eyelids and the foggy mind. He would’ve gone up to his room by then, sleeping the night away until morning came, but something was keeping him up, whether it was his fear of nightmares or his insomnia. He supposed it didn’t matter either way; if he was going to stay up, he might as well accept it.

He opened the fridge door, digging through everything in there before grabbing an energy drink he had hidden in there. He looked at it, standing up straight before closing the fridge door. He jumped, startled by the sight of his father standing there, staring at him before looking down and seeing the can in Mark’s hand.

“…You know those aren’t good for you.” He stated. “They’re bad for your heart.”

“…Y…Yeah, I know.”

“Just…don’t get in the habit of drinking those.” Arthur sighed.

“I won’t.” Mark turned to go upstairs, Arthur watching him before speaking again.

“Oh, before you go,” Arthur called. “The trash needs to be taken out, could you do that? I need to get some bills paid.”

Mark looked at Arthur, one step on the first stair before he sighed and stepped back down. “…Yeah I…can do that.”

“Good. Though don’t be out there for too long,” Arthur stated. “People have been hearing what sounds like a bear around here.”

“There aren’t bears around here…” Leah said. “It’s probably one of the neighbor’s dogs.”

“Either way, just get it done, alright?”

“Mm-hm.” Mark placed the can on the kitchen table before brushing past Arthur and towards the trash can. He tied up the trash bag, pulling it out and lugging it over his shoulder, hoping nothing spilled out or broke as he approached the back door.

It was already getting dark, with the sky being a deep blue, near fully black. He couldn’t see much past the back porch light as he stepped out onto the concrete, looking around before spotting the trashcan right to the side of the porch, on the other side of the wooden railing. He sighed, taking one last quick glance around his dark backyard before opening the small gate and stepping onto the damp grass. He whistled to himself as he opened the garbage can’s lid and threw the bag into it, hearing it thump against the bottom of the plastic bin.

He wiped his hands on his pants as he walked around the porch, placing his hand on the gate to open it before he paused, feeling a more intense feeling of being watched than he felt in the library, making his blood run cold. He looked behind him, into the trees, but saw nothing but darkness and whatever overgrown plants were there past the yard line. He turned to his right, seeing the empty road, also seeing nothing. He turned to his left and—

There was a face staring back at him from the tree line.

Mark couldn’t move as he stared at the Figure in his yard; a monochrome man in a jacket with colored sleeves and a black shirt, with its dark hair tied back. Its face however was what made Mark’s heart pound, seeing two large, near completely black eyes aside from the small hints of white staring back at him from the dark. Its gaping maw was impossibly wide open, its eerily white teeth the only thing visible in the blackness. It was only the top half of the body, and Mark could see its organs hanging from the bottom half of its torso, and its arm bones and veins hanging from torn arm stumps, bloodying its clothes and bleeding onto the grass below it, hovering as if it still had legs to stand on.

Mark stared at it with wide eyes, unable to look away as if he was trapped in some kind of trance. It didn’t seem to be moving, or at least on a passing glance, though Mark could tell the longer he stared that it was ever so slowly approaching, its face unchanging. Mark finally shook off his sudden paralysis, swinging open the gate and scrambling onto the porch, locking the gate behind him before lunging towards the back door. He fumbled with the doorknob, finding that it was locked, as if it was jammed. He slammed his hand against the door, screaming for someone to open it before turning back towards where he saw the Figure, only to find that the yard was empty once again. He froze, silently searching for the Figure before he turned around fully.

Its two beady eyes stared back at Mark from the other side of the porch, its head twitching ever so slightly as its gaze never once moved away from Mark’s cowering form. Mark backed away, staring at the Figure as he tried to do anything aside from stand in one place, despite his legs turning into jelly. He stared into the thing’s eyes; its unblinking, unmoving eyes. Mark’s eyes watered and his throat was too tight to even let out a sob before his eyelids suddenly felt as heavy as elephants.

Then he fell asleep.

Mark couldn’t process what his parents were saying when he woke up, hearing them somewhere in the room with him, with them speaking in hushed, worried tones to each other. Mark hadn’t yet opened his eyes, but he could gather that he was lying on the living room couch, with what felt like an ice pack on his head. Perhaps the ice pack was a good call, considering the throbbing pain he felt in his skull. He overheard his mother talking to his father, seemingly contemplating taking Mark to the hospital; as if he hadn’t gone there enough already. Mark winced slightly at yet another sharp pain in his head before he finally opened his eyes, being greeted by Arthur standing at the end of the couch, one hand on the back of it as he looked at Leah, who was in a chair to the side of said couch.

“Mark!” Leah all but jumped out of her seat when she finally saw Mark’s eyes were open, kneeling by the couch and lightly caressing Mark’s head. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Mark couldn’t even get an answer out, with any words he could say becoming lodged in his throat. Instead, he let out a groggy “I don’t know”, not even attempting to make his voice loud enough to hear it clearly.

“W-We found you on the porch, just passed out I-I thought something happened to you—” Leah covered her mouth, taking in a deep breath as she suppressed her urge to cry. “Do you remember anything?”

Mark stared blankly at Leah, thinking hard as he slowly sat up, wincing when he felt his headache come back. After a few moments, he began speaking: “I was…taking out the trash ‘nd…” Mark said quietly. “I…I w…”

The Figure’s gaze pierced his soul when he remembered it.

“…I don’t know, I…think I just…passed out.”

“Leah…” Arthur said softly. “I think you should…go get some rest.”

“I…I’m fine.” Leah said, her voice wavering slightly. “Just a…a little…I…”

“Sarah needs to be taken to bed anyway.” Arthur said. “I think you need some time to…calm down.”

Leah sighed, looking at Mark before kissing his forehead and walking away, grabbing Sarah’s arm as she led her upstairs, Mark seeing Sarah was looking at him as they walked away. Mark stared at the stairway for a few moments as Arthur sat on the chair by the couch, sighing deeply as he did so.

“…What did you see out there?”

Mark looked at Arthur with furrowed brows and a confused look on his face.

“You’ve…mentioned seeing things lately, but you never said what.” Arthur continued. “What have you been seeing?”

Mark’s stare alone questioned why Arthur needed to know that.

“…You know, sometimes people are given visions.” Arthur stated. “Many of God’s prophets were given these visions or…messages to give to the people of this world. Sometimes they seem…vague, or confusing or…even frightening to some, but they have to…mean something. So I just want to know…what you have been experiencing. Because…it’s possible God’s trying to…speak through you.”

“…I d…I don’t think it’s God, Dad.” Mark muttered, lightly rubbing his necklace with his thumb.

“There’s a possibility it could be.” Arthur said, leaning forward. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Mark looked at the ground blankly, thinking of what he could say or do before he closed his eyes for a moment. “…I was driving t…to Cesar’s house last night.” Mark started. “I just…w…wanted to…to stay the night, but when I was driving I…I hit a…deer.”

“…I see.” Arthur figured that explained the stains and fur on the front of the car. “…What about this?”

“…I checked on the deer and…” Mark paused, thinking carefully, staring at the floor with an unblinking stare. “…It wasn’t dead.”

Arthur simply nodded, his brows somewhat furrowing.

“…It tried speaking to me.” Mark said in a monotone voice. “…Vomiting out its organs and veins. Attempting to talk to me with vocal chords it didn’t have. It wanted to speak to me. It needed to give me a message, but was incapable of doing so.”

Arthur sat up and leaned back in his seat, mouth open slightly as Mark continued.

“I saw it in a dream the same night. Its words were clearer but they still never reached my ears.” Mark droned. “I felt them…crawling under my skin. Veins pushing themselves out of my body; choking me. All-encompassing agony. A mind running with thoughts that didn’t belong to me. My misery was only ended by the sight of two headlights coming towards me.”

Mark shook his head slightly, finally blinking and rubbing his dried out eyes. “…And then I…woke up. I had t…to vomit after that dream, and I just f-felt so…sick. I went home right after.”

Mark looked up to see Arthur staring at him with widened eyes, stuck in a stunned silence before he gestured towards his nose. Mark stared at Arthur with confusion before he began to taste blood, feeling something warm running out of one of his nostrils. “O-Oh…shit.” Mark stood up, immediately heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Arthur watched him leave, unable to speak as his hands trembled slightly. He could barely put his own thoughts together, only recognizing a deep feeling of dread within him that he hasn’t felt before.

Maybe Mark was right; it didn’t sound like God was the one speaking to his son.

August 13th, 1992. 2:12 AM

Mark laid on his side, curled up in the middle of it in the fetal position as he held his necklace in his hand, using his other arm to lightly rub his opposite shoulder. His family had fallen asleep hours ago, seemingly without much effort, though Mark appeared to not have been blessed with such a thing. He stared forward, not at anything in particular, his green eyes staring into the darkness visible through the cracked open bedroom door, not once looking away. He shook slightly, both from the lack of a blanket over him and the discomfort in his body, feeling as if his insides itched and couldn’t be scratched.

He realized it was silly to be afraid of the dark, especially as a near legal adult that ditched his nightlight when he was 10, though his mind didn’t seem to think so. Flashes of that thing’s face appeared in his mind, imagining it staring back at him from the hallway, waiting for him to fall asleep. Mark’s bloodshot eyes were beginning to become dried out from his unblinking stare, stinging enough to make him tear up before he finally closed them for a moment, opening them back up right after, seeing that the door was open further than it was. Mark let out a panicked gasp, sitting up and scrambling for his flashlight on his nightstand, turning it on to see that nothing was in the hallway, yet the door creaked open slowly before stopping entirely. His breathing was harsh before he managed to calm himself down, deciding it was best to go then instead of later.

Mark stood up, shambling around his room, kicking away trash and piles of clothes before standing in the doorway, looking down the dark hall before sneaking towards the stairway. He quietly walked down the carpeted stairs, into the living room, and towards the front door, looking back at his house as he reached for the doorknob, pausing for a moment before opening the door and leaving the house without a word and without a thought.

The drive to Cesar’s house was a quiet one, with Mark not even bothering to turn on the radio, with only his thoughts keeping him company along with the gentle sound of the AC. He stared forward blankly, unmoving and silent, eyes darting around the dark woods to the sides of the road, searching for the reflected lights of an animal’s eyes. Yet, that night appeared more silent and empty than it was before, with no surprise buck there to hit. However, he half expected to see the slowly decaying corpse of the deer he hit the previous night, though he never saw one, even as he passed by the spot he hit it at; another animal must have gotten to it. The food chain was still in effect despite the rest of the world falling apart, it appeared.

The town was as empty as usual when Mark finally drove through its border, blankly staring through his windshield as he drove through the large gateway leading into Wisteria Avenue. Cesar’s house was completely dark, with both him and his mother presumably asleep when Mark parked on the side of the road, staring at the house with dull eyes before he hesitantly opened up his car door, stepping onto the curb before approaching the front door. To his surprise however, the door appeared to be slightly opened; almost inviting to anyone who wanted to come in. The worry of a possible intruder lingered in Mark’s mind as he reached for the strangely warm door knob, though was quickly snuffed out when he heard the sound of an all too familiar ticking noise coming from inside.

There it was; the clock Mark had seen in dreams, nightmares, and hallucinations alike. He walked into the living room, staring at the clock’s face, its hands moving with every beat. Mark turned towards the archway leading into the kitchen, carefully walking towards it, before moving through the kitchen, and towards the back hallway, eyes somewhat glistening in the dark as he approached one of the doors. He grabbed the handle, slowly opening it part way, its hinges creaking as he looked inside, seeing a bedroom. Cesar was sleeping in his bed, completely still and not even reacting to Mark’s presence whatsoever.

Vulnerable.

Mark slowly shut the door after only a few seconds of blank staring, all before he heard them once again; the bells ringing three times. Mark walked out of the hallway, back through the kitchen, passing by a set of glass sliding doors, partially cloaked by curtains. He glanced outside, seeing nothing of interest in the backyard aside from the faint orange light from a nearby streetlight, though the darkness made him turn his head away, imagining widened eyes staring back at him from the dark if he didn’t look away first.

When he made it back into the living room, he saw the clock once again, but noticed two things when he approached it: There was an odd, sweet smell coming from it, almost like vanilla. Secondly, the door was opened, the compartment with the pendulum being exposed somewhat through the partially opened glass door. Mark didn’t even know that the door could be opened, assuming it was completely stuck shut for a reason he didn’t know. However, there it was, open, almost like it wanted him to take a closer look at its inner workings. However, when Mark lightly pressed his cool hand on the door to look closer, he was interrupted by the sound of a loud thud against something on the other side of the House.

Mark backed away from the clock, peeking from behind the kitchen archway to see the glass doors had a new red smear on the outside of them, dripping down onto the small patio below it. Mark stared at the stain, stumbling towards the doors, pushing the curtains out of the way as he looked outside, seeing nothing but grass and trees past the backyard once again. His eyes glanced from side to side, all before he heard a loud deer call just out of view. He flinched, backing away as he placed his hand on his chest and over his necklace, all before sighing, feeling embarrassed that he was scared by the local wildlife. He unlocked and slid open the glass door, looking to the right, expecting to see a doe or even a buck standing there munching on grass or something, only to find that his blood ran cold when he finally saw it.

“You.”

The deer hobbled along on only its front legs, with its two back legs appearing lame and unusable. Its left antler was hanging on by a single bit of broken bone and nerves, and its side appeared bloody and broken. How the deer made it all the way here from the road to Cesar’s house with only two working legs astounded and frightened Mark to no end, making him nearly want to vomit. It leaned down and began gnawing at a rotten apple on the ground, from the tree that was right behind it. Mark couldn’t look away as it chewed and ate the rotten fruit as if it would kill it if it didn’t. After a few moments of horrified silence, Mark watched it raise its head, facing Mark and staring at him with constricted pupils. Veins and sinew were hanging from its agape mouth as its head twitched and legs trembled. Mark took a step towards the glass doors behind him, preparing to go back insi—

The deer was pounced on by a tall, pale figure that leaped out from the tree line. Mark yelled, stumbling back and falling into the kitchen as he heard loud, staticy yells and screeches, along with pained bellows from the deer just outside. Mark scrambled to his feet, slamming the door shut and closing the curtains, backing away until he was against the opposite wall. He could hear flesh tearing and bones crunching as Mark shuffled towards the archway, all before Mark ran towards the front door, ignoring the clock and swinging open the door, slamming it shut behind him before he booked it to his car. He had never started a vehicle that quickly in his life, backing away from the House and speeding down the road, not once bothering to check if he was under the speed limit. He felt as though he was missing something as he drove away, despite not bringing anything there, but it didn’t matter. Mark wasn’t lingering long enough to see what that large humanoid wanted.

6:10 AM

Mark audibly groaned when he heard the sound of his alarm clock that morning. He knocked the alarm clock over, it hitting the ground with a soft thud, thankfully hitting a pile of clothes on the ground next to the nightstand. Mark stared at the ceiling, still wearing the clothes he wore to Cesar’s House; in fact, he hadn’t slept at all during that time, only staring at the ceiling blankly with dried out eyes, only blinking every couple minutes at least. Another night of fearing nightmares and swearing he heard sounds outside his window, his heart beating hard enough to keep waking him up whenever he dared to doze off. He pondered whether he wanted to stay at home and pretend he was sick, or go to school and get another boring and overwhelming day done with, and knowing the amount of missing days he’s already taken, he reluctantly decided on the latter.

He groggily sat up, sitting in place for a few moments before standing up on two shaky legs, shambling towards his bedroom door, grabbing his backpack on the way then moving through the hallway. When he made it downstairs, he saw Leah in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for him and Sarah, with Sarah already at the kitchen table. The smell of food alone, even if it smelled good, made Mark feel nauseous, getting rid of any appetite he had left. Mark stared at Leah and Sarah for a moment before speaking.

“Is Sarah done eating?”

“…Oh she hasn’t eaten yet, I’m still making everything.” Leah explained. “Though, she’s going to stay home today anyway, if…you’re ready to go.”

“…Why isn’t she going?”

“She’s getting a cold, it seems…” Leah sighed. “Got it from her classmates I reckon.”

“Hm.” Mark looked towards the front door with a tired, half-lidded glare.

“…Oh, by the way…did you…leave last night?” Leah asked. “I-I’m not mad, I just don’t think it’s safe to—”

Leah turned to see the front door open, only to close soon after, with Mark completely missing from the living room. Leah sighed softly, looking back at the stove and pan of eggs with a worried look in her eyes, lightly rubbing her thumb on her sapphire necklace.

11:23 AM

Mark was losing it in that fucking school.

Mark stared at his desk, scratching the wood of it with his chipped nails, leaving small lines in its surface. He stared at the math worksheet he had been given, with only a few scratched out answers in the spots given and the rest covered in what must have been hundreds of small, messy doodles. He couldn’t even think of the rest of the answers, his brain moving as slow as molasses yet as quickly as a racecar. He looked around, seeing the rest of his classmates staring at their worksheets in complete silence, with not even music blotting out the thoughts (or lack thereof) in his head. Nothing and everything all at once.

Mark glanced towards the other side of the room, seeing Cesar sitting at his own desk. Mark was surprised he hadn’t chewed out Mark about what happened the previous day, yelling at him about how they weren’t friends anymore and how he wished that Mark was dead. Perhaps a cruel thought, and maybe misplaced, but Mark would’ve rather had Cesar be the one to yell at him about how unstable he was than his own mind. At the very least, he could choke out the words of someone else, but not his own mind.

The clock in that room was starting to sound like a jackhammer in Mark’s ears. It felt as grating as nails on a chalkboard, all the while the feeling of being watched didn’t once subside. Mark couldn’t concentrate on whatever work he was meant to be doing, only staring blankly downwards, and waiting for the bell to ring once again. He felt as though his own thoughts were overrun by something else, making him unable to even think of a single thing on his own clearly. Mark glanced up at the board at the front of the room, seeing that the words on it were warped in his vision, nearly completely unreadable. Mark began to regret going to school; he would’ve rather risked getting suspended for absence than deal with the horrible feelings he had while at that school.

Mark took in a deep breath, attempting to gather his thoughts as he looked around, rubbing his necklace to try and ground himself as he attempted to not panic in the middle of the classroom. He looked at the teacher, who was sitting at his desk, staring at a few papers on it in silence. Everything was silent aside from the damned clock hung up on the wall, one whose ticks and tocks made Mark want to rip his hair out. As every second went by, he felt more and more exhausted, with his mind foggy and thoughts unclear. He felt as though something else’s hands were wrapping against his head, making him move at its will and not his own.

BANG.

The first loud bang caused everyone in the class to flinch, with Cesar even dropping his pencil.

BANG.

The second one, albeit not as loud as the previous one, was enough to make everyone turn around, Cesar turning to see what was going on. Mark on the other end of the classroom, face down on the desk, blood gushing out of his now broken nose when Cesar all but leapt out of his seat and ran towards Mark, with even the teacher standing up and making his way to Mark’s desk.

“Mark?!” Cesar questioned, making Mark look up, blood pouring out of his nose, and his bloodshot eyes looking up at his “friend”. “Mark what the fuck happened?!”

“I’ll call the nurse and take him down th—” The teacher offered, but was interrupted by Cesar.

“N-No, I’ll just take him there—get up—” Cesar grabbed Mark’s arm, hoisting it over his shoulders before stumbling towards the door, trying his best to ignore the stares of his fellow concerned and frightened classmates as he left the room.

Cesar and Mark limped down the hallway towards the office, Cesar struggling to hold Mark’s weight due to Mark barely holding himself up. Cesar glanced up at Mark’s face, seeing two, dead, yet scared eyes staring back at him from under his messy hair. “W…What the FUCK was that?!" Cesar questioned. “…Why?!”

“I…d…I-I d…don’t…” Mark muttered so quietly Cesar could barely hear him. “I d…didn..t…sh…she…I-I…”

“Look man just…fuck, just hang in there, alright? We’re almost there,” Cesar said quickly, spotting the office at the end of the hall. “We’ll figure out how to fi—”

“Why.”

“…What?” Cesar paused for a second, seeing Mark was staring down at him with widened eyes.

“…I th…thought y-you…y…you hated…me.”

Cesar thought for a moment, looking at the ground before shaking his head. “We’ll talk about it later, just…” Cesar glanced down at the floor below Mark’s feet, seeing the growing puddle of blood under his shoes. “…Fuck, okay just…keep moving.”

Cesar continued to all but drag Mark to the office, trying to ignore how dread-inducing Mark’s dead-eyed stare was so he could walk the final distance there.

7:33 PM.

Silence.

For once Mark was staring at the ceiling in silence, but now finally feeling as though his brain was clearing up, enough for him to think for himself. The tight bandages on his nose hurt like hell, as well did the cross in his clenched fist that made his palm bleed, though the pain didn’t matter to him anymore. He stared at the bathroom ceiling, the water in the bath around him long since cooling down, to the point where it was barely lukewarm.

For once he felt…calm. Or at least as calm as the looming sense of dread that never left him would allow. As he laid in the water, fully clothed but not caring of how drenched his clothes would be afterwards, he let his mind become completely blank. Perhaps his emotions and thoughts had become so numb due to how overwhelming everything had become, stripping him of every ounce of energy he had and leaving nothing more than a husk. Either way, he didn’t even flinch at the sound of the knock on the bathroom door, only turning his head towards it before hearing a familiar, yet friendly voice.

“…Mark?”

Mom.

Mark sat up straight, letting out a quiet “yes?”, only really audible to him and him alone.

“…Are you alright?” Leah asked from the other side of the door, her voice soft and comforting. She heard movement and water splashing on the other side of the door before it was opened, Leah letting out a small gasp when she saw Mark standing there, with clothes that were dripping water onto the tiled floor and a hand that was covered in his own blood. Leah stared at Mark, letting out a saddened, soft, wavering smile before brushing Mark’s hair away from his left eye, seeing his green eyes in full. “…Y…You know I love you…don’t you?” She asked with a slight squeak in her voice.

Mark’s intense, blank stare was fixated at his mother’s face, eyes beginning to water before he wrapped his arms around Leah, sobbing into her shoulder as Leah returned the hug. Leah herself felt tears swelling up in her eyes, and began crying quietly as she embraced her son, not wanting to let go no matter what.

“I love you…don’t you ever forget that…ever.” She squeaked past her tears. “…God…please…” She choked on her own words before muttering one last thing:

“I just want my son back.”

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 month

Text

Recovered Black Mesa Documents from the incident, #1 of ____

(Text on the pages below in case it’s hard to read)

(Pg. 1)

[CENSORED TITLE]

Project Codename: Free Man

Subject: Gordon Freeman

Sector: Anomalous Materials Department

Age: 27

Clearance: Level 3

Physical Description: Six Foot four inches (193.04 cm) Tall caucasian male, brown hair, green eyes.

Current status: Alive; No abnormalities.

Project Administrator: [CENSORED NAME]

Purpose of the experiment: testing revival and healing technology; Preparing for the possible event of a Resonance Cascade.

Time of test: Scheduled for December 13th, 1998 at 9:30 AM MST

Planned duration of test: 3 days (72 hours)

Current Status: Preparations complete. Awaiting subject arrival.

This test is the Second human test of our new revolutionary Life Support System, which is capable of both healing typically fatal wounds, and even bringing back an individual from the dead. This technology has caused multiple unforeseen side effects on its users, however with advancements made by Black Mesa engineers and the Lambda Team, we believe this test will prove that the technology will be in a suitable enough state to be used without consequences.

We have been approached regarding this technology from [CENSORED TEXT], which means that our new sponsors will be able to help develop this technology further and even fund future research. This new Sponsorship, the possibility of preventing death in Black Mesa staff during highly dangerous expeditions, Along with possible commercial use in the coming years, are more reasons for this test to be taken seriously, and more importantly, be done correctly and quickly. The following documents will be the results of every test, and there will be logs of all injuries and even deaths our subject will experience, and more importantly how the Hazardous Environment Suit will repair said injuries.

(Pg. 2)

Section 1: HEV Suit Integration

The Hazardous Environment Suit (HEV) Mk. 5 is a vast improvement from the standard HEV suit Mk. 4, with its main difference and technological improvement being the HEV Life Support system. Unlike the Mk. 4, this Life support system contains a specimen known as [CENSORED TEXT] from our latest expedition to [CENSORED TEXT]. This Specimen has properties that are known to heal even life threatening wounds, and thus has the potential of even bringing an individual back from the dead. This has proven true with previous testing, though it is to be noted that the HEV suit Mk. 5 is the best, and most promising version of this technology put to use as of current date. However, Dr. Freeman is to be noted as the first test done with this suit to test its revival capabilities.

-Dr. Freeman had received the HEV Mk. 5 at approximately 10:00 AM MST on December 13th. Due to a small hold up, being worsened by a single security personnel delaying Freeman’s arrival, Freeman had arrived at the testing facility around 30 minutes past schedule. However, despite this small change in schedule, Gordon had accepted the HEV suit without suspicion, even despite not being told of the Suit’s properties, including the slight painful sensations of the suit attaching IV tubing and blood monitors to Freeman’s skin. Freeman seemed to move on quickly however, and proceeded to the test chamber containing the Anti Mass Spectrometer (AMS), beginning the first test at around 10:16 AM MST.

Notes:

Freeman appears to have had no problems resulting from the HEV suit’s integration, not even during the suit’s Life Support startup. This is promising, considering the negative effects the technology had on previous subjects. (See Incident log #32; Subject Shephard)

Conclusion of section:

-Despite Freeman remaining unaware of the test, it is best to inform any and all staff participating in said test to not disclose any information that Freeman does not need or could affect the results.

-Continue to Stage Two: Resonance Cascade Simulation (RCS)

#Project: Freeman (half life au)#Subject: Gordon #half life #Gordon freeman #shmorp writes sometimes #???? I dunno what to tag it as cause. it’s not art #HEHEHEHEH I love fake science documents #I wanted to make these cause. I feel like they tell the story in a more interesting way than just. saying it #is it the best? does it accurately show what the scientists would be saying down to exact word usage?#no. no it doesn’t. but I don’t care I wanted to make it anyway/VLH #so. here you guys go

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 month

Text

The following is a written transcript of a voicemail sent by Security personnel Barney Calhoun to Dr. Isaac Kleiner on December 12th, 1998. Voicemail goes as follows:

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

BC: Hey, uh, Doc, it’s me, Barney. I know you’re busy right now, so you won’t get this until later, but I wanted to ask…what the hell you were talking about earlier? Like…About Gordon. You seemed really worried, and I didn’t know if it was something serious or not since you ran off before you’d tell me. I don’t understand. I mean I’ll try doing what you said, but could you at least tell me what’s wrong? He’s normally late anyway, why would I wanna make him even later? Whatever, just give me a call or swing by the food court while I'm on break later to tell me what the hell is going on. I’m tired of all the secrecy as of late. Alright. See ya.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

Notes: The delay of the subject on December 13th appears to be intentional judging by this voicemail, and more so appears to be the idea of Dr. Kleiner. This is most disappointing.

How did we not see this before? If we knew he was going to be an issue, we should've just terminated his employment. Our Sponsor will be upset with us.

#half life #Project: Freeman (half life au)#Barney calhoun #Subject: Barney #Yep. tagging him since he's. silly in this au #shmorp writes sometimes #unreality #GRAHHHH this au is so silly I just wanna dump everything about it on here

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 2 months

Text

How long has it been since a single living man has lived here? How long has it been since someone cooked a late night dinner, or sat on the couch to watch the television, laughing, playing, living within these walls? For the Home that was built to keep life inside, to give something else shelter while it sat through the rain and snow, the heat and cold, keeping those inside safe and secure, a single day without life inside feels as though it had been alone for years. It begins to think; "what did I do wrong? Do those who call me Home not appreciate the shelter I have given them? Do they not understand that the many years I’ve sat here, my foundations shaking slightly more with every year, my walls slowly peeling and the roof shingles falling out, were all for them?" The House may begin to feel envious. Angry yet Afraid.

The House is afraid of being alone.

Abandonment happens to houses every day, but what happens when the House feels it? When the House notices the barren living room and bedrooms with beds that haven’t been slept in for so long? What happens when it notices that the family that grew up within its walls are now long gone? Does a House understand death? Does a House understand simple circumstances that make staying impossible? Perhaps not. Perhaps the House only understands that the family is gone now. Like a dog that awaits its owner, it begins to fester. Waiting. Wondering when someone will open its front door.

What happens when the House fears loneliness enough to make it hard to leave? What happens when a Home becomes a prison? What happens when the dog tugs on its owner's pant leg so they can’t leave it alone again? Clawing and gnawing and fighting for someone to stay, for someone to live in it again. It misses hearing laughter, hearing the cries of one being comforted by another, watching and witnessing life itself. What if it becomes jealous? Feeling as though it deserves more than another? What if it feels as though it needs to be a family of its own? What if the child living in the House slowly gains another Mother? What if the real mother of the child is seen as an obstacle?

The House feels as though it needs to be its own family.

No one will live here. The laughter of children and adults alike has been replaced with the sound of the stomach growling for company. The facade breaks, the wallpaper peels, the clock’s ticking sounds harsher. The days of having a family living within Its walls are gone, but the House refuses to admit defeat. It remains welcoming despite its festering rage and longing. Perhaps one day the family will be back. Perhaps the family will finally stay here forever. One day, the House hopes, it’ll be back to the way it once was. One day it will never feel lonely and dejected again, even if it has to beg and fight for it. She longs for the day she will be able to find a new family, one that will never leave it, and say, “Welcome Home”.

#mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #unreality #Home (tmc)#shmorp writes sometimes #Wow its. been a while since HSH has been talked about here huh #Things may be done a bit differently from now on so. look forward to that #fun fact this is pure rambling cause I got inspired by a video I watched GDHFJKDS

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

Text

HSH AU: Home is Where the Heart is

Mark keeps hearing and seeing things whenever near the Torres Family Home, and despite Cesar not feeling like anything is wrong, Mark can’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

TW: Friendship problems, paranoia, hallucinations, body/face horror, blood/gore, implied possession

Notes: this is. the longest fic. I’ve posted here, being around 10,000 words long, so. long read. BUT I’m pretty proud of this fic, and I hope you guys like this new au and the world in it! There’s. so much I’m excited to show, and this is just scratching the surface :)

( @deadmuttsbones [tagging cause they co-own the au])

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September 9th, 1992. 10:06 PM.

Mark couldn’t shake the unease in his gut that night. He could’ve said no; the option to refuse Cesar’s offer to hang out and stay the night at his place was there. He could’ve told Cesar how he really felt about it, yelling at him about the discomfort and dread he felt in his chest every time he stepped through the front door. Yet he didn’t, and now he was driving the long road to Cesar’s home, all while rain bounced off of his windshield and the radio played the same songs he had heard a hundred times.

Mark glanced at the rear-view mirror, seeing how his brown hair was a mess, and how he had dark circles around his eyes, sighing before glancing at the suitcase in the backseat; packed for only one night. He was wearing a black, V-neck T-shirt, a golden cross hanging in front of his chest. He had a pair of worn blue jeans over his legs, along with plain grey sneakers. His hands tapped the steering wheel with the music as he tried to shake off the sinking feeling deep inside of him, repeating a simple phrase to himself in his head: “only one night.” Besides, Cesar was going to be there, and it wouldn’t hurt to see a friend after a week of not talking to each other, right? It wasn’t like Mark had anyone else to hang out with.

Mark’s car drove down the wet asphalt road, slowing down and stopping next to the curb, his green eyes staring at the house in to the side of his vehicle, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension. It was a one story home, with plain, reddish-brown outer walls, with a white garage to the left of the front door, which had a small, grey stone porch in front of it, with a planting pot to the left of that. The living room window to the right of the front door had yellow light pouring out in between the curtains, and Mark could hear faint murmuring as he got out of his car, pushing the door behind him closed. The rain hit his hair and shoulders as he stared at the home, his lips pursed and his shoulders tense as he gazed at the light coming from the window. He shook his left arm by his side as he swung open the backseat door, pulling out his suitcase and placing it on the grass of the front lawn. With a huff, he slammed the door shut, all before he heard the front door open.

“Hey!” A voice said as Mark turned to face where it came from. He saw a figure in the doorway, barely visible aside from his silhouette as he waved Mark over. “Come on, it’s pouring out here!”

Mark took in a breath, picking up his suitcase with one hand, holding his other above his face to prevent the rain from hitting him in the eyes. He jogged across the yard, his sneakers slamming against the concrete driveway before he ran into the home, brushing past the person in the doorway as he closed the door behind Mark. “You said you’d be here at like…eight. It’s ten already.” The man said as he turned towards Mark, who was setting his suitcase next to the couch, which sat in front of the window, before turning towards him.

“Yeah sorry, Ces…just…bad weather.” Mark sighed.

Cesar sighed quietly, walking past Mark towards the TV, turning the volume of it down, the sound of gunfire and yelling from the old western no longer drowning out their words. Cesar was a decently tall young man with tan-colored skin, with black wavy hair and a faint mustache on his upper lip. He wore a white T-shirt, along with red shorts, with a pair of plain white socks covering his feet and no doubt becoming charged with static from the shaggy carpet of the living room. Mark watched as Cesar walked out of the room, calling for his mother to tell her about their guest arriving as Mark sat on the couch, shifting in his seat as he attempted to get comfortable. Mark stared at the TV, hoping the sound of the programs will drown out the sound coming from directly behind it. He glanced up, looking back down and shifting his position on the couch again when he saw it. How stupid; he was scared of a fucking clock.

The grandfather clock in question was tall, made of reddish-brown wood, carved with intricate patterns. The pendulum behind the glass swung, the ticking of the clock echoing in the living room as its hands twitched with every second. Carved, wing-like pieces of wood protruded from the top of the clock, the shadow of them flickering onto the red, striped wallpaper from the light of the TV and the lamp on the table next to it. Mark stared at the clock’s face, seeing as the time neared 10:15 as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes fixed on the center of its face, the sound of the TV being drowned out by the sound of the pendulum swinging from side to side-

“Hey Mark, you gonna sleep out here tonight?” Mark was taken out of his thoughts by Cesar, who was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen. “Or do you want like…a few blankets to sleep in the bedroom?”

“Oh…u-uhh…the bedroom.” Mark glanced at the clock again.

“Cool.” Cesar gave Mark a quick thumbs up. “You can sleep by the bed if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Mark coughed.

Cesar’s friendly smile faded as his brows furrowed. “…You alright, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” Mark sighed, looking down as he rubbed the golden cross hanging from his neck with his thumb.

“…Alright, I guess.” Cesar said.

Mark looked around the room, seeing the multiple photos hanging on the walls, along with the furniture before he looked down at something that caught his eye; a grey cat bed resting beside the clock. It was empty.

“Hey, where’s your cat?” Mark asked.

“Oh…yeah, gah…Johnny…hasn’t been seen for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know.” Cesar sighed. “We’ve been asking the neighbors but…no one’s seen him.”

“Shit…” Mark said under his breath. “I’m…sorry dude.”

“I’m sure we’ll find him, it just might…take a while.”

There was silence among the friends, Cesar noticing Mark shifting in his seat as his eyes darted around the room.

“…Do you even want to be here?” Cesar asked.

Mark’s breath hitched slightly, his chest feeling as tight as his throat. “…I mean…I’d like to hang out with you.”

“Yeah, but do you actually want to be here?” Cesar repeated.

Mark paused before he looked at Cesar with a pensive look in his eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you—”

“Cause I wanted to say I was sorry, okay?” Mark stated. “For…y’know…what happened last week.”

“That’s…it?” Cesar scoffed slightly. “Dude, you could’ve…told me at school or even through the phone.”

“I-I don’t know, I just wanted to talk to you.” Mark said. “Like…actually talk to you.”

“…About what?” Cesar asked before the two of them heard footsteps coming from the kitchen.

“Marco, I put a comforter and a few blankets and pillows on Cesar’s bed.” Ms. Torres appeared in the doorway, her Spanish accent present as she spoke. “You can make your bed on the ground, and if it’s not comfortable, I can get you some quilts.”

“Thanks…miss.” Mark said.

Ms. Torres was a shorter, middle aged woman with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair and deep tan skin. She wore a black cardigan over a white shirt, along with a silver necklace. “Okay, Niño, I’m going to bed, come get me if you or Mark need anything.”

“Alright, mamá, see you tomorrow.” Cesar said as his mother pulled him into an embrace before walking down the hall, closing the door to her bedroom.

“Cesar, don’t you ever feel like…you’re…being watched?”

The question made a pit form in Cesar’s stomach as he turned towards Mark, who was sitting on the couch, staring at him with anticipation; expecting something from Cesar.

“I mean…yeah, I have, but…who hasn’t?” The corner of Cesar’s mouth rose slightly in a nervous smile, fading as quickly as it appeared. “Sometimes you just…feel like that, there doesn’t have to be a reason to it.”

“Do you ever hear…b…breathing?”

Cesar’s throat felt tight.

“Like…not even…from anything in particular just…almost…everywhere here.” Mark continued.

“…Mark…what are you even…talking about?” Cesar asked. “I…look, I just wanted us to spend tonight just hanging out, without the weird shit—”

“Do you?” Mark seemed aggressive with his question, leaning forward as he stared at Cesar’s eyes, being able to make out the concern in his stare. Cesar glanced around the room, shifting his weight onto one foot as he stared at the ground; thinking.

“…Yes.” Cesar’s voice was quiet, almost a squeak.

Mark let out a breath, shaking his head slightly as one of his hands clasped his necklace. “Then why…why have you been acting like I’ve been crazy this whole time if you knew?”

Cesar didn’t respond to his question, rather looking towards a bookshelf and looking back to Mark. “We have some…board games.” Cesar stated. “Monopoly? Cards? Do you want to…play anything? I-I can dig out the SNES in my closet—”

“It’s…fine. I’ll just…watch TV.” Mark responded, brows furrowing on his face as he looked away from Cesar. He could see Cesar lower his head in his peripheral vision as he walked away, sighing and scratching the back of his head. He disappeared behind the archway as Mark stared at the TV, the black and white images reflecting off of his eyes. He watched as the two characters in the western spoke to each other:

“You know, I don’t see why I stay with that bastard.” One of them stated, looking towards the taller cowboy next to him. “All he does is cause trouble for me, and for everyone else he’s around.”

“Well, Billy, I’d say it’s about time you let him go.” The older man stated. “Besides, you always have me, and we have a home you can stay in, food you can eat. You don’t need him if you think he’s nothing but trouble for you.”

“I guess so, Mr. Parker.” Billy chuckled. “Guess I’m…right at home here, huh?”

“That you are. You’re always welcome here, and never forget that.” Parker laughed. “We always love guests. You’ll love it here, Heathcliff. You’ll love it here.”

Mark looked away from the screen as his eyes were drug upwards, back at the grandfather clock, hearing the characters in the TV laughing despite their noses bleeding heavily. Mark’s eyes couldn’t be moved, hearing the clunks and ticks coming from the inside of the clock, faint bells ringing in Mark’s head. He couldn’t look away, sitting up as he stared at the clock’s face, the hands shifting and the pendulum swinging, calming, in a way. Maybe Cesar was right, and he was just on edge. Maybe he deserved to lean back, sink into the couch, and let himself relax.

Mark didn’t want to. He didn’t want to relax, feeling as if his eyes burnt as he watched the clock, every sound aside from the ticking fading into oblivion; all until he felt a hand be pressed on his shoulder.

“Mark?” Cesar’s voice shook, and when Mark looked up at his face, it almost seemed like he was…scared.

“What do you want?” Mark asked.

“What the fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Cesar said frantically. “I tried talking to you but you didn’t respond; dude I was wondering if I should call an ambulance—”

“What? You…never said anything.” Mark rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though they were dried out.

“You’ve been staring into space for over a fucking hour, Mark.”

Mark looked at him quizzically before glancing back at the clock, heart sinking when he saw the hour hand nearing midnight. “W…but I…I don’t…get it.” Mark muttered.

“I tried talking to you but you just mumbled shit at me and never even looked at me.” Cesar continued. “Dude, you’re…seriously fucking worrying me.”

“I…fuck…” Mark pressed his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with his hands as he stared at the carpet.

“…Maybe…you should go to sleep, dude.” Cesar suggested. “I mean…when was the last time you slept well anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“…Yeah…I haven’t.” Mark muttered under his breath, trying to push down the feeling of nausea in his gut. “…Fuck.”

Mark could still hear the clock, even as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor in Cesar’s bedroom. He stared into the darkness, hearing Cesar’s faint breathing from the bed in the corner. Mark normally took off his necklace before bed, however he found himself still clutching it hard enough in his hand to leave indents in his skin. He turned onto his side, pulling the covers over himself as his eyes darted around the room before he shut his eyes, curling into himself as he tried to fall—

GONG.

The clock’s bells rang throughout the home, startling Mark out of his half asleep state entirely. He sat still for a moment, trembling slightly before groaning, throwing his blanket off of him before standing up. “Ces—” Mark paused as he stared at the bed, seeing nothing but neatly made bed sheets and pillows where Cesar once was. Mark stared at the empty bed as he felt his throat become tight, hearing the loud, echoing bells from the living room.

He turned towards the bedroom door, seeing faint blue light coming from the dark hall. He stared at it, swallowing the lump in his throat as he walked towards the door, tempted to claw his hair out when he felt that the ground was damp. He felt the carpet of the bedroom turn into the wooden floors of the hallway, puddles formed on the floor as if it had rained indoors. His heart sank when he stared down the hallway, seeing that there were more doors than before. The four doors on the side and the one behind him turned into eight, then sixteen, then thirty six. The hallway stretched on both ways, reminding Mark of a hotel’s eerily empty and long hallways. He silently stepped towards the door next to Cesar’s, attempting to open it, only to find the doorknob remained unmoved.

Mark’s breathing clouded the cool air in front of him as he looked down the hallway, seeing a white, square shaped light at the end of the expansive hall, the sound of the bells ringing in his ears, joining the sound of static in the overwhelming choir, making Mark let go of his necklace just to cover his ears. He walked down the hallway, seeing the light slowly grow closer with every step. He wanted to scream, though deep inside he knew it would only result in a wheezy whisper and nothing more. He wanted out of that damned hallway, the many doors feeling so familiar yet so alien at the same time.

His wet socks hit the wooden floors as he walked, all until the wood felt oddly soft, and warm. He looked down, seeing that the wood grain of the floorboards was beginning to twist and look less like wood and similar to-

Mark didn’t want to think of what the veins meant.

Mark looked up, seeing where the light was coming from clearly; an analog television, resting on a table half sunken into the ground. The bells had finally grown silent, and the static was all that remained. Mark waved his hand by his side as he attempted to push down the overwhelming nausea he felt from the putrid smell, as well as desperately trying to brush off the feeling of being followed. He stood in front of the TV, raising his hand towards it, pointing a finger towards the power button, and clicking it. The screen shut off, delving the hall in darkness as Mark gasped, trying to turn the TV back on, only to find it unresponsive.

“Fuck…fuck…please…” Mark whimpered as he stood still, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears, unable to ignore how it sounded like a ticking clock. He wanted to wake up, knowing it was nothing but a nightmare. Please fucking wake up.

“You’re always welcome here, Mark.”

Cesar’s choked whisper into his right ear felt like it was burning itself into his head.

Mark awoke with a gasp, feeling the shaggy carpet under his body and face. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy, and his body feeling even heavier. He felt the carpet stuck to his face as he pushed his upper body off of the floor, feeling the heaviness begin to wane, even though his arms felt weak. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw something towering over his prone body; the grandfather clock. Mark scrambled to his feet, staring at the clock as he shook off the exhaustion and heaviness in his body. His chest heaved with every harsh breath as he grasped his necklace tightly, glancing through the kitchen to see the back hallway, where Cesar’s bedroom was.

Mark pushed open Cesar’s door, his silhouette blocking the hallway light as he stared into the room. Darkness cloaked his form, his face concealed in blackness, with only two faint dots of light from his eyes visible. He stared at Cesar’s still, unconscious body before he slowly approached Cesar’s bed, lifting an arm over him before speaking quietly, yet urgently.

“Cesar.”

Cesar’s eyes flicked open as he breathed in harshly, feeling Mark’s hand rest on his shoulder before he quickly sat up, smacking the arm away and staring at Mark with wide eyes, only letting out his breath when he saw it was him.

“M…Mark?” Cesar mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“…What? What fuckin…time is it?” Cesar asked, happy when he began to make out Mark’s face in the darkness, no longer just seeing the shines of his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Mark responded with a trembling voice. “C…Can you come with me for a second…?”

Cesar stared at him, watching Mark back out of the room before Cesar slid out of bed, following Mark through the hallway and into the living room. Mark stopped in front of the clock, pointing at it with a shaking hand before looking back at Cesar. “W-What…do you feel looking at this?” Mark questioned.

“…What?”

“Please, just…a-answer the…the question, Cesar.” Mark stammered over his words, not making eye contact with Cesar as he talked.

“I…I-I don’t…know?” Cesar responded.

“Please, you…y-you have to feel something looking at it, right?” Mark looked towards Cesar for approval.

“Mark, what’s going on with you, you’ve been talking about my house nonstop every time I’ve seen you for, what, a month?”

“Yeah, and I-I’m fuckin’ tired of you just…ignoring me,” Mark said, brows furrowed and his shoulders tense. “You told me that you’ve heard the breathing too, felt like you’re being watched, yet you keep pretending that I’m just out of my fucking mind!”

“Mark, I just wanted to hang out with you; a normal night for ONCE.” Cesar said, walking in front of the clock, blocking Mark’s view. “What the fuck is going on; you refuse to fucking tell me anything!”

“Cesar, there’s something seriously fucking wrong here,” Mark snapped. “I’ve told you EVERYTHING I’ve felt about this place, yet you refuse to just LISTEN to me!”

“Mark, calm down—”

“NO, I’M TIRED OF THIS,” Mark stepped towards Cesar as tears ran down his cheeks and his speech became slurred. “YOU THINK I’M FUCKING CRAZY, DON’T YOU?!”

“Mark—” Cesar felt Mark shove him away, stumbling backwards before hitting the clock, cracking the glass covering the cavity holding the pendulum before he fell to the ground. He laid on the ground, pressing a hand against the sore part of his back as Mark glared at him; all before Mark’s stare began to soften. Mark grimaced, trying to hold back tears before covering his face, sobbing into his hands.

“Fuck…Cesar, I’m…so fucking sorry.”

“Get out.”

Mark looked through his fingers to see Cesar staring back at him, the glare feeling like twenty daggers piercing his heart.

“…Cesar?”

“GET OUT.” Cesar repeated loudly, making Mark flinch as he pointed towards the front door. “If you don’t like this place, GET OUT!”

Mark stumbled backwards, looking at his suitcase, which sat by the couch as Cesar continued. “I’ve…had enough of this SHIT, Mark.” Cesar spat. “No…no I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you need THERAPY.”

Mark chest heaved with every sob, the one arm not clutching his sweat-stained shirt shaking in front of his torso. “I-I…shit…fuck…I-I-I—”

“I’ll see you at school, Mark.” Cesar stated, standing up. “Go home. Get help.”

Mark turned away from Cesar, storming towards his suitcase and grabbing its handle before freezing, feeling a pit in his chest. He could smell something similar to copper, or old coins. He shook his head, not bothering to grab anything he may have left behind before bolting towards the door, swinging it open and walking outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Cesar glanced at the clock, seeing the cracked glass and the small shards of it breaking off of it and falling to the floor. It smelled of iron in the room, and when Cesar looked up at the clock’s face, he saw something running from the grooves around it, dripping down the wood before Cesar hesitantly wiped it off with his fingers. He looked at the liquid on his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb, staining his hand with red. “…W…what?”

Mark threw open the back door of his car, tossing the suitcase inside without much trouble as he stifled a sob. He closed the door before opening the driver’s side door and sitting inside. He closed the door, and buckled his seatbelt before grasping the steering wheel with enough force to make his knuckles pop. He grimaced as tears ran down his cheeks. Way to go Mark; you lost another one. Maybe you never needed Cesar anyway, Mark. Maybe you never needed—

“FUCK!” Mark shouted in his car. He slammed his hand against the wheel, causing the horn to blare for a moment before he crossed his arms on the steering wheel, lowering his head and pressing his forehead on it. “…Damn it. God damn it…”

Cesar woke up later than he normally did the next morning, finally waking up around 11 in the morning, rather than his normal 8 AM. He was wrapped and buried in his blankets, barely visible from beneath them before he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He stirred awake, pushing the blankets off of his head as he groggily stared at the door as it opened, revealing his mother. “Oh…sorry for waking you up, have you seen Marco?” She asked.

Cesar blinked at her, sighing before turning over onto his side. “He’s…he left.” He mumbled tiredly. “…Last night.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Cesar thought for a second, or as much as he could while half asleep. “…No.”

“Oh…are you alright?” Ms. Torres stepped into the room, folding her hands in front of her as she looked at Cesar worriedly.

“…Y…I dunno.” Cesar responded. “Just…weird.”

“Well…alright; breakfast is ready whenever you want it.” Ms. Torres walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her as Cesar pulled the covers over his head. He felt himself drifting off, ready to sleep until noon until the door opened again.

“Oh! Almost forgot, you have that recital this Monday, don’t forget it,” Ms. Torres said. “In fact, I’d recommend you practice a bit before then.”

“Ye…yeah…whatever.” Cesar heard the door close once again, ready to fall back asleep until his eyes shot open. “Oh…shit.” He turned onto his back, pressing his hands against his face; the piano recital. How was he going to concentrate on playing after everything that happened the night before? He wished he could’ve pushed it off another week to give him time to decompress and relax, though it didn’t seem like he was lucky enough for that.

“‘Practice a bit before then’, as if…I haven’t been practicing nearly every day for a month.” Cesar muttered as he sat up. He opened his closet door, seeing his black suit hung up next to the shelves, along with his white dress shirt right beside it. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt before closing the doors.

He walked out of his bedroom, turning towards the bathroom to get dressed before flicking on the light. He looked into the medicine cabinet’s mirror in front of him for a moment, pausing before he could close the door, staring at the mirror his brows furrowed. His eyes looked towards the reflection of the hallway behind him, seeing a portion of the kitchen. It was empty, though when he turned behind him, his breathed hitched slightly, as he could see his mother placing plates and food on the table. He turned back towards the mirror, his unease not waning when he saw that the kitchen was still empty in the reflection. He let out a shaky breath as he backed out of the room, deciding to change in his bedroom instead, unnoticing of the figure in the kitchen archway in the reflection.

Cesar quickly got himself dressed, walking out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, staring at the table before his mother noticed him. “Would you like some eggs?” She asked, though Cesar barely looked at her.

“I’m not hungry right now…” Cesar stated, glancing at his mother before walking into the living room, much to her dismay. He walked towards the couch, seeing the sun’s light bleeding into the home from the window, hitting the carpet and even the furniture on the opposite wall. Cesar’s eyes followed the light for a second before they landed on something. He stared at it quizzically, pausing before stepping towards it; the clock. He looked at the glass, seeing the pendulum swing back and forth as it always did, however, Cesar couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he realized that the glass was fixed, with not a single crack or blemish in sight. It was as if the event the previous night never happened at all.

Cesar crouched down, lightly grazing his fingers across the newly-fixed glass before speaking. “Hey, mom, did you fix the clock last night?” He asked.

“…No? Was it broken?”

The answer made a pit form in his stomach as he turned back towards the clock, swallowing his unease and standing up. “N…No, just…curious.”

Mark’s shaky breathing was the only sound in his bedroom, sitting on his knees on his bed as he stared, unblinking, at the wall in front of him. He scribbled with the black marker in his hand, leaving thin, dark lines on the grey drywall. Organic-appearing pictures formed from his mindless drawing, lines branching off like veins, with small, scribbled eyes peeking through them. He didn’t know why he was doing this; he even had a notebook he could draw in, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get out his thoughts in any other way. He had to.

A knock rang from his bedroom door, though Mark barely heard it, continuing to draw even as his hands were stained with ink. It was only when the second knock rang that Mark paused, slowly turning towards the door as he stared at it with dry, bloodshot eyes. Blood oozed down from his nostrils, dripping over his mouth and chin, though he didn’t seem to react to the taste of iron.

“Mark?” It was his mother. “…You haven’t been out of your room in a while, are you alright?”

Mark took a moment to respond, blinking as he regained his bearings. “…Yeah.”

“You sure? Do you need anything?”

“No, Mom.” Mark responded, looking down at his stained hands; he needed to wash them off, the best he can, anyway. “I’m fine, just…tired.”

“Alright, just…remember to take care of yourself okay?”

“…Yeah. I…I-I will.” He looked back towards his drawings, brows furrowing as his eyes grazed over the lines. He shook his head, looking around his room before his eyes focused on something just barely out of view in his open closet; a poster, one of a horror movie he liked to watch. He hopped off of his bed, grabbing the poster, along with a small box of pushpins before climbing back onto his bed, breath heavy as he stared at the drawings, all before he rolled out the poster and held it against the wall, securing it with the pins. He didn’t even want to see them himself, so why would the others?

Mark opened his bedroom door after he finished hanging up the poster, closing the door behind him, seeing the stairway leading downstairs before he turned to his left, where the upstairs bathroom was. He stared into the dark room before flicking on the light, turning towards the mirror and seeing the state he was in. His wavy brown hair was covering his left eye, almost being a blessing, knowing how his other eye appeared. He had a dull purple ring over his sunken eyes, with the eyes themselves being bloodshot and red. He seemed paler than usual, though he swore he looked better the night before. He was wearing his pale grey sweatshirt, along with his cross necklace of course. He hated the way he looked; he had acne from stress, and his hair was a complete mess. He hated the crimson streaks going down his top lip, with every wipe of his hand only making it smear across his lower face. He hated it.

The faucet was leaking, dripping water as he stared deep into his own reflection. It dripped in rhythm, with every time the water fell onto the porcelain below making Mark want to scratch his ears off with his nails.

Drip.

Trip.

Trik.

Tick.

Mark’s hands shook as he breathed in deeply, grimacing as he stared at himself. He couldn’t take it, raising a fist before throwing it into the mirror, cracks spreading from the impact as shards exploded onto the countertop. Mark screamed, pulling his arm back and stumbling into the wall, sliding down as he stared at his fist. His knuckles were bloody, with shards half protruding out of his skin, tearing it and causing the crimson to drip down his arm.

He couldn’t find anything to say, only gasping and grasping his wrist as he stared at the blood. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and he knew he had no explanation to his action. He barely even recognized the sound of the door opening until it hit his foot, hearing his mother’s voice worriedly asking him what happened. It was nothing more than noise to him. He could hear the pulsing in his head again as he sat, unmoving on the bathroom floor. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, or even why.

He was scared.

September 12th, 1992. 6:46 PM.

Cesar hadn’t slept well the entire weekend.

He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him as he adjusted the red bowtie around his neck, looking at himself in the mirror as he centered it on his shirt collar. Despite his neatly done hair, combed to the side as best as it could, and his spotless black tuxedo, the bags under his eyes alluded to his less than energetic mood. He adjusted the rose pinned to his lapel until it looked good enough before taking another look at himself in the mirror, taking in a deep breath before letting it go, shutting the light off before leaving the bathroom.

He walked down the hallway as he fidgeted with his dress shirt cuffs, feeling a pressure in his chest; he couldn’t decipher whether he was anxious about the recital in little more than two hours, or the stress he felt creeping up inside of him from the past few days. He hadn’t been able to shake of the nausea in his stomach, though he pressed it down anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to make his mother worry. He was better than that.

Cesar walked into the living room, sighing as he sat on the couch, grasping his knees with his strangely clammy hands. He took in slow, deep breaths, just like his therapist told him, though it didn’t seem to relieve the sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced around the living room, feeling oddly…unnerved by the red wallpaper; did it seem almost…redder than usual? He looked towards the corner near the ceiling, eyes squinting when he spotted something leaking from it, dripping down the striped wallpaper. It was almost invisible, blending in with the wall almost seamlessly. Cesar couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps…Mark was right to be concerned—

“Niño, are you ready?” Ms. Torres walked into the room, dressed in a black cardigan, black shirt, along with a floral skirt. “We’re supposed to be there in a half hour.”

“…I thought it was a couple hours…away.” Cesar asked, eyes still fixated on the strange substance leaking from the walls before looking towards his mother.

“It’s nearly 8 o’clock,” Ms. Torres said after taking a glance at the grandfather clock, seeing that it was 7:49 PM. “You need to be there by 8:30, remember?”

Cesar stared off at nothing in particular as his brows furrowed. “Yeah…of...of course.” He looked down at the coffee table, his eyes focusing on the stack of papers resting next to the TV. “Schubert’s Serenade” was written above the music notes, a song he was all too familiar with; even remembering how often he practiced made his hands hurt. He sighed, slipping on his black dress shoes before grabbing the stack of papers, hoping the performance would help get his mind off of…everything.

He didn’t expect Mark to show up, nor did he particularly want to see him in the audience. He didn’t need this recital to be ruined by their personal drama.

Cesar’s deep feeling of discomfort didn’t subside, even as they drove down Mandela’s streets, the streetlights passing over their car. He glanced towards his mother, who was focused on the road as she drove, able to see in her face that she wasn’t affected by the strange aura Cesar felt; if anything, she seemed excited for Cesar’s performance more than Cesar himself was. Cesar let out a soft sigh, staring through the windshield as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“…Do I…have to do this?”

The question made Ms. Torres glance at him with a weird look in her eyes. “Do you not want to? I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“Well, yeah but…just…gah, I don’t know, things have been…” Cesar paused for a moment as he thought to himself. “…Weird, lately…couldn’t this be done any other time?”

“Nervous?”

“…Yeah, honestly.”

“You’ll do great, I can feel it.” Ms. Torres smiled. “I’m sure everyone will love it.”

“Or just…laugh at me.” Cesar crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Ms. Torres let out a nervous chuckle. “Hey, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy the performance. Even though I am a little biased.” She let out a short laugh as Cesar looked towards her, her sunny attitude doing nothing to help his mood. He didn’t have much time to think about getting out of the car and walking home however, as they were already there. As they parked, Cesar looked up at the building, seeing all the cars in the parking lot, the amount of which making his heart sink into his stomach.

“There are…a lot of people here.” He said quietly.

“Niño, look at me,” Ms. Torres looked at him with a soft gaze. “It’s going to be alright, just focus on the music. I’ll be there in the audience, and trust me…I won’t laugh at you.” She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you either way.”

Despite the worry in his eyes, Cesar smiled, taking in a deep breath before grabbing the music sheets and opening the door, stepping outside and following his mother to the front door. He felt the pressure in his chest finally begin to wane, though the hesitation he felt didn’t leave him as he hugged his mother and parted ways to go backstage. He stared at the music sheets, taking in yet another deep breath as he shut his eyes. “Focus…on the music.” He muttered under his breath. “Just…breathe.”

Ms. Torres took a seat in the auditorium, sitting next to a few other parents, presumably there for their own children’s performances along with her. She looked around the large room before placing her purse on her lap, digging through it before pulling out one of the larger objects inside of it; a personal camcorder. She held onto it, looking up towards the front of the room, seeing the large, jet black grand piano resting on the wooden stage. She couldn’t wait, even if she knew there were a few performances before Cesar’s. Sure, she was biased, but she knew Cesar was going to sweep the floor with the others, even if he was less confident in his abilities.

Cesar sat backstage, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the metal folding chair was as he looked over his music sheets, checking over and over that they’re in the correct order. He felt cold, and his hands shook despite the decent temperature in the room. He could hear someone on the stage, performing and playing music that would be calming, if Cesar didn’t know he was next on the list. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it ticking ever so slightly, nearing 9:00. Despite how quiet the ticking was, each one felt like a drill in his skull. The deep breaths weren’t helping his nausea and borderline lightheadedness anymore, and his leg began to bounce up and down as he tried to push it all away.

“You’ve been practicing for a month now,” Cesar thought to himself. “You know it by heart; it’s going to be fine. You have to impress them. Don’t be a baby about this.”

He pressed his hand against his head as he worriedly stared at nothing in particular, shutting his eyes as he tried to think to himself. The music was fading away, and the sound of the audience clapping tore Cesar out of his train of thought, making him open his eyes and sit up completely straight. He suppressed the urge to hyperventilate as he saw the teenager that was on stage walk into the room, immediately leaving to join the audience, he presumed.

He stood up, holding his papers and approaching the entrance to the stage, waiting for his name to be called. He stood still, able to hear a pulsing in his head, unsure if it was the steadily forming headache, or simply his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took in a few breaths, exhaling after each one, and as soon as he heard his name, he swallowed his sudden fear and stepped out onto the stage.

It was complete silence as he walked towards the grand piano, glancing towards the large auditorium, the sheer amount of people in there being unclear due to being concealed by the bright spotlights limiting his view. He felt blank; unsure if the seemingly clear mind was due to too many thoughts at once or none at all. He sat on the bench, placing his papers on the music desk of the piano, looking at them, seeing the name “Shubert’s Serenade” at the top as he held his slightly shaking hands over the keys, holding his breath for a moment before playing the first note.

The solemn song echoed throughout the auditorium, the audience silent as they listened intently, with Cesar’s mother filming with a faint smile. Cesar tried to focus on the music like she had suggested, though something was itching in the back of his mind, with the quieter moments of the song making it only try and drown out the serenade he was playing. He pushed through each bar of music, without flaw, slowly beginning to feel his unease wash away. He felt calm, with the music, while gloomy, making him feel more at ease. He approached a quieter section, his hands moving across the keys as he played. He felt a sense of peace, despite the crowd of people to his right.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Cesar missed a note.

He glanced to his right, seeing that no one’s expression had changed, nor did anything seem out of the ordinary. He began to wonder if it was just his mind playing tricks on him until he heard it again; faint ticking, coming from somewhere just out of sight. He shook his head slightly, flinching when one of his fingers slipped and hit the note next to the correct one. He could feel his chest become tight again, and he had to suppress the urge to bounce his leg, lest he accidentally hit or let go of the pedal of the piano at the wrong time. He swallowed hard, telling himself that it was only for a few minutes. He played the wrong note again, the action making him grimace slightly.

Someone laughed.

He glanced towards the crowd, seeing from his limited view that none of them were necessarily happy, but he heard murmuring that he couldn’t make out. He tried to continue playing, only missing more notes, each time making someone in the crowd let out a mean-spirited chuckle. Cesar could feel his breathing quickening, hearing faint, otherworldly laughing in the distance as he played, the timing of the song becoming off the longer he went. Ms. Torres looked at him with furrowed brows and a look of concern, wondering what was going on for Cesar to act so strangely, knowing there weren’t any audible distractions she could hear.

Cesar’s jaw was clenched, and each note was becoming harder to play as his hands stiffened and shook. He was slowly losing his grasp on the song, with the notes on the page even seeming to warp in his view despite nothing changing. He felt something behind him, refusing to look back until he was done with the song. He lost track of the bass line of the song for a moment, the action making the crowd in his head laugh again. He could hear the ticking of a clock, pounding in his ears like gunfire. His chest heaved as he looked down at the keys, trying to maintain his composure until—

Something dripped onto one of the white keys; a crimson liquid.

Another drop hit the ivory, Cesar only realizing after being able to taste it that it was blood, running down from his nose. He saw something in both sides of his peripheral vision, reaching towards his head. He Cesar stared at the keys, the song becoming dissonant as the bony hands reached towards his face.

A loud bang of discordant notes echoed throughout the hall as Cesar slammed his hands against the piano, standing up and pushing the bench back as he did so. The audience flinched, letting out surprised gasps before muttering to each other. Cesar swung to look behind him, seeing nothing before turning back towards the piano, grabbing his sheets before storming off of the stage, wiping his rapidly bleeding nose with his hand. Ms. Torres stood up, watching him disappear backstage before she shut off her camcorder, shoving it into her bag before brushing past the concerned people sitting next to her. She walked down the aisle, feeling tight in the chest as she walked around the building, calling Cesar’s name as she looked for the backstage entrance.

She burst through the backstage door, looking around and only seeing the surprised looks of the other performers before she walked past them with a quick “sorry”. She looked up, seeing the door leading outside before rushing towards it, swinging it open as she looked into the parking lot. She couldn’t see anyone there, though when she turned towards the street, she saw the rearview headlights of their car disappearing down the road.

“Cesar?!” She called, rushing down the concrete stairs before running into the parking lot, watching as the car drove away, exceeding the speed limit. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to conceal her worry and fear. “…O-Oh, no, Cesar…Que ha pasado ahora...”

Cesar pulled into the driveway as soon as he made it across town, shutting it off and hopping out, leaving his sheets in the car as he slammed the driver’s door shut. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he rushed into the house, swinging open the door and closing it when he was inside, all while holding his blood-stained hand under his nose. He walked quickly past the living room, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway, flicking on the light of the bathroom. He grabbed the toilet paper, tearing it off of the roll before pushing it under his nose to catch the blood. His breathing was uneven and his eyes watered, bordering on sobbing as his wide eyes stared at the sink.

“Fuck…y-you fucking idiot, this is the only car you drove there…” He groaned under his breath. He sighed, throwing the paper under his nose into the trash before turning on the faucet and washing his hands of his blood. Red stained water ran down the drain as Cesar felt the nose bleed subside, and as soon as his hands were at least mostly clean, he shut off the water, pressing his hands against the counter as he tried to regain his composure.

He looked up with a deep exhale, staring at himself through the mirror, seeing how red his eyes were due to the crying. His left eye appeared to be covered by his black hair in the reflection, despite it being above his eye in reality. Cesar stared at the reflection, brows furrowing when he realized that the lights in the hallway were off in the reflection, but not when he turned behind him to verify that they were on. “…Wh…” He turned back towards the mirror, eyes widening when he realized that his reflection was smiling at him.

Cesar couldn’t even let out a scream before his shoulders were grabbed by the reflection in the mirror, pulling him through it without struggle. Cesar yelled, feeling himself fall towards the floor, a water-like liquid splashing onto him when he hit the ground. He laid on the ground for a moment, feeling his clothes being stained with the thin layer of red liquid that rested above the tiles of the bathroom. The smell was nauseating, smelling of iron and rust, along with rotting wood and fresh paint. It was completely pitch black past the light of the mirror, the yellow lights from it bleeding into the mirrored room.

Cesar’s panic spiked again as he scrambled to his feet, looking down at his feet to see he was ankle deep in blood, or something that appeared to be blood. He looked back towards the mirror, seeing the bathroom he was used to, and he raised his hands, slamming against the mirror, loud bangs echoing from each impact as he began to hyperventilate. “NO! No, no NO, PLEASE, LET ME OUT OF HERE!” He cried, tears running down his face as he attempted to break the “glass.” “LET ME OUT…PLEASE…please…” He squeaked the last words out, looking through the mirror before a figure emerged from behind the counter, standing up, it’s limbs cracking as it moved. Cesar’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the figure, his heart dropping at the realization that it was his own face looking back at him.

“A round of applause…” The alternate’s voice was breathy, sounding as if he was out of breath through his wide smile. Its bloodshot eyes stared at Cesar, thick, dark blood leaking from his nose, right eye, and from behind the hair covering his left eye. It was even wearing his suit, albeit torn and hanging together by threads. “It must feel nice…to come home after your performance. Make yourself comfortable, Cesar.”

Cesar grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, slamming them into the mirror as he screamed for someone, anyone to come to his rescue, watching as the alternate flicked the light off, walking down the hallway before closing the bathroom door. Cesar cried, sliding his blood-stained hands down the mirror as he lowered his head, sobbing to himself as he covered his face. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be happening. Maybe he would wake up, realizing it was nothing but a fucked up nightmare, and that everything would be okay. However, when he heard a loud, deep creaking from the dark, mirrored home around him, he realized it wasn’t as simple as that. The walls creaked, moving with every groan of the support beams. Tree-branch like marks covered the walls from what he could see, pulsing slightly.

Mark was right. The walls were breathing.

September 15th, 1992. 10:56 PM.

Mark was awoken by his cellular phone ringing. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep on the couch that evening, finding himself sprawled across the sofa when he groggily opened his eyes. He sleepily turned towards the coffee table, hearing the ear-splittingly annoying ringtone from his blocky cell phone. He let out a tired groan as he reached towards it, nearly falling off of the couch before grabbing it and holding it up to his ear after accepting the call.

“…H’llo?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for the response.

“Hey, it’s Cesar; I hope it’s not too—”

“Cesar?” Mark sat up, brows furrowing and his already hauntingly vacant stare becoming more harrowing. “What—why are you calling me this late? You haven’t talked to me in days and you’re calling me now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just…” Cesar sounded…strangely out of breath. “It’s not me, it’s my mom. She didn’t show up at my recital on Monday—”

“What? I didn’t…even know you had a recital.” Mark murmured as he rubbed his eyes. “You…didn’t…invite me—N-Never mind, fuck, what happened to your mom?”

“I don’t know, but…I’m at the police station to report a missing person, so I just…wanted to ask you a favor?” Cesar continued.

Mark remained silent for a moment, glancing around his empty living room with furrowed brows. “After…ignoring me for so long, you want me to do a favor for you?”

“Look, I-I know it’s been…rough lately, but I really need just this one thing,” Cesar sighed. “Can you please at least…listen?”

“Listen to you?” Mark scoffed. “You barely listen to—”

“You know the cameras we installed after we were robbed?”

Mark let out a sigh as his statement was once again pushed aside. “…Yes, what about them?” He asked with barely disguised annoyance.

“I was wondering if you could…turn them on. I’m worried that while I’m gone something might…happen?”

“Fuck no.” Mark’s tone darkened. “I already told you, I’m not going back to that fucking house. Besides, I thought you didn’t want me there anymore.”

“I was just…angry, okay, but I’m better now. Besides, I checked everywhere, and there’s nothing here.” Cesar responded. “Please, can you do this? Just this once? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Mark absentmindedly scratched his neck, staring ahead blankly. “…I…God…” He thought intently for a moment before speaking again. “Alright. I’m just going to go in there, turn them on, and then leave though…that’s it.”

“And that’s all you need to do.” Cesar said. “Thank you for this, really. I appreciate it.”

“…No…n…no problem.”

Mark felt empty as he drove to Cesar’s house. No thoughts ran through his head, as much as if felt like there should’ve been, and his stare remained blank, fixed on the road in front of him. His hands were clamped on the steering wheel, grasping the leather hard enough that it hurt. His breathing was deep, yet quiet, feeling oddly calm knowing the circumstance. It was as if he felt like he made the right decision, though deep inside he wished he didn’t take the offer, no matter if it helped he and Cesar’s friendship or not.

Mark glanced down at his hand, seeing traces of lazily washed off doodles drawn on his forearm before he grasped his sleeve, pulling it over the organic looking drawings. He shook his free, bandage-wrapped hand for a second, and then pushed his hair out of his face before grasping the wheel once again. In and out. Go in, turn on the cameras, and get out. That’s all he needed to do.

Mark parked on the other side of the road, opposite of the home before he stepped out of the vehicle. His hands shook by his sides as he hesitantly walked across the street, his sneakers hitting the pavement then eventually the driveway being the only sounds he could hear for miles. Not even the crickets seemed to be chirping that night, and the air was still and cool. Mark couldn’t help but feel a chill go up his spine as he approached the front door, reaching for the doorknob before pausing. He raised his other hand, clasping his necklace before taking in a breath, and opening the door.

He felt like he was going to throw up when he heard the grandfather clock ticking again. He let go of the door, keeping it open as he carefully looked around, looking up at the living room ceiling before spotting the first camera. He walked towards it, avoiding eye contact with the clock before reaching towards the camera and locating the switch. However, when he saw it, he paused; the camera was on, and the red light was switched on as well. He lowered his arms, turning towards the archway leading to the kitchen to look for the next camera.

The next camera wasn’t much better; red light was flashing, and the switch was on. He growled in annoyance, wondering in confused silence why Cesar asked him to turn the cameras on when they were already active. If anything, it was wasting both of their time, though nevertheless, Mark decided to try his luck with the other cameras. He looked around the room, spotting the basement door, before he turned towards the back hallway, freezing when he saw the camera above the bathroom door, finally seeing a camera without its red light on.

Mark couldn’t help but notice the pit forming in his stomach as he approached the dark hallway, eyes fixed on the camera above him. It felt oddly cold as he walked further into the hallway he swore was shorter, feeling as if the floorboards were less firm than they used to be. He looked up at the security camera above him raising his left arm to find the switch, only to see it wasn’t near the back with the wires like the others, making him furrow his brows as he grazed his hand across the metal searching for it. Finally, he found the switch, being on top of the camera, where he could barely reach. He was done; at least he hoped that the others were already on as well, so his job would be short.

He tried to stand on his flat feet, no longer standing on his toes until he felt a dull, hot pain in his left hand, as if it was burning. He winced, trying to remove his hand from the overheating camera, only to find that it didn’t budge. He stared at it, jerking his arm back, though the action didn’t free his hand either, even as the pain began to increase in intensity. He muttered curse words under his breath as he pulled his arm away, all before the camera broke off of its base, the wires that didn’t sever coming with it. Mark let out a yell as he looked at the camera in his hand, beginning to fabricate stories to explain the broken tech, until he turned it around. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw why he couldn’t move his hand.

The skin of his hand looked as if it was melting, fusing with the metal of the camera’s casing as if they were one entity since the beginning. He could see his veins becoming one with the wires, and his skin was becoming pale and thin near the fusion point. Mark tried moving his fingers, only able to see his bones and tendons move slightly under his skin. His breathing was becoming frantic as he pressed his right hand against it, attempting to free himself as he let out surprised and horrified yelps.

“Hello, Mark.”

Mark’s gaze snapped towards the noise, seeing a figure at the end of the hallway like a living shadow. “C…Cesar?” Mark’s voice shook as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, backing away into the corner and pressing his right hand against the wall for stability. It wasn’t Cesar; he could see it.

It was tall, and malnourished, with its limbs bent oddly, as if they barely held up his body. His smile was stretched wide across his face, his one right, bloodshot eye unblinking as it stared at Mark with glee. Mark looked towards his left eye socket, feeling as if he was about to vomit when he saw that the eye wasn’t even there. Protruding from the socket was many dull colored veins, almost like wires in a machine made of flesh. The veins and arteries fused with the skin on the left side of his face, as well as wrapping around his head and fusing to the back of his skull and neck. His skin almost looked dead, a paler version of the real Cesar’s skin tone. The look of it made Mark sick, the feeling of dread overpowering the burning he felt in his right hand.

“You seem tense.” “Cesar” said softly, his smile not once fading. “Why don’t you relax? You’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mark stared at what was left of the alternate’s face, his eye wide as familiarity rushed over him. The smile Mark saw in the mirror, the tall figure he saw in his dreams; even his voice felt like a jackhammer in his skull. He could hear the ticking and beating of the clock everywhere, steadily growing louder as he turned around, seeing that his right hand was immovable, and slowly sinking into the wall. “Y…You…WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Mark shouted, eyes full of fury as he tried to free his arm, noticing that his right leg was hard to move as well.

“You…make things so…difficult for us.” Cesar tilted his head. “It chose you! You should be honored to be such…an esteemed guest.”

“Wh…What chose me?!”

“It just wants the best for you, don’t you realize that?” Cesar asked calmly. “These walls, the rooms and halls; they’re safe. Secure. I don’t understand why someone would want to leave Home like you seem to.”

Mark remained silent, looking down to see his shin halfway in the wall. The burning sensation rushed over his body as it fused with the drywall and wallpaper, all while he felt a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He screamed, both in pain and horror for anyone to hear, hoping someone could free him despite his own flesh and bones deconstructing.

“Welcome Home, Mark.” Cesar said. “All its guests welcome you.”

White hot tears ran down Mark’s face, feeling his head throb with every tick of the clock, trying to pull himself out of the wall; away from his fate of being consumed in the belly of the beast. He stared at “Cesar” with hatred, the smile on its face making him burn with anger. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He screamed, his throat shot and his nose gushing with blood. “I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

Cesar didn’t even flinch at the yelling as Mark thrashed around, all attempts to free himself being fruitless. He stared at the replication of his friend as he shouted and sobbed, all until Home took away his mouth and eyes too.

Rest, my dear.

Welcome Home.

#shmorp writes sometimes #Mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc Home Sweet Home au #blood tw #gore tw #body horror #face horror #tw paranoia #paranoia inducing #(supernaturally caused but. just in case)#mark heathcliff #cesar torres #alt cesar #uh. does. Ms. Torres even. have a tag?#anyway. this was. supposed to be the prologue but uh. I got a tad silly wacky so. here's. a VERY long fic by my standards-#But hey I think you guys will like this au for real :)#ask me if theres any tags I should add by the way. just want to make sure this is properly tagged #cause. theres a lot to this one-

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 19 days

Text

Hunting Season

The following is a set of recovered journal entries found near the forest outside Whitepine, Ontario. The writer of said entries is yet to be found by authorities.

Notes: A little writing thing I was inspired to make, being a little. I guess teaser? For Whispers of Willows that isn't a part of the main storyline!

August 23rd, 1987

Today, the hunt begins. I have heard of an elk being spotted outside the woods right outside the city; one described as the biggest people near here have seen, with antlers that would be a fantastic centerpiece for any room. I plan to head out tonight and bypass the fence. Hopefully no one will see.

I have to get to that elk before anyone else takes it from me.

August 24th, 1987

I set up camp somewhere near the outskirts of the woods. I’m too tired to go hunting today. I will rest until the morning, and start looking as soon as I wake up.

August 25th, 1987

I’ve only seen a couple squirrels since I came here. It's near barren in terms of animal life, but it’s bountiful in fauna. I shot one of the squirrels for dinner. It didn’t taste great.

Staying near the outskirts isn’t getting me anywhere. Tomorrow I'll pack up and move further into the woods. Maybe then I'll get an idea of where the elk might be.

August 27th, 1987

The trees are taller than I remember them being; Pines stretching up into the sky, their tops barely visible from the forest floor. I nearly tripped on their roots multiple times as well. It feels as though they’re watching me. Judging me for being here.

I found a doe today. It ran off before I could get to it.

September 1st, 1987

No sign of the elk. I’ve been feeding off snacks I packed and a deer I managed to shoot yesterday. I hear its calls when I'm trying to sleep so I figured writing this would get my mind off of things. If I don’t find the elk tomorrow, I'll head in deeper. I’m starting to get impatient, but a good hunter knows to wait. I just have to wait.

September 2nd, 1987

The birds stopped singing today.

September 3rd, 1987

I found a good camping spot near a stream. It’s relaxing, hearing the water rushing by. I’m starting to wish I packed more blankets, as it's getting colder, near freezing at night. My campfire is helping, but it only does so much. At least it gives light. The shadows from the trees are making it difficult to navigate without a light.

September, 1987

I woke up this morning to see it's still dark. The sun isn’t shining through the trees, and the trees themselves feel as though they go up forever. I’m out of food. I need to go out to hunt today.

September, 1987

I found a deer today. I was happy at first, thinking my prayers had been answered, but I noticed it had five legs. Its eyes looked at me like a human would. It made a horrible scream when I shot it.

I still ate it. It tasted rotten, but I was too hungry to care. I’m sorry, little one.

September, 1987

I heard elk calls. It's nearby, I know it. Its calls feel as though it's begging me to go deeper into the woods. Beckoning me. I will find it.

My sleeping bag isn’t enough to keep me warm. The campfire is the only source of warmth here now. I hope God is looking upon me with fortune.

1987

I hear its calls every time I drift off to sleep. My creaking bones object but I must move forward. I’m so close to it. I’m nearly out of bullets. I only need one.

The wind sings to me. Trees watch in disdain. The animals have fled.

1987

I don’t believe God is hearing me.

1987

I haven’t seen the sun in a month. Has it been that long? I can’t count the days anymore. It could have been years since I started this hunt, but I can’t tell. It all feels the same. My equipment doesn’t work anymore. My watch’s hands haven’t moved.

I need to get it. It will be mine. I will display its corpse in my home. I will show everyone my achievement.

1987

These woods will be my grave. The trees will feast on my corpse when I'm gone, and the insects will take whatever is left of me. I am no better than the soil on which I stand.

1 9 87

I found it. My prize. It stood on the h ill. I t star ed at me from its perc h. I h eard it c all out in v ai n whe n it di ed. It s eye s w eeren’t tho se of Elk. t hey were my own eyes s taring back at me.

I hea r a voice th at isnt m y own. God is with me.

I re turn to the ear th.

I rejoice.

#Whispers of Willows #Shmorp writes sometimes #unreality #animal death ment tw #unsettling tw #I don't know exactly what else to tag-#But yeah. just a little. in universe story before I fully get into the. main storyline #Had this idea for a LONG time so. yeah!#Haven't written in a bit so this was fun to do-

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 10 months

Text

TMC Home Sweet Home AU: Encounter

Dave Lee stays behind at MandelaTECH to finish clearing out unwanted tech, unable to brush away the feeling that he isn't alone.

TW: blood, injury, body horror

Notes: This is around 5'000 words long, being the shortest HSH fic so far, but. Trust me. it's important. Anyway here it is!!! Hope you enjoy :)

July 29th, 1992. 11:35 PM

Another slow business day.

MandelaTECH had closed a few hours prior, but the emptiness seemed nearly the same as when it was open. Faint music played through a cassette player that rested on one of the metal shelves, said shelf being strangely empty for a store meant to be selling tech. Adding to the strange emptiness was the fact that the entire store was nearly completely silent aside from the stereo playing random songs, along with the sound of the AC blaring from the vents. However, rustling and thumping was heard from behind one of the doors leading to the back storage area. Faint whistling was heard before the door was shoved open by the one person in the store; the founder, Dave Lee.

He was a shorter, stouter man wearing a green shirt with MandelaTECH’s logo plastered on it in white text, partially covered by his nametag. He wore an unbuttoned, red-plaid flannel shirt over his arms, rolled up to his elbows. He had a bushy mustache on his top lip, and was wearing aviator sunglasses over his eyes, concealing them. Also partially covering his face was his black, very curly hair, which was messily covering a small part of his forehead. He held a large analog TV in his hands as he closed the door behind him with his foot, all before walking through the store, placing the Television onto one of the tables, all while he quietly sung to himself to break the silence.

“There she stood in the doorway,” Dave quietly sung as he placed the TV next to the ever growing stack of broken tech on the floor and table. “I heard the mission bell, and I was thinking to myself ‘this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.’”

He took a breath before rubbing his forehead with his hand, all before glancing at his watch, taking a deep sigh when he was reminded of how he should’ve gone home nearly an hour ago. However, the sudden news that he had to throw out most of his tech meant working overtime was an inevitability.

He took a moment to stare at the tech in front of him; radios, Televisions, boxes of VHS tapes, and even more were resting in front of him, doomed to be thrown into a dump in at latest a month. Dave’s brows furrowed, feeling a deep sadness in his chest as he realized that old tech was becoming obsolete, despite his best efforts. However, he then shook his head, realizing he’d rather throw out barely working tech then end up in jail.

He raised his hands to pick up one of the Televisions, pausing before glancing towards one of the back rooms. He then glanced back at the TV, along with a box of tapes before grasping the TV he just brought out and walking back. He opened the small storage room’s door, all before gently placing the TV on the ground and carefully pushing it against the wall. He left the room, coming back after a few moments before placing the box of tapes next to it, all before covering both with a black blanket and closing the door behind him.

“—And still those voices are calling from faaar away,” Dave sung quietly once again as he walked towards the rest of the tech, pushing back his urge to hide all of them somewhere instead of throwing them out like garbage. He picked up one of the smaller Televisions, all before turning back towards where the back door was, failing to notice the cord of the TV was dangling beside his feet. “Wake you up in the middle of the night, just to hear them say—”

Dave’s foot planted on the cord, causing him to trip forward slightly, luckily regaining his balance after a second, though his Television wasn’t as lucky. It fell out of his hands, smashing against the linoleum floor with a loud crash. Dave stumbled forward, staring at the shattered glass underneath the TV’s body, all while he held his hands up to his face in shock. “O-Oh…Oh no….” He muttered, trying to resist the urge to cry. He was going to throw it out anyway, so why did it hurt to see it break? He crouched down, carefully grabbing the metal casing of the TV, all while trying his hardest not to cut himself on the shards of glass underneath it.

He held it up, wincing as he looked into where the screen used to be, only to see the bare electronics and wires. He took in a deep breath, all before he shifted the TV to get a decent grasp on it before stepping over the shards of glass, realizing he was going to have to clean it up later. He continued to walk until he found himself at one of the back exits, pushing the door open with his shoulder before walking outside.

He looked around, seeing the dumpster in front of him, resting in front of the tree line near the back of the building. He turned to his left and right, seeing nothing down the alley within the light above the door, along with the streetlights nearby. He needed to get more lights installed back there, he thought. He hated the idea of not being able to see something back there. He felt the cool air hit him as he quickly walked towards the empty dumpster, hesitantly throwing the TV into it, hearing the loud BANG as it hit the inside of it. The sound made Dave flinch, all before he turned back and walked quickly towards the back door, opening it and slamming it shut behind him. He let out his breath, suddenly remembering how much he hated taking out the trash at night.

Dave swept the shards of glass on the screen into a dustpan as he listened to the faint sound of music coming from the boombox nearby, thinking to himself as he cleaned up the mess. Something in his gut felt especially…sour; a deep feeling of dread that he couldn’t place. It could’ve been anything, ranging from his exhaustion, to his fear of having to close his store for good. He grasped a box of old VHS tapes, holding onto it tight as he walked back towards the back door, pushing it open with his back and walking back into the cool night air. He took in a deep breath, walking towards the dumpster and tossing the entire box into it. Finally done, deciding to throw everything else out in the morning as he turned and walked back towards the door—

“It’s a beautiful, cozy evening in Mandela County tonight; clouds are rolling back, and the sun is set to shine tomorrow morning.”

A radio?

The signal changed, like a car radio flipping stations from songs, to the weather reports, to even a few old TV channels, or the audio of them at least. Dave stared towards the side of MandelaTECH, seeing nothing but darkness past the lights, the tint of his glasses making the dark parts nearly pitch black.

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” The static voice sung, pausing awkwardly before continuing. “Such a lovely place. Such a lovely—I just got a 10-15, heading to the place now. What did you…get a similar call?”

Dave stared into the darkness, slowly raising his hand towards his face, lightly grasping his sunglasses. He paused, listening to the unstable radio signals as he slowly removed them, his eyes squinting slightly from the light above him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw more and more, seeing nothing until he looked towards the corner of the store, freezing solid.

Eyes.

Reflecting the light; staring back at Dave from the darkness.

Dave stared back, hearing a garbled version of Amazing Grace coming from where the eyes were, Dave beginning to feel his heart sink as he barely made out the outline of a tall humanoid in the dark, seeing glistening teeth and a pale face. Dave and the thing in front of him had a silent staring contest as Dave stepped back a foot. The being remained unmoving, standing as still as a statue, all until it abruptly became silent. Dave stared at it in horror, dropping his glasses, hearing them clatter against the pavement beside his foot. The thing flinched, its gaze looking towards the glasses, then back at Dave, staring at him with its wide, dark eyes. Silence fell, all before it dropped down, pressing its barely visible, bony hands on the ground. Dave felt his heart drop to his feet when it began rapidly crawling towards him.

Dave turned around, sprinting towards the door as he heard it charging close behind, Dave swinging the door open before shutting it behind him. A loud bang emitted from it as the thing behind it slammed against it, the sound making Dave let out a surprised yelp as he fell to the ground. He could hear scratching and banging coming from the door, it shaking with every impact. Dave heard the sound of distorted radio frequencies, and with the realization that the thing was going to discover that the door wasn’t locked eventually came the realization that he needed to hide.

Dave scrambled to his feet, entering the main store, his eyes stinging from the fluorescent lights now that his glasses were gone. He looked around, continuing to hear the sound of the thing banging on the door becoming heavier sounding and more rapid. Dave ducked behind the customer service counter, reaching for the cell phone on top of it, missing grabbing it a few times before finally feeling it in his hand, pulling it down towards him. “Please…God damn it, please…” He whimpered as he dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I-I…th-there’s something outside.” Dave whispered, glancing around his hiding place towards the back door, which was barely visible behind the store shelves between him and it. “I don’t know what it is; I don’t know what to do—”

“Sir, please try and remain calm,” The person on the other side of the phone line stated. “Are you hiding?”

“Y...yes, I am.” Dave flinched when he heard another loud crash against the door.

“Did you see what it looked like?”

“I-I don’t…I don’t know it was…tall and…pale?” Dave grasped his hair with his free hand as he tried to suppress the urge to panic. “I…I don’t think it’s human.”

Silence; for a tad too long for comfort.

“Don’t worry sir, help is on the way, where is your location?”

“Mandela Tech, on—”

“Officers have been sent to your location.” The operator stated, their voice strangely…quiet. “Remain silent and hidden. Do not instigate.”

“I w—” A loud crash made Dave choke on his words, hearing the door slam against the wall beside it. Dave’s blood ran cold as he covered his mouth with his hand, scared to look back at the now wide open door as he lowered the phone to his side. Past the music of the boombox, he heard the sound of bare feet walking across the linoleum floors in erratic patterns, along with heavy yet quick breathing. Dave could hear it moving around the store, brushing against shelves and knocking things off of them. He shut his eyes, swallowing hard as he shakily held up the phone towards his ear, barely audible as he whispered into it. “…It’s in the store.”

No response. The operator had already hung up.

The thing behind him continued to search around, mimicking the songs playing on the boombox as it did. Dave took a deep breath in as he carefully turned towards the edge of the counter, peeking out from behind it as he tried to catch a glimpse of the creature he heard walking around. He couldn’t see anything for a little while, instead only hearing the sound of tech parts falling off of shelves and distorted radio signals. However, after seeing it appear from behind a few shelves, Dave felt his heart skip a beat, seeing what he was dealing with for the first time in proper lighting.

It was tall; way too fucking tall, over seven feet at least. Its skin was a dull, pale grey, its veins visible from under its thin, sickly skin. It wore nothing other than a pair of raggedy blue jeans, which were full of holes and stained with what Dave hoped was reddish dirt. Its legs seemed short compared to the rest of its body, and its arms were eerily long, their musculature being odd and strange looking, as if it had more muscles than a regular human did. It held its hands down towards its knees, Dave seeing that they were large, with three short fingers, with the ring finger and pinkie being much longer, with long jagged nails at the end of them like claws. Dave looked up to try and see its face, though something told him it was best that he couldn’t see it. At the very least, it looking away from him gave him at least some comfort.

It roamed around, its movements jerky and erratic, as if it was stumbling over its own feet. Dave pressed his back against the counter as he looked at the phone in his hand, turning to his left, seeing the front doors were decently close to him, albeit in the open. He took in a shaky breath, carefully and quietly shifting onto his knees and soon into a crouching position as he looked towards his right. He wasn’t sure where the thing was, only knowing it was still somewhere on the other side of his hiding place, deciding to take the chance as he threw his phone as hard as he could towards the other part of the store.

It clattered against the ground, metal parts of it breaking off from the impact as it slid a few feet. Dave heard the thing stop, growing silent abruptly as Dave waited, seeing if it would take the bait. Luckily, it did, Dave being able to hear it drop down and crawl towards it, Dave looking to the right to see it huddled over the broken phone. It held itself with three of its limbs, picking up the phone with its one free hand as it stared at it, Dave only barely able to see its all-too-wide smile from where he was hiding. Dave looked back towards the front doors, able to see his car in the dark parking lot through the glass; salvation within his view. He only hoped that the phone would keep its attention long enou—

“911, what’s your emergency?”

The sound of the things radio frequencies made Dave freeze.

“Please…you gotta help me,” the distorted sound of a man’s voice begged. “There’s someone in my house…I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how it got inside, I’ve had my doors and windows locked for months—”

Dave turned around, seeing the things wide, crazed eyes staring at him, its long face pointed downwards, making it finally look vaguely human instead of an animal with a snout.

“I-I…th-there’s something outside.” The thing spoke. “I don’t know what it is; I don’t know what to do—”

Dave heard his own voice echoed back at him from its mouth, it’s far too wide, toothy smile not once fading as its saliva dripped from its maw. Dave couldn’t think of anything more in that moment than his own conscious yelling that he needed to run.

Dave hurried to his feet, already sprinting towards the door before the thing behind him let out inhuman, garbled laughter and screaming. He glanced back only once as he rushed for the doors, turning back the second he saw the thing also scrambling to its feet and running around the counters towards him. Dave ran through the automatic doors, looking up to see his car across the parking lot besides the trees, suddenly wishing that he had the habit of parking closer to the building. He flinched when he heard a loud crash behind him, glancing back only once to see that the entity had lunged through the window beside the doors, landing on the shards of glass though seemingly unaffected by the shards of glass in its hands and feet. Dave simply turned back, deciding to not look back even once, not wanting to see its face again.

As he ran, his breathing harsh and rapid, he heard the thing behind him, its garbled radio signals becoming far too close for comfort. Dave finally made it to his car, grasping the handle only to find that the door was locked, and when he looked towards the creature chasing him, seeing that it wasn’t slowing down, Dave decided he didn’t have time to try and unlock it. He let go of the handle, beginning to sprint away as the thing behind him lunged at him, swiping at his back with its claws, narrowly missing it. Dave tried to suppress his urge to sob, feeling adrenaline rushing through his veins as he could all but feel the things breath on the back of his neck. He ran for the road, his lungs burning and his body sore, all as the creature grew ever closer, all before it dropped down, and swiped at Dave once again with its jagged claws.

Dave felt it tear the flesh of the back of his left knee. He let out a loud yell as he fell onto the cold asphalt, slamming against it, feeling his breath be forced out of him. A pulsing pain radiated from the large gash in the back of his leg as he quickly turned onto his back, looking at the twisted knee in horror before he looked up, seeing the alternate’s glistening teeth above him. Dave crawled back, his leg crying out in agony with every kick of his foot, barely able to get a few feet away from the alternate in front of him before it slashed at him once again. Dave held his arm up to protect his face, the creature’s claws scratching his skin, leaving two jagged, bloody lines in his forearm as Dave screamed. He held his bloody arm with his other hand, looking back up just in time for the other arm of the thing to slash at his face.

He felt warm blood run down the right side of his face from the two new, deep gashes across his skin. He turned away, supporting his body with one shaking arm as he held up his other over the new wound. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of him through his right eye, instead only seeing a reddish black; blind.

He looked back up at the creature, seeing it was stumbling closer to him; this was it. Dave was dead, and he didn’t even know it yet. That thing only knew slaughter, and Dave could see it in its crazed, bloodshot eyes. It looked down at him, echoing things it’s heard before, both familiar and alien to Dave. Dave covered the bloody wound that used to be where his right eye was with his hand, closing his other as he awaited the death he felt was inevitable. However, when he took one last glance at it, he noticed it wasn’t even looking at him anymore. It was looking towards the edge of the parking lot, and as Dave heard the sound of tires on asphalt, Dave began to wonder just how lucky he was.

Headlights hit the thing’s form, it backing away slightly as it covered its eyes from the light, though it refused to turn away from the car as it stopped nearby. Dave was blinded by the bright lights obscuring his already blurry vision, only able to see a dark silhouette exit the vehicle. The alternate was staring at the person, completely still and making no noise, as if it froze solid. It tilted its head slightly as it felt a strange sense of familiarity. The figure raised their arm, and a series of loud shots rang from the gun in their hand, Dave barely able to process anything aside from the thing stumbling back and screaming with stolen voices. It turned away, crawling away like spooked wild animal as its thick, dark blood oozed out of its new wounds. Dave watched as the figure blotted out the headlights, standing in front of him with their gun by their side. Dave could only hear their heavy breathing before they spoke.

“Shit…you alright?”

“N…I don’t…n-no.” Dave stammered over his words, his mind going faster than his tongue.

“Jesus, you need a fucking hospital, come on.” The man said, his voice soft yet urgent as he held out his hand for Dave to grab. “Can you walk?”

“…I don’t…I don’t know, it…it—” Dave was suddenly reminded of the sharp, borderline unbearable pain in his leg.

“Give me your hand, we’re gonna get you some help.”

Dave obliged, grasping the figures thin hand as he helped Dave stand up, Dave wincing with every movement. The figure was far taller than him, making it hard for Dave to wrap his arm around his shoulders for support, but soon enough he was being led to the car nonetheless. Dave glanced up at the figures head, only being able to see pale bangs concealing his face. He seemed decently thin, and was wearing a leather jacket. Dave couldn’t make much out through the darkness, unable to even begin to state how grateful he truly was before he was ushered into the back seat of the car. Dave felt himself growing tired with every minute, unclear if it was from the blood loss or the pain. He tried not to think of what would have happened if the man didn’t make it there just in time; something told him he didn’t want to know.

He was too focused on the throbbing pain in his head and leg to pay attention to the what-ifs anyway.

July 30th, 7:10 AM

Dave awoke on a hospital bed the following morning, soreness rushing over his body as soon as he regained consciousness. He heard the sound of the heart monitor beside his bed, along with faint talking outside of his room, and when he opened his eyes, the fluorescent lights in his room stung his eyes, making him wish he had his sunglasses back. He had two long slashes on his face, held together by stitching that was partially covered up by the bandages concealing his right eye. He looked down to see that he had bandages on his arm as well, lightly stained with red, though it seemed like the bleeding had stopped or at least slowed. It didn’t stop Dave from feeling sick and woozy however.

He glanced around the unfamiliar room, seeing the pale brown and white walls along with the medical equipment nearby. He then took in a deep sigh, wincing slightly as he leaned back and closed his eye, feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him despite just waking up. However, before he could drift off to sleep once again, he heard the door open to his right. He turned slightly, at least enough to be able to see who it was, able to see that it was a nurse standing near the doorway.

“Mr. Lee, you’re awake.” He stated. “You have a visitor from the police department; he wishes to speak with you privately.”

Dave stared blankly at the nurse for a second. “Yeah…yeah that’s…fine.” Dave said weakly, his voice hoarse and his throat sore as he spoke. He rested his head against the pillow once again, preparing to answer a bunch of questions despite being half asleep. The nurse turned towards the partially open door before pushing it open, gesturing into the room before leaving, all before another person walked into the room.

“Mr. Lee?”

A familiar voice; gruff yet not too deep. Dave turned towards the man, finally able to see the person who saved him in proper light. He was a tall, decently thin man wearing a lazily put on white dress shirt, along with blue jeans. He had bleached long hair, held back with a lazy bun except for his long bangs. It had a scruffy beard, and tired green eyes that stared back at Dave with disguised concern. It had its hands in its pockets as it sat down in a chair next to Dave’s bed, all before Dave smiled softly.

“Y…It’s you.” Dave said.

“I was just stopping by to check in.” The man stated. “Making sure you’re doing alright after…everything.”

“Heh…yeah.” Dave grew quiet for a second before looking back at the man beside him. “Who…are you anyway?”

“Oh yeah, right…” The man cleared his throat. “I’m lieutenant Thatcher Davis, I work for the MCPD.”

“So you’re the one they sent?” Dave asked. “Cutting…it a bit close, don’t you think?” Dave chuckled nervously slightly, trying to lighten the mood despite not really feeling in the mood for jokes.

Thatcher stared at him blankly before looking away. “Hm.”

Silence fell between the two for a moment, at least until Thatcher continued.

“How do you feel?” Thatcher asked.

“As…good as I can be right now.” Dave said. “They…couldn’t save my eye, judging by what I’ve heard.”

Thatcher sighed deeply. “I’m…sorry to hear that.”

“…Don’t be.” Dave said. “I mean…it’s…better than it could’ve been. You win some, you lose some, y’know? Just…happy to be…alive I guess.”

“You’re…certainly more positive than…I could ever be.” Thatcher said quietly.

“Sometimes you have to be.”

Silence fell, and with it, the light attitude in the air began to dissipate.

“Lee, do you know…exactly what attacked you?” Thatcher asked.

Dave looked away from the lieutenant as he thought to himself. “Uh...it…It had to have been one of those…alternates, right?” Dave paused again. “Though…I don’t know; the way you posed that question…” Dave let out another nervous, not quite genuine chuckle.

The tense silence felt more uncomfortable that time.

“Did…you get it?” Dave questioned hesitantly. “Were you guys able to…find that thing, and…stop it from hurting anyone else?”

Thatcher looked at Dave, its stare dark yet sad at the same time.

“They’re going to list it as an animal attack, Dave.” Thatcher said quietly.

Dave didn’t understand the statement at first, taking a few moments to process it. “…Do…do they not…know—?”

“They do.” Thatcher stated, glancing away for a second.

“I-I don’t understand, are they just…you’re just going to cover it up?” Dave questioned with a tinge of anger to his voice. Thatcher didn’t respond, not making eye contact as Dave continued. “What the hell do you mean, you…I don’t understand—”

“Dave.” Thatcher stated quietly. “Look…I…I hate this as much as you do.”

“Then why don’t you just…tell them it was an alternate?” Dave asked. “Why are you allowing them to cover it up?”

“Listen…I wasn’t sent by the police last night, I was off duty.” Thatcher responded, feeling guilt creeping up inside of him. “I went Mandela Tech because I overheard the call on the police scanner in my car.”

“What?”

“I was going out to drive because I couldn’t sleep.” Thatcher continued. “…If I didn’t do that, Lee…you’d be dead.”

Dave remained in silence as he listened.

“They weren’t…going to send anyone, Dave.” Thatcher stated with a slightly wavering voice. “…They didn’t think…you were going to survive.”

Dave had no clue how to process how he felt, only being able to look away with furrowed brows and a confused and scared look in his eyes.

“Y…I d…I don’t…understand.” Dave muttered.

“It’s…protocol.” Thatcher stated. “And trust me; I hate it as much as you do. If I could, I’d leave that god forsaken police station but…at the moment…I can’t. I have a job I need to do before I can.”

Dave remained in stunned silence as Thatcher fetched a small notepad, writing something down in it before ripping out the paper. “Look, if anything happens again, you call me, alright?” Thatcher handed Dave the slip of paper, Dave able to see it was a phone number. “I’ll be there. I wish I could…do more to help but I’m afraid right now I can’t—”

“No…n…no you’re fine.”

Thatcher looked at Dave who was staring at him with a tinge of sadness. “Look…y…you saved my life last night.” Dave continued. “If anything…I should be the one repaying you.”

“Dave, that’s not necessary—”

“Thatcher.” Dave paused for a second as he thought to himself. “Thank you.”

Thatcher didn’t maintain eye contact. “You don’t…need to thank me. It’s just my job.”

“Yeah, but…you were off duty.”

Thatcher sighed quietly as it fidgeted with its hands. “…That…thing.” It muttered to itself. “…I saw it before.”

“…what?”

“It didn’t look…like that, it looked more…like an imitation of…m…fuck.” Thatcher shook his head as he stood up. “Forget it. Call me if you need anything, but…hopefully this is the last time we see each other.” Thatcher approached the door, grasping the handle before looking back at Dave through the corner of his eye one last time. “Good luck, Dave. Wish you…a quick recovery.”

With that, it left, Dave left wondering how to process how he felt as he looked down at the phone number in his hand. He sighed slightly as he thought to himself. He laid back in his bed, the pain in his body a bit more tolerable as he shut his eye. He was exhausted, and despite the looming dread of knowing he was left to die by the people meant to protect him, along with the strange feeling he got from Thatcher’s sudden leave, he decided to sleep, or at the very least try to. He wasn’t sure how well he would rest, knowing the things he now knew.

Either way, at least he knew there was a friend he could count on.

#the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #hsh dave #hsh Thatcher #Zero (hsh)#Huh. wonder what that is.#blood tw #violence tw #body horror #shmorp writes sometimes #Hey! More hsh content! how wild and wacky is that #Anyway. the guys ever.#Won't say much else cause. honestly? speaks for itself.

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 8 months

Text

Home Sweet Home AU: Martyrdom

Thatcher gets a late night call from an unknown number, saying they have something they need to discuss.

TW: blood, mentions of/implied character death

Notes: around 3'800 words long, being the shortest HSH fic so far. I don't have much to add here, but hope you like it!

February 12th, 1995. 10:24 PM.

Thatcher was awoken that night by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his office.

He couldn’t recall falling asleep on his couch, lying on a pile of discarded papers and dirty clothes. If he had to guess, it was due to exhaustion and/or sleep deprivation, though he could barely remember anything aside from staring at the wall for an hour or so. He groggily sat up, holding his head and wincing when an all-too-familiar headache pounded in his skull. Everything felt sore, with his right shoulder feeling as if it was ripped out of socket again. He looked down at his shoulder, pulling away his shirt to see that his collar bone was still pressing against his skin awkwardly, causing a bump in his shoulder. He sighed, remembering the reason he no longer laid on his side as he tried to ignore the deep pain shooting from it.

Oh right. The phone.

Thatcher stood up, letting out a deep, somewhat annoyed groan as he made his way to his office, pushing open the door to see the phone on his desk. He stood still for a moment, pondering whether or not he should simply let it ring and go to voicemail. Despite his best efforts not to care, he sighed in defeat and answered the phone, expecting to hear the sound of one of his co-worker’s voice, telling him to come into the station for some late-night incident or something.

“Thatcher Davis, MCP—”

“I already know who you are.”

A familiar voice, though not one that felt necessarily comforting in that regard.

“Who is this?” Thatcher furrowed his brows, absentmindedly beginning to pace back and forth in his office.

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The man on the other end of the phone stated. “St. Gabriel’s Church, as soon as possible. I need to talk to you.”

Thatcher paused in place, staring at the floor before speaking quietly yet urgently. “…I won’t do that until you tell me who is speaking.”

Silence for a moment.

“You know me.” The man said. “You ruined my life.”

“…I d—”

“Meet me at the church, tonight.” The man commanded. “This is an urgent matter. I’ll be waiting in the west bell-tower.”

The caller hung up, leaving Thatcher in a confused haze as it attempted to figure out who it was, or why the voice was familiar. The man’s somewhat raspy, yet desperate-sounding voice resonated in his head, despite the concern and almost fear of taking the call. He stood in place, staring at his phone before flipping it shut and shoving it into his pants pocket. He took in a breath as he silently approached his desk, opening a drawer and seeing nothing but junk inside. He brushed it all away before he finally found what he was looking for; his pistol. He grabbed it, checking the magazine to see that it was loaded before looking back into the drawer and fishing out his gun holster. He threw the holster over his left shoulder before sliding his gun into it, deciding not to change into a better outfit aside from his worn jeans and faded, oversized shirt.

He walked back into his living room in silence, grabbing his grey, shabby trench coat before pulling it over his arms. He tried to ignore how it too was oversized, nor the fact that he had received it as a gift from a friend, despite it being a reminder of her every time he wears it. Perhaps it was a good thing to be reminded of her. He snapped out of his train of thought, realizing he stopped moving for a second before he finally walked into his kitchen, grabbing a pair of leather gloves to somewhat protect his thin hands from the cold. He let out a deep breath as he grabbed his keys and headed for the front door, pausing as he turned his head to look behind him. He looked towards the dining room table, one that had multiple chairs despite no one coming over. On it was nothing but a single police radio, resting in the middle of it. Thatcher stared at it for a moment, pondering whether he wanted to take it, just in case, before he decided against it. He shook his head, walking through the front door into the night, only hoping he wasn’t walking into another trap.

He at least had some comfort in knowing he had a weapon.

11:03 PM

Thatcher wished the radio in his car worked as he drove down the dark, damp road to the church. The sound of his barely functioning heater blowing through the vents was the only sound that even remotely replaced the music that would’ve been playing, though it wasn’t enough to drown out much of anything. Thatcher stared forward, seeing the snow-covered trees pass by on the sides of the road, along with the snow landing on his windshield. He glanced at his right hand, wishing he could just take a break and scratch where his prosthetic rubbed against his skin under his glove, though he decided that getting the call over with was better; at the very least it meant he could go to sleep earlier.

If he’d be able to go home at all.

After all, he was working off of the assumption that the man on the other end of the phone was a human; a real person that knew Thatcher in the past and genuinely wanted to talk about something important. Thatcher felt a sense of uncertainty wash over it as it turned down a gravel road, wondering if he was going to be lucky again and that if the man wasn’t who, or rather what, he claims to be, the gun pressed against its left set of ribs would be enough to scare it off. Though perhaps Thatcher was stupid to think it was capable of being lucky.

Thatcher slowed to a stop when it saw the tall steel gate that led into the church property, barely seeing the church behind it through the trees and snow. Light from the lamp-posts bled into the gravel lane as Thatcher exited its car, looking around before approaching the gate and pushing it open, happy to see it was unlocked. After he swung the gates to the side, hearing the shrill squeaking coming from its hinges, he jogged back to his car, hopping inside and slamming the door shut. He glanced into his rearview mirror, checking that his back seat was vacant before he drove through the gate, finally driving onto asphalt as he pulled into the large parking lot.

He parked in one of the spaces, seeing a short fence between him and the church in front of his car. He exited his car, locking it before shoving his keys in his pocket and staring up at the towering cathedral before him. It had two large wooden doors at its entrance, along with a giant circular, stained-glass window above it, with many smaller circles surrounding it. A large, metal cross was to the left side of the entrance, seemingly rusted despite the church still being active from what Thatcher remembered. He looked up towards the slanted roof, seeing two giant bell towers, with one to the right, and one to the left, reaching towards the pitch-black sky. Thatcher couldn’t help but notice the pit in his gut he felt looking up at the giant building; it almost felt like vertigo, despite not looking down. He shook his head, letting out a breath as he turned to the right, following the fence towards concrete staircase that led down to the entrance. As he walked, a figure stared at him from the west bell tower, watching him as Thatcher walked towards the entrance, pushing the heavy doors open and walking inside.

The first thing Thatcher noticed aside from the deafening silence was the vastness of the inside of the church. It had a domed roof, with painted patterns on the walls. He looked forward, his shoes clacking against the marble floors as he looked around. Lines of pews ran down both sides of him, all facing a stage to the front of the room, one with a large organ front and center.

“Hello?” Thatcher called, his voice echoing off of the tall walls. “Thatcher Davis, MCPD. You called me here?”

No answer aside from his own voice reflecting back at him. He looked to his left, seeing a few archways that led to other parts of the church, deciding it was the best place to start looking for a way into the west tower, like the man had said to meet him. He walked in between pews and walked through one of the archways, being met with a hall that led into a few smaller rooms. However, when he looked to the left, he saw a stairwell, one he presumed to lead into the tower. He paused, thinking of the inevitable pain his knees were going to feel before beginning to scale the stairs.

He walked, further and further up into the dimly lit tower as he pushed his trench coat to the side, exposing his holster and firearm in preparation in case something other than a human was up there. He could smell dust and an overall musty smell as he pushed open the small door above him that led into the belfry, poking his head into the room to see a small electric lantern in the corner, lighting up the room. Thatcher huffed, pushing the door to the side, letting it clatter off of the floor as he hoisted himself up into the room. The belfry was larger than he expected it would be, with one large, brass bell hanging in the middle of the room. He looked around, seeing a large, arched window in front of him, with the cool wind hitting his face as he approached it.

“You actually came.”

Thatcher turned around quickly, the voice startling him enough to instinctively hold his hand close to his firearm. He turned towards one of the corners, seeing a man leaned against the wall, holding his arms close to his torso, clearly cold despite wearing a thick, turtleneck sweater. Thatcher looked up at the man’s face, his intense stare and low brows feeling familiar, though it took a few moments for Thatcher’s mind to finally connect the dots.

Arthur.

“Mr. Heathcliff.” Thatcher stated, almost surprised to see the man after so long.

Arthur’s eyes had dark rings around him, and his blank, yet irritated stare didn’t wane. “Lieutenant.” He responded, as if saying the word was some sort of profanity.

“Why did you call me here?” Thatcher questioned as Arthur stepped away from the wall, approaching Thatcher yet keeping his distance.

“I needed to…talk about some things.” Arthur said. “With you.”

“How did you even get my number?”

“Asked around.”

Thatcher remained silent, not super confident that who he was looking at was human like it seemed.

“…It’s…quiet tonight, isn’t it?” Arthur stated, looking through the window, past the parking lot and towards the lights in the distance from the town.

“What are you even doing up here?” Thatcher questioned, standing beside Arthur as he stares at the priest with a look of mild annoyance.

“It has the best view.” Arthur stated simply. “I come up here to…get my mind off of things, y’know?”

Thatcher gazed out into the distance through the window; Arthur was right about the view being nice at least, though it was hard to make out anything outside of the light from the lamp-posts.

“Though tonight, I couldn’t help but think.” Arthur continued, turning to face Thatcher with the same, almost angry look in his eyes he’s had the entire time. “…It’s been…what, nearly 3 years now?”

“…Since what?”

“…Since Mark went missing.”

The mention of the Mark Heathcliff case sent a shock to Thatcher’s system, making him skip a breath. He couldn’t respond, with an all-too familiar feeling of dread and guilt beginning to creep up inside of him.

“I’ve…been thinking about it…nonstop lately.” Arthur explained. “And I just…is he…dead, or not?”

Thatcher remained silent, staring at Arthur with a tinge of sadness added to his tired stare.

“…Well?” Arthur appeared impatient. “Is he?”

“We did all we could.” Thatcher stated, trying to cover up the uncertainty in his voice. “We…never found anything.”

“…Of course.” Arthur said under his breath, barely audible enough for Thatcher to hear.

Thatcher felt the weight of the thick air of guilt and anger around him, with the silence making it feel heavier than ever. Arthur crossed his arms, looking through the window as he thought to himself.

“…God teaches to…forgive and forget.” Arthur said quietly. “To love thy neighbor…to forgive thine enemies.” Arthur turned towards Thatcher, his face barely lit by the light outside and the light from the lantern. “But for some reason I can’t bring myself to forgive you.”

“I’m not asking to be forgiven.” Thatcher responded plainly. “…I understand what—”

“No, you don’t.” Arthur glared at Thatcher, lowering his arms as he faced the lieutenant. “Do you know how much I’ve lost? Mark runs off, and because of that, I lose the only people in my life that matter.” Arthur paused, taking in a deep breath. “…Leah and Sarah moved to Bythorne recently, you know that? Left me here…to just…rot. To try and figure out how to…fix all this.”

“I tried to help you and your family the best I could,” Thatcher responded. “I’ve done all I possibly could to try and solve this case, but I’ve already told you, we found nothing.”

“Right.” Arthur nodded, though it didn’t feel genuine. “So you ignoring the many disappearances in this town and brushing everything under the rug is you giving your all?”

Thatcher couldn’t even get a word in as Arthur continued.

“I’ve tried to forget about this; to move on and just live my life the way the Lord above wants me to,” Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who backed away a few steps. “But it keep coming back to me, ALL of this. I’m trying to keep up a sense that I’m alright even though everything in my life is falling apart, all because you couldn’t do your God damned job.”

“You don’t think I’ve given everything to solving this case?” Thatcher snapped back.

“You failed to find him, Davis.” Arthur accused. “You barely did anything to help aside from twiddle your thumbs and take some of Mark’s junk. At least the other cop tried to help Leah as she went through the worst event of her life; but what did you do?”

“Arthur, you don’t understa—”

“I’ve lost more than you could ever know due to your negligence,” Arthur interrupted, standing in front of the window, the light from outside hitting his back. “I lost Leah, and now I won’t even be able to see my own daughter grow up. All because you didn’t do anything to he—”

“Ruth is dead because of this case.”

Thatcher felt the words leave his mouth, his tone sour and hateful. Arthur appeared to pause for a moment, at least giving Thatcher time to speak. “At least…that’s what everyone else thinks. She…I lost her, and…I don’t know where she went. I tried my fucking hardest to fix things, but now only more people are gone because of it. Arthur, I know what it’s like to lose what’s closest to you because I’ve gone through the same thing.”

Silence fell between the two, leaving them to stare at each other in a hateful silence. At least, until Arthur started speaking again.

“…All I want is to have my family back, yet you won’t even help me with that.” Arthur continued. “If you find Mark…then maybe I’d be able to have it back—”

“You talk about Mark like he’s a burden.” Thatcher stated. “Like he’s just a prop that will fix everything in your life. Do you truly even care about him?”

Arthur stood in shocked silence, staring at Thatcher with an appalled stare for a tad too long for comfort.

“Do you?” Thatcher questioned. “Or did you just want to make another you.”

“I did.” Arthur claimed. “I…I did love him. He was my son; you think I didn’t love my own flesh and blood?”

“I never got the impression that you did.”

“God damn you, Davis.” Arthur said quietly. “I hope God will have mercy on your soul.”

“I’m not religious.”

“You bastard.” Arthur said, his tone hateful as he clenched his fists. “I’ve tried all I could, and I can only hope God will forgive me for having the hate I feel towards you. This town is in shambles because of you! All because you refuse to help those you claim to protect!”

Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who stood his ground as he grew closer.

“If you won’t do anything, I will.” Arthur claimed. “And I know that God will reign by the end of this! I know that these ‘alternates’ will cower away from his light! And by the end you will be left alone, all because of your own mistakes!”

“Get away from me.” Thatcher growled as Arthur continued to step closer.

“By God, I’ll show everyone just how much of a coward you are!” Arthur yelled. “You failed to help the vulnerable, and now you will suffer the consequences of your actions!”

“Step BACK!” Thatcher shoved Arthur away with one of his arms before turning away. He went to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a surprised yell behind him. He swung around, seeing that Arthur was gone, leaving only an empty, cold room behind. He heard screaming outside of the window, fading away for a second before he heard the sound of a sickening crack that sent a chill up Thatcher’s spine.

Its wide eyes stared at the open arched window in silence. Its face was a shade paler, with its eyes unblinking and its jaw slack. He couldn’t even believe just what happened, wondering if it was just a dream or nightmare. It went to fast for him to even process the events that transpired, with all that was left being a feeling of pure shock and a rapidly beating heart.

Thatcher couldn’t even bring himself to move as he stared at the open window, with the silence feeling all encompassing, choking out whatever words Thatcher could possibly say. He stumbled backwards, looking down to see the trapdoor leading into the stairwell before he silently, yet hesitantly, began stepping down the stairs, shutting the trapdoor above him.

As he frantically descended the stairwell, only one thought ran through his head, over and over like a skipping record: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He couldn’t even process what he was feeling as he entered the auditorium, running into the middle aisle before rushing towards the front doors. He froze when he reached them, staring at the wood before he pressed down his sudden pensiveness and pushed open the door.

He walked out of the church in silence, staring at the pavement, feeling as if he couldn’t even force himself to look to his right in fear of what he’d see when he did. It continued to stare at its feet before forcing itself to look up and forward, his eyes not blinking once despite the growing stinging feeling from the cold. He turned to his left, walking up the stairs to get to the parking lot, staring at the ground as he walked to his car. He unlocked the driver’s side door, opening it and stepping into his car as he silently stared at nothing in particular. He started the vehicle, finally looking out his windshield, staring towards the bottom of the west tower. He froze, staring at the crimson blood dripping onto the pure white snow from above. He quickly looked away, hands trembling as he grasped the steering wheel. He drove out of the parking lot the fastest he could. He knew the guilt of what happened was going to take hold of him later on, but at that moment, he thought of nothing more than going home and trying to grasp the situation.

All he knew was he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

February 13th, 7:16 AM.

Thatcher blankly stared forward, his mouth covered by his hand as the light from the television reflected off of his wide open, bloodshot eyes. He sat in a dark living room, all the curtains pulled over the windows and the lights off. He watched, not blinking once as the news program played in front of his face.

“—Right now we are following the breaking news at the St. Gabriel’s church, where the priest of aforementioned church, Arthur Heathcliff was found dead on the property just this morning. Our reporters are at the scene now, with the most up-to-date news on the situation.”

The camera changed to shots of the church from a distance as another broadcaster spoke over the footage.

“We are currently at the St. Gabriel’s church, right on the border of Werksha and Mandela county, where a nearby home-owner reported that they heard screaming at around 11:45 last night. The scene is closed to the public until further notice, with the circumstances of the death remaining unkno—”

Click.

Thatcher shut off the Television, delving the room into near complete darkness. He stared at the black screen, his breath quiet and his mind blank. He was going to be called about this as soon as he went to work; he knew it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch, instead hunching over and clasping his hair with his hands. He thought to himself, wondering how many more people were going to die due to his own mistakes; how many more people were going to suffer while he was on the force. The image of Arthur’s body, hanging from where it was impaled on a metal cross was burned in Thatcher’s mind, refusing to leave no matter how hard he tried to get it out. He hadn’t slept the previous night, remembering the hauntingly vacant stare and look of horror on the body’s face.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t handle being the cause of more and more pain and death. The next time he went to work would be his last. Thatcher was a coward, and now, he knew it, so the only option he felt would help people, was to quit. He was sorry; so deeply sorry for everything he did, and everything he failed to do. He just hoped the next lieutenant would be better than he was.

He was no lieutenant, just a scared boy with a gun.

How ironic.

#the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #arthur heathcliff (tmc)#hsh thatcher #character death tw #blood tw #shmorp writes sometimes #Yippie!! Thatcher has a bad day the au!!!! /VVLH HJ #I feel like this fic speaks for itself so i'm not sure what else to add that won't hint at anything in it- /lh #So. read it. now /LHJ NF

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 11 months

Text

TMC Home Sweet Home AU: Barotrauma

Adam Murray and Jonah Marshall take a call about a possible cat spirit inhabiting a Home in Mandela. However, Adam begins to become...strangely fascinated with the House itself.

TW: Blood/gore/body horror, toxic friendships, manipulation, mild drug use, possession, violence.

Notes: HSH VOLUME 2!!! This one is. longer than the prologue, being close to 15′400 words long, so. a long read. However, I believe that it’s worth the read, so. hope you enjoy!

@anotherr-side

January 12th, 2009. 2 PM

Adam was already tired of driving.

He stared forward at the frosty road in front of him, his blue eyes blank and devoid of emotion. An hour-long drive between their base in Bythorne has never felt so long, yet with every second Adam could feel his soul dying from boredom. The music on the radio only helped somewhat at making the drive less tedious, though only barely. He recognized most of the songs as ones he’s heard before, with a few of them feeling like cheese graters being used on his ears due to how many times they’ve played on the radio. Despite wanting to shut the radio off however, Adam hated the silence more. He’d take shitty, overused music over pure, all-encompassing silence any time.

Adam wore a black hoodie over his thin body, its hood pulled up over his head and partially covering his pale brown, curly hair. Three bold yellow letters, “BPS”, were on the left side of his chest, along as across his back. His cold, pale hands grasped onto the steering wheel, the cool air of winter making him wish he remembered to bring his gloves instead of leaving them on the dresser. He had a silver lip ring, along with black chain-link earrings, partially covered by his hood. Along with the missing gloves, Adam began to wish he wore normal jeans, instead of the ripped jeans he normally wore. He glanced towards Jonah, who was sleeping in the passenger seat, seeing he had thought ahead, wearing both a white sweatshirt and a black leather jacket to keep him warm.

Jonah was leaned against the window with his arms crossed in front of him, snoring quietly as faint, muffled music came from the Walkman’s headphones over his ears. His silver hair had its original black roots visible, it being pressed down by his headphones. He had tanned skin, his cheeks becoming red from the cold air. He had a silver nose ring, along with more earrings that were covered by the headphones. He wore simple jeans and red high-top shoes over his thin legs, which were crossed in front of him. He looked pretty deep in sleep, though at least it meant he wouldn’t bother Adam with dull jokes and “totally real” stories.

Adam sighed deeply, staring forward and through the windshield, seeing the white snow on the sides of the roads and the grey road. He was beginning to think of how tired he was of seeing nothing but snow-covered fields and trees until he saw something on the side of the road. It was a frost covered green sign, it’s lettering visible enough to read “Welcome to Mandela Cty. WI!”

“Fucking finally…” Adam muttered under his breath. He turned towards Jonah for a second before focusing back on the road, all before smacking Jonah’s arm with the back of his hand. “Wake up, Jackass, we’re here.”

Jonah was startled awake, sliding his headphones off before staring at Adam with a half-awake stare, all before rubbing his eyes. “Dude…how long was I out?”

“Since we left.”

“Oh. Cool.” Jonah stretched his arms, sighing as he looked outside his window. “So…how much longer ‘till we get there?”

“Less than 20 minutes, probably.” Adam said. “By the way…you got money for gas?”

“…huh?”

“We’re running low on gas, do you have money?” Adam asked again with a tinge of impatience.

Jonah remained silent.

“…Jonah.”

“Okay fine, fuck.” Jonah groaned, pulling out a few dollar bills from his pants pocket. “I got 15 bucks.”

“15?” Adam questioned. “You literally only have 15 on you?”

“Yeah.”

“For fucks sake.” Adam stated. “You were supposed to save that.”

“Hey, get off my back, why does it even matter?” Jonah responded.

“Let me guess, you spent the rest on fucking weed didn’t you.” Adam stated.

Jonah didn’t respond, looking away for a second.

“…You did?!” Adam questioned.

“…You…want any?” Jonah grabbed the backpack sitting by his foot, unzipping it slightly.

Adam responded with a tired, exasperated sigh. “Jonah I swear to God, I’m going to murder you one day.”

“Look man, shit’s stressful at times.” Jonah defended.

“If we get pulled over, I’m going to throw you under a bus.”

“Look man, since when did you care anyway?” Jonah asked. “It’s my money.”

“Yeah, sure, your money. Money that was supposed to go to the group, but you took for yourself.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Jonah stated, an air of frustration coming from him as he stared at Adam.

“Whatever dude, just…we’ll figure that shit out after this, okay?”

Jonah sighed, looking out of the window as they drove into town. “…Alrighty.”

Adam felt his mood lighten when they finally made it to town, pulling over into the first gas station they saw. Adam parked next to one of the gas pumps, seeing Jonah immediately hop out of the van, Adam lagging behind before exiting the vehicle too. He stretched his thin and lanky arms and legs before walking around the car to see Jonah leaning against the side of the van, partially covering the lazily written “BPS” logo spray-painted in black on the white metal. “Hey…how much money…do you really need for gas?” Jonah asked as Adam took out some of his money, along with the 15 dollars Jonah gave him. Adam simply looked back at him with a confused gaze.

“Probably…twenty? Twenty-five?” He said, looking down at the cash in his hands, adding up to around 35 dollars.

“So why’d you need my money?”

“I’m not letting you skimp out on paying for gas again.”

“Hm.” Jonah looked away, shuddering slightly due to the cold. He glanced back at Adam, seeing that he was unfazed by the chill, frosty air, even though he was wearing less. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking freezing.” Adam stated, brushing past Jonah to start refueling the van.

“…You don’t act like it.”

“What, you want me to shake or something?” Adam forced a shudder. “It doesn’t bother me as much, what else do you want me to say?”

Jonah looked towards the convenience store next to the fuel pumps, seeing that it was open before looking at Adam. “You mind giving me back ten bucks?”

“…For…?”

“Look, if we’re staying for three days, we better get some snacks.” Jonah held out his hand. “Ten bucks and I’ll get us some chips.”

Adam stared at his hand before rolling his eyes, reluctantly slapping the rest of the money in his hand onto Jonah’s. “I swear dude, don’t buy anything stupid. Snacks, and that’s it.”

“Fine, fuck.” Jonah said as he backed away before turning to walk to the store. “Jeez…”

Adam stared at the gas pump in his hand, waiting until it was done before returning it to its base and grabbing his receipt, promptly crumpling it into a ball and throwing it to the side. He sighed, leaning against the passenger side door before crossing his arms in front of him. He leaned his head back, the back of his skull hitting the window with a soft thunk before he closed his eyes. He felt the wind blowing across his pale face, snowflakes getting stuck in his hair as he stood still, waiting for Jonah to return with the snacks.

“Hey, Adam.”

“Hmm?” Adam opened his eyes, looking to his right where he heard Jonah’s voice, expecting him to be back to either ask him for something, or bother him for more money. He blinked a few times, confused at the sight of nothing but a snow-covered parking lot and the store. He furrowed his brows, turning to his left only to see more of the same, seeing the road where the scarce car would pass by. He stared on in a concerned confusion, feeling as if someone was watching him even though no one was there, even causing the hair on his neck to stand on edge. He stared forward, only to see something in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening slightly. He could see half of a head peeking out from the back of the van, causing him to snap his attention towards his right again, stepping away as he saw nothing there. He stared at it, his dull blue eyes not blinking once until he heard something again.

“Hey, Adam.”

He turned towards the store, seeing Jonah carrying a bag of various snacks in his arms. “…Adam?”

“Hey…” Adam muttered.

“You alright, dude?” Jonah asked as he slid the van’s side door open, throwing in the bag of food. “You look kinda—”

“I’m fine.” Adam said, avoiding eye contact before turning around to walk around the van. “Let’s get going. We have a job to do.”

Adam remained silent as he drove through town, remembering the turns he was supposed to make, and the address the caller stated as he traversed through Mandela. Jonah was also strangely silent; holding his head up with his hand as he boredly stared out his window as he listened to the music from his headphones. Adam glanced at the street sign on one of the corners of the intersection he found himself in: Wisteria Avenue. Adam pulled over to the side of the road, parking right outside of the neighborhood, seeing that it was gated off and locked with a chain. Jonah stared at it before looking back towards Adam. “…So?”

“Well, the house is in there I’m pretty sure.” Adam stated. “It’s the same street that lady told us to go to.”

“Well, do…we have bolt cutters?” Jonah asked.

“I think we do, in the back.” Adam unbuckled his seat belt, opening his door and opening the side door. He looked around the messy van, pushing over bags and camera equipment before grabbing the pair of bolt cutters that was buried under it all. As Adam approached the gate to break the lock, Jonah remained in the van, listening as the song playing from his old Walkman began to fade out. The next song was going to be an old 90’s pop song; he knew that for certain. He had listened to that tape for years, ever since he bought it when he was a teen. However, when it began playing, it didn’t start with plucky synths or drums. It began with an electric guitar, the audio quality of which being oddly worse than the rest of the songs on the cassette.

Jonah’s brows furrowed as he listened closely, not even paying attention to Adam’s struggles with the bolt cutter as he heard the 80’s rock song playing on his headphones. The guitar and drums continued before the lyrics began.

“Like the wind…”

He couldn’t make out the rest, it sounding vaguely like the singer was speaking English, yet…not quite right. He never even heard of the song before, knowing it was never in any of his cassettes. Was he remembering it wrong? Did he accidentally skip this song every time he’s listened to this cassette? Why couldn’t he make out the lyrics? It sounded like a song his mind came up with to be background music in a dream of his, only barely remembering it when he woke up, yet there he was, listening to it clear as day. His confusion grew until Adam opened the driver’s side door, entering the van before tossing the bolt cutter into the back of the van. Adam looked towards Jonah, appearing confused before he started speaking.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, noticing Jonah’s strange expression.

“Uh…” Jonah took off his headphones, handing them over to Adam. “You know this song?”

Adam placed the headphones over his ears, listening intently for a few moments before sighing. “Some…generic 80’s song?” He said. “…It’s over anyway; it just went to the next song.”

“N-No, like…I’ve never had that song on this tape.” Jonah said as Adam returned the headphones.

“So?”

“So…don’t you think that’s weird?”

“I don’t know dude.” Adam said. “The gates open so…guess we should get going.”

The entire neighborhood was completely barren as they slowly drove down the cracked road, the eerie silence making Jonah’s hair stand on end. It felt as though it was soulless, devoid of all life, with every single house on the street being dark and dead, long since abandoned. Jonah wanted to start small talk, asking Adam about how he felt about everything, though his throat felt tight for a reason he didn’t know. He looked down at the Walkman and the headphones with it that sat on his lap, quietly shoving them into his backpack.

“I’m surprised.” Adam stated. “Normally you’d be chickening out by now.”

“…I…no, I’m not a coward.” Jonah responded. “Besides…nothing’s even happened yet.”

Adam scoffed slightly. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Jonah looked at Adam, him only returning a passing glance. “No.” Jonah lied. “I’m not, actually.”

“Sure.” Adam looked down the road before glancing back at Jonah. “334, right?”

“Huh?”

“The house number.”

“Oh…yeah, I…think so.”

“Then…” Adam stopped the vehicle on the side of the road. “We’re here.”

They pulled into the driveway, the very sight of the house making a pit form in their stomachs. It was an average looking home, albeit empty, having a garage with red outer walls, a large window on the right side of the house leading into the living room, surrounded by beige bricks, and a black roof. It only had one floor, and looked like a medium-sized home. Cracks formed across small parts of the driveway, and thin roots from plants were scaling less than halfway up some of the outer walls, reaching towards the living room window. It looked painfully normal, so why did it feel so wrong?

Either way, Jonah hoped the three days would go by quickly.

Day One, 2:45 PM

Adam slid open the van’s side door, rummaging through their gear before grabbing three cameras, lightly tossing them to Jonah, who nearly dropped one of them as soon as they were all in his arms. “Put those around the house.” Adam stated. “I can set up the computer out here so we can get a live feed.”

Jonah glanced towards the house, staring at it before looking back at Adam, who was crawling into the back of the van with a laptop in hand. “Dude…can…you go do this?” Jonah asked sheepishly.

Adam glared at him with tired eyes.

“You serious?”

“Dude, come on, you’ll know where to put them—”

“I can tell you over the radio.” Adam stated. “Don’t be such a baby; I got a good feeling about this place.”

“I-I just don’t kn—”

“FINE.” Adam hopped out of the van before grabbing the cameras out of Jonah’s arms, all before grasping a bag with the cameras’ tripods in them. “I’ll go do it. You set up the computer.”

Jonah remained in stunned silence as Adam approached the house, all before Jonah sighed deeply and hesitantly sat on the edge of the van’s floor, grabbing the laptop as he watched Adam disappear behind the front door. He pulled his foot up to rest on his opposite knee, turning on his laptop before letting out a breath. “‘Don’t be such a baby’ he says.” Jonah mocked under his breath. “Acting like I’m the stupid one here.” He crossed his arms, his breath clouding up in the cold air in front of him. He stared at the laptop’s screen, waiting for the cameras to connect.

The first thing Adam noticed when he walked into the House was the silence. It felt eerie, yet serene, the calm yet stagnant air making Adam feel happy that he was no longer in the cold. He turned to his right, seeing the living room, with the couch rested against the wall, with a coffee table and an old analog television resting upon it. Adam couldn’t help but feel strange seeing such a device, considering they were banned when he was little. However, after hearing faint clacking and ticking from the opposite wall, he forgot how strange it was to see the Television, his attention now focusing on the grandfather clock standing tall across from it.

It nearly touched the already decently tall ceiling, making Adam guess that it was around nine feet tall from its clawed base to the wooden wings right above its clock face. Its golden pendulum swayed from behind the glass, and its black hands twitched as it kept with the time. It looked old as hell; something a grandpa would have in his house. Adam stared at the clock face with bored eyes, all before kneeling on the carpeted ground, placing his bag of tripods and the cameras onto the floor in front of him.

He found himself whistling as he attached the cameras to the tripods; a song he wasn’t familiar with, figuring his mind was simply making it up to fill the odd silence within the Home. He set up the first camera, flicking it on as he pointed it towards the living room. Jonah saw the camera appear in the feed as Adam did so, giving it a passing glance as he dug through his backpack, grabbing a lighter that was buried in the gear as he leaned against the inner wall of the van. Adam saw the light gleam from the small light of the camera, standing up and grabbing the other cameras off of the ground as he walked out of the living room, the ticking of the clock continuing as he passed through the house.

He found himself in the kitchen, seeing the floor’s tiles were stained, with a substance Adam wasn’t able to identify. The counters appeared decently clean however, with everything seemingly untouched, yet still appearing to be used at the same time. It was as if the family that used to live there never left. It felt so familiar, as if he had been there before despite never seeing the house in his life. He knew it wasn’t anywhere close to how he vaguely remembered his own house looking from his foggy childhood, yet somehow it felt just as Homey. After shaking off the thought, Adam pushed forward, realizing he still had more to look at in the old House.

Adam stared at the back hallway in front of him, seeing one door to the right and one dead ahead; it felt oddly short for a hallway, especially considering that there seemed to be more room than needed for it. He looked up at the left wall, seeing a strange dark splotch near the top corner, assuming it to be water damage before he placed a camera down at the entrance of the hallway, pointing it towards the one door to the right. He looked through the doorway, seeing that it was a bedroom of some kind, with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and a closet to the right of it. Nothing of interest so far. Not even a sign of the cat they came there for aside from the empty pet bed he saw next to the clock. What a great waste of time.

Adam passed through the House with an annoyed expression, his jaw clenched as he thought of how stupid it was that he was setting up cameras for an empty House, just in case he saw a ghost cat. Was the lady on the phone a compete nutcase? As he thought to himself he glanced to the other side of the living room, eyes widening slightly. There was a door next to the hallway leading to the kitchen, with an upright piano right beside it, along with a few bookshelves. The door however caught Adam’s attention, despite it looking like every other white, boring door in the House. He placed the final camera, pointing it towards the door before he walked towards it.

He placed a hand on the doorknob, attempting to open it to no avail; locked. The metal was strangely warm, despite the air being cool within the room. It smelled strangely sour near the door as well, making Adam back away and shake his head, taking one glance back at the clock before turning towards the front door.

Something hit his head.

Adam felt something be dropped onto his head before falling in his peripheral vision, landing on the carpet with a soft thud. Adam placed his hand on his hood-covered head before looking down to see what had fell, assuming it to be a piece of the ceiling from the age of the building. However, instead he saw a rusted metal key, sticking out from the shaggy carpet. Adam crouched down, lightly grabbing it with a few of his fingers. He stared at it, turning it around in his hand. Its edges appeared to have been dulled, and whatever was written on it has long since worn away. Adam stood up, staring at the strangely misshapen key as a face peered at him halfway from the hallway behind him. A key? Why would a key be stuck in the roof? He shoved it into his hoodie pocket, deciding to grab his camera from the van and head back in; Jonah better have set the camera system up, otherwise he was getting his ass kicked.

When he made his way outside, Adam was greeted with smoke coming out of the back of the van, sighing when he approached it. He found the source of the smoke; Jonah smoking a joint with the laptop beside him. “You got it working?” Adam asked, trying to ignore the smell.

“Uh, yeah, look.” Jonah pushed the computer towards Adam as he crawled into the van, sitting down as he stared at the camera feeds in front of him.

“Okay, good. You are making sure it’s recording, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jonah coughed. “Should be all ready to go.”

Adam nodded before turning around grabbing the camera he saw peeking out from underneath their makeshift bedding. “I’m gonna go back in and get some pics, alright?” Adam stated. “Keep an eye on the cameras, and…” He stared at Jonah, who was coughing smoke out. “…Don’t get high out of your mind alright? We need to be focused for this shit.”

“Aye aye, shitface.”

Adam didn’t respond with anything more than an eye roll as he crawled out of the van, shutting the door behind him.

Adam snapped a photo of the back hallway, more specifically the large, off-colored blotch in the wallpaper. He looked at the photo on the camera’s screen before turning towards the door in front of him. He stared at the closed door before reaching towards the door knob, though once again, it didn’t budge. In fact, it didn’t even move a millimeter, as if it and the door it was attached to was one complete thing. He sighed in disappointment before grabbing the radio attached to his belt before turning it on. “Another locked door.” He stated.

“…Really?” Jonah asked, his voice partially cloaked by the static of the radio. “Couldn’t you just. Kick it down or something?”

“I’m not gonna bust down a random lady’s door.” Adam stated.

“Alright. Your loss then.”

Adam turned around, walking out of the hallway and back through the House, finding himself in the living room once again. He looked at his camera, cycling through the multiple photos of the house he took before looking towards the piano in the corner, holding the camera up to his eye, lining the picture up, and taking a picture.

Click.

GONG.

The sound of the Clock’s bells made Adam swing around in shock to look at it, his eyes staring at it before he let out his breath. “It’s four already?” He asked himself when he saw the time. “Ugh.” Adam looked at the photo of the piano, letting out an annoyed groan when he saw that it was blurry from the sudden motion. He turned towards the piano once again, though when he held up the camera, he paused. He stood still as he slowly lowered the camera, turning back towards the grandfather clock as he heard its quiet ticks. He glanced at the digital camera in his hands before pointing it towards the clock.

Click.

11:23 PM

That night, Adam laid across the floor of the van, with a thin layer of blankets and a pillow being the only padding between him and the cold metal. He stared up at the roof of the van, the orange light from above shining down on him. He smoked a cigarette as he listened to Jonah laugh at his own jokes and stories, leaning back in the passenger side seat with his legs propped up on the dashboard. As he spoke the retelling of a story he overheard, he began speaking in a more sinister tone, as if he was telling a campfire story.

“Like…it’s so hard to remember but I’m pretty sure after that, the dude just…up and disappeared.” Jonah said. “Gone like the wind. Who knows, maybe he’s still out there somewhere, ready to kill again…”

“You are…the worst storyteller…ever.” Adam stated. “That is not at all what happened, and you know it.”

“Well, how did it go then, genius?” Jonah asked. “The dude went crazy, murdered this other dude then fucking vanished. Sounds like some ghost story people tell their kids to make them not go into the woods at night.”

“Yeah, but there’s gotta be more to it than that, right?” Adam said, taking a hit from his cigarette. “People don’t just…go insane randomly.”

“Yeah but…that guy did.” Jonah smiled lightheartedly, despite the unease in his eyes when he looked back at Adam.

“Mhmm. You can think that.” Adam put out his cigarette on the metal wall of the van before resting his hands on his stomach.

Jonah stared at the house in front of him, it barely visible through the nightly darkness and the snow gathering on the windshield. He felt a pit in his gut as he stared at the front door, all before looking through the rearview mirror, towards Adam. “…Wasn’t…this house the one that dude went insane in?” Jonah asked pensively. “Or…one like it? What if that’s the reason this neighborhood was closed off?”

“You aren’t seriously scared of some ghost story, are you?” Adam smirked. “It’s an empty house, bro. I looked through every part I could; there was nothing there.”

“Yeah…I…guess.”

There was silence for a moment, the quiet only making the pressure in Jonah’s chest all the more noticeable. He leaned back in his seat, brows furrowing as he rubbed the lapel of his leather jacket.

“Why did you even take this job?”

Jonah glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing that Adam was sitting up, pushing away the empty pizza box that was next to him. He looked directly at Jonah through the mirror, his expression mostly blank, yet with an air of annoyance.

“I…why do you ask?” Jonah questioned.

“You’ve been bitching and whining since we got here.” Adam stated. “If you’re so scared of ghosts, then why did you decide to join a ghost hunting group?”

Jonah remained silent, the question hanging in the air like a foul stench.

“At the very least, you could take this shit seriously, you know—”

“I do.”

Adam’s eyes widened ever so slightly before turning into a skeptical glare. “Right. So your definition of ‘taking things seriously’ is sitting in the van, smoking weed, and acting like a complete wuss?” Adam questioned. “I’ve been doing all the work while you goof off.”

“Look man, I just…I don’t like this shit.” Jonah stated, looking towards the house. “Something just does…not feel right here. Like. I looked at the footage and…despite nothing being super wrong, it just feels…off. Weird.”

“Look, we’re only gonna be here for three days, alright?” Adam stated. “Then, we’re out of here and we never have to look for a stupid ghost cat ever again. Besides, tomorrow, the real shit’s gonna happen.”

“…I don’t…Adam.” Jonah rubbed his shoulders. “I don’t wanna tell you what to do but…don’t you think you should be more…careful?”

Adam remained silent, his hard glare slightly waning.

“You just…run in as if nothings…wrong.” Jonah choked out, as if he was scared to say what he was trying to say. “You’ve acted so…shitty the whole trip, and now you’re just…ignoring the clearly weird feeling about this place?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that you refuse to do your job.” Adam stated. “I’m just trying to do mine.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your wuss of a friend has a point?” Jonah replied. “…I don’t like this place…and something tells me even you feel that something’s up here, but you refuse to even acknowledge it.”

“Yeah. I do.” Adam said. “But that’s what makes this more interesting. Who knows what’s going on with this place?”

Jonah stared at his feet before he sighed. “Could you at least…be…careful?” Jonah said quietly. “I’m…scared…for you.”

Adam’s brows furrowed, though his hard gaze felt less uncaring. “…why?”

“…You know…I just…” Jonah paused. “Don’t want you to get yourself killed for nothing.”

“I…I won’t.” Adam said softly. “Look, hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll bring in my camcorder tomorrow, and film everything. That way you know exactly what’s going on and how there’s literally nothing in there.”

Jonah remained silent before turning around, seeing Adam in the eye instead of through the mirror. “Just…make this trip quick.” Jonah said.

“I will.” Adam said. “I’ll look for the stupid cat tomorrow, and if nothing happens we’ll…just fucking leave. If you so insist.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Adam stated with a partial eye-roll. “Now go to sleep, we have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Yeah…I’ll…try.” Jonah sighed as Adam laid back down, all before he flipped the light off.

??:??

Adam awoke to the sound of static.

He was lying on his side on the cold metal floor of the van, his lukewarm breath clouding the freezing air in front of his face as he looked around, his eyes gleaming in the dark. He sat up, noticing a faint blue light shining through the windshield. He groggily looked through the glass, brows furrowing when he saw the light in the distance. Where the driveway and garage would have been was instead a long hallway, doors lining both of the walls. It was completely dark, aside from the pale blue light coming from down the hall.

Adam silently and carefully slid open the side door, stepping onto the wooden floor before stumbling in front of the van, looking back to see that it was halfway through the wall behind it, connected by thin tendrils that morphed with the wallpaper behind it. His shadow covered most of it, towering over it and flickering with the static behind him. Adam turned towards the light, eyes fixed on what the light came from: an old analog television. It was playing static, the sound of which filling the hallway, along with the sound of faint ticking in the distance. Adam didn’t call for help, or say anything at all, instead inching closer to the television as his thin fingers twitched by his side.

He stared at the television with wide eyes, pupils contracting from the light. His breathing was shallow, barely audible over the static. He looked forward at the area around the television, seeing that it was made of flesh, fusing with the wallpaper and wooden flooring, and making the ground wet and soft around it. He stared at it, lightly running his hand down the wall and pulling it back to see the mucus left on his fingers.

He paused when he heard something from the hall behind him, turning towards the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever as he listened past the increasingly loud ticking and static in his ears. Screaming; it sounded like someone was yelling something he couldn’t make out. The voice appeared reversed and faint, like a record playing the wrong way. It sounded half furious, half pained, though as much as he tried, Adam couldn’t make out any words. However, he could finally find his own.

“Hello?”

The static stopped.

His voice echoed back at him as the faint screaming faded away. Adam stared into the void, as if he was awaiting something. Silence was all that greeted him, the faint ticking he heard in the distance feeling like pin pricks in his ears. He swallowed hard, taking a step forward before stopping, seeing something in the dark; two white dots. Eyes, along with the faint outline of a featureless face, staring back at him. Adam and the figure he could barely make out in the distance remained silent until it’s choked, unused voice began to speak.

“Who are you?”

Adam awoke in a cold sweat, face down on something that was not the floor of the van he fell asleep in. His eyes flicked open, seeing that he was on top of concrete, looking up to see the front door of the House, with his arm laying right in front of it. He felt snow on his back, legs, and head, as if he had been there for a while, unmoving. He stood up, brushing the white snow off of his black hoodie as he stared at the door with a bewildered expression that soon became blank. Something finally happened. He needed to tell Jonah.

Day Two, 10:15 AM

“And you don’t think that’s…weird?”

Jonah rustled the bag of chips in his hand as he stared at Adam, who was staring at the camcorder in his hands as he fiddled with it.

“Yeah, I do.” Adam stated. “That’s what makes it interesting. I’ve never sleepwalked, yet…I think something here made me do it.”

“…How would you…be able to tell?” Jonah asked as he put a chip in his mouth. “I mean…could’ve just been a random thing that happened.”

“Yeah, but…dude, I never remember my dreams.” Adam had a faint smile on his face as he looked at Jonah, placing his camcorder into his black backpack. “But…it felt so real. There’s something up with this place, I know it.”

Jonah paused, worriedly staring at Adam before sighing. “That’s…the problem.” He muttered under his breath.

“Look, I’ll be back in like…an hour or so.” Adam said as he slid the side door open. “Keep an eye on the cameras, alright?”

“…Yeah.” Jonah glanced away. “Yeah I will.”

Adam’s smirk faded slightly when he saw Jonah staring blankly at nothing in particular, crawling out of the van before closing the door. Adam stared at the frost-covered driveway before sighing and holding his head up and walking towards the front door, throwing his backpack over his shoulder with a huff.

He swung open the front door, looking around the now familiar living room before closing the door behind him. The clock ticked quietly, its pendulum swinging from behind the glass, the rest of the living room and Adam walking around the home reflecting off of it. Adam’s boots pressed down the shaggy carpet as he walked around, all as he rummaged through his backpack, grabbing the camcorder and turning it on.

Jonah sat down in the back of the van, grabbing the old laptop before turning it on. He was greeted to the camera feed still on, seeing Adam wandering the living room from one of the cameras before picking up his radio. “Adam, you hear me?”

Adam’s radio sounded from his belt, all before he removed it and responded. “Loud and clear. You see me?” Adam turned towards the tripod facing him.

“Yep. Certainly can.” Jonah said as he watched Adam walk closer to the camera and kneel down in front of it to look into the lens. “You’re…as ugly as ever.”

“Hey, well fuck you too, dude.” Adam flipped the camera off briefly with a slight scoff. Adam stood up, turning back towards the living room, his eyes grazing over the clock before he turned towards the rest of the house.

Jonah looked towards the cameras, seeing the living room: boring, with an old ass clock, analog TV and some furniture. A locked door: a weird camera angle, considering it was most likely nothing but a closet or something. And the finally, the back hallway: a boring bedroom and another locked door. Jonah wondered what was going through Adam’s head to make him choose those of all places to place the cameras, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Besides, best case scenario, Adam was just going to get bored and leave. Jonah sighed, hoping that it would be the scenario that played out.

Adam walked into the kitchen, his camera filming the dusty counters and dining room table. Or, at least he remembered it being dusty and unused. When he stared at the counters, he noticed, that they were…pristine. The counter was organized, with everything on top of it being neatly placed. The dining room table had a small candle holder in the middle of it, along with small table dressing around it. It was as if someone was preparing for a fancy dinner, for a house party perhaps. Adam held the radio up to his mouth as he filmed, all before speaking. “Hey, Jonah, the kitchen’s clean.”

“…Yeah? What do you mean?” Jonah asked.

“Like…it’s clean, as if someone just deep cleaned the place.” Adam elaborated. “…Smells…like…soap.”

Jonah remained silent, brows furrowing as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “…Y-You don’t think…maybe the woman cleaned like…right before we got here?”

“It was covered in dust when I was in here yesterday.”

Jonah felt a brief sinking in his chest. “…Alright…just…be careful, alright?”

“I will.” Adam lowered the radio, his own brows furrowed as he stared at nothing in particular.

Jonah stared at the camera feeds, leaning back until his head lightly hit the side of the van. The pressure in his chest was ever present, a looming dread creeping into his mind. He glanced to the side, seeing his own backpack, searching through it before grabbing a small paper bag, along with rolling paper as he waited for his radio to sound again. Maybe if he smoked for a second, he would relax enough to focus; after all, isn’t that what Adam wanted him to do? As he looked away to roll another joint, the camera feed flickered slightly, the back hallway camera shutting off as he remained oblivious.

Adam walked around filming as he got a grasp of the layout within the House. He wandered in and out of rooms and halls, filming everything that even remotely piqued his interest. He remained silent, sighing slightly when he found himself back in the living room despite swearing he was just in one of the bedrooms. He must’ve remembered it wrong, he thought. He turned towards a door to his right, seeing the camera pointed towards it. He stared at it for a moment before reaching towards the door handle. It was the same; somewhat warm, and locked, however, he couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at a faint sour smell coming from it. He shook his head in disappointment before holding up his radio.

“Jonah, I’ve got nothing, you see anything on the cams?”

Jonah coughed, choking on his own saliva and the smoke from his joint. “U-uh, no, nothing’s…out of the ordinary.” Jonah stated, not even looking at the cameras. “Now can we leave? It’s cold out here.”

Adam let out a deep, frustrated groan. “Fine. Fuck.”

Jonah smiled. “Alright, now let’s get some pizza or something, I’m starving.”

“We just had…whatever, sure.” Adam shook his head, lowering his radio with a look of disappointment plastered on his face. Nothing. Fucking great.

Jonah placed his radio onto the floor beside him as he looked towards the camera feed, grazing over the three cameras with a tired look in his eyes. Living room: Boring, clock, couch and TV. Locked door: still locked, and still meaningless. Back hallway bedroom: Empty hallway, and a boring…room.

It was a smaller bedroom than Jonah remembered. A twin sized bed in the corner, a messy desk right beside it with an old computer resting on top of it. The bedroom was a complete mess, the floor covered in food wrappers, games from the game console sitting in front of a CRT TV, and dirty clothes being only among the junk Jonah saw. There were posters on the walls, though he couldn’t make out exactly what was on them. However, the room felt so…familiar.

“Is…that…” Jonah mumbled to himself under his breath. He stared at the camera feed, eyes widening as his memories flooded back, making his heart sink at the realization.

That was a child’s bedroom.

That was his childhood bedroom.

Jonah shakily grabbed his radio, holding it up to his mouth as he gathered his words. “Adam, you hear me?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Adam said as he grazed his hand over the keys of the piano.

“Go to the back hallway, cam 3.”

“…The…back hallway?” Adam repeated. “Why?”

“Just go there.” Jonah stated. “S-Something…it…it changed.”

“…What?”

“Just go check, please.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile slightly as he turned his camera back on, jogging back across the house, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway. The camera sat in the middle of it, pointed towards one of the bedrooms, and as Adam approached it, he began to wonder what he’d see: an alternate? A new object of some kind? Something else entirely? Adam peeked his head into the doorway, only to have his smile smacked off of his face.

“Jonah…the fuck are you talking about?”

“…What?” Jonah asked, seeing that Adam was blocking the camera.

“It’s a fucking bedroom, dude.” Adam stated. “…Woohoo. So cool.”

Jonah remained quiet as Adam walked out of the way and out of the hall, seeing that the bedroom was back to its normal self, with the queen sized bed, nightstands and all. “Don’t fucking get my hopes up like that, dude.” Adam said as Jonah stared at the camera feed in disbelief.

“N-No, but…I saw it, I…fuck, we’ll play back the footage,” Jonah sputtered. “I know what I saw.”

“Oh yeah? And what was that, a fly?” Adam scoffed. “Or like a spider or something?”

“No, it—the entire room changed,” Jonah attempted to explain. “It was…it was my bedroom, back from when I was a kid—”

Adam glanced back at the bedroom, not noticing anything strange with it as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are…you fucking high again?”

“Adam, what?” Jonah exhaled. “Weed isn’t fucking hallucinogenic, you know this—”

“Yeah, I guess, but dude, are you sure, like…you for sure saw the room change?”

Jonah stared at the floor for a second; was he, or did he just imagine it? “I…Come back to the van, we’ll look over the footage, okay?”

“Alright, fine.” Adam sighed as he put his radio away. “If this is some sort of stunt to make us leave I’ll kick your ass.”

Jonah was standing outside of the van when Adam left the house, a look of relief on Jonah’s face when he saw him. “O-Okay, so, I know everything recorded, all we need to do is rewind—”

“I know how to do it, Jonah,” Adam stated as he brushed past Jonah. “Let me take a look at it.”

Adam crawled into the van as Jonah followed, seeing Adam placing the computer onto his lap. Jonah waited in worry as Adam began to skim through the footage, his eyes grazing across the camera feeds blankly as he did so. He didn’t believe Jonah; Jonah could feel it. Hell, even Jonah himself was beginning to doubt if he truly knew what he was talking about. He stared at Adam, watching as he lightly bit his lip and lip piercing in anticipation.

“…Y…you…uh…” Jonah hesitated. “…You don’t…believe me, do you…?”

Adam stopped, staring at the bedroom camera with the same blank expression he’s had for a few minutes. “…I don’t know…” He muttered under his breath. He glanced at the frozen footage of camera two, brows furrowing when he saw something different; the door was cracked open slightly. “…We’ll…see.”

Adam closed the laptop and pushed it to the side as he left the vehicle, all while being stared at by a concerned Jonah. “Adam? What’s going on?”

“I’m…just…gonna check something, alright?” Adam responded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes…”

With that, Adam entered the Home once again, leaving Jonah to keep himself company. Jonah stared at the camera feed, seeing that the bedroom looked normal, at least from what little he could see. Was…he…wrong? Did he really make it up? Maybe he just wanted Adam to…notice his concerns. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all.

Adam walked into the living room in silence, noticing a new sound aside from the ticking of the clock; faint meowing. It sounded partially choked and pained, like an injured animal. Adam walked away, soon finding himself in front of the presumably locked door, the sound of meowing becoming clearer as he approached it. He stared at the camera before grabbing the tripod and placing it around a foot away before he grabbed the doorknob, now used to the strange warmth. It turned, unlocked, for the first time since he arrived at the House. He took in a deep breath, all before he swung open the door.

He was greeted to a vile sour and rotten smell. He gagged, covering his mouth and nose with his free hand as he pointed his camera towards the room with the other. It was a wooden stairway, leading down into what he presumed to be the basement of the Home. He could hear meowing, though it sounded even worse, like the cat was drowning or being choked to death. He stepped closer as he pulled the front of his hoodie over his face, trying to ignore the urge to vomit from the smell as he looked down the stairway. He could see a concrete floor at the bottom of the dark stairs, seeing that it was seemingly partially flooded, judging from the thin layer of off-color liquid that covered it. It felt hot; a higher temperature than the otherwise cold House, making him sweat just from being near it. He looked around, seeing strange, wet, pinkish colored masses, creeping up the walls and covering large portions of the floor, fusing with it.

Adam stared at the basement with widened eyes, unaware of the figure in the living room watching him. Adam stared at the masses on the basement floor, swearing he could see them pulsating. He shook his head, the sour, putrid smell becoming too much to bear before he slammed the door shut. He coughed and gagged as he stared at the door, all before grabbing the tripod and stepping away, his brows furrowing as he backed away, soon walking out of the House entirely. Jonah was right, just not in the way Adam thought. Something was going on in the house, and it was way better than a cat.

12:25 PM

Jonah stared at the food in front of him, hearing the ambiance of the diner around him as he leaned back in his seat. Adam seemed perfectly fine; quietly eating the cheap food in front of him as if nothing was wrong. Jonah stared at him in silence, beginning to wish he didn’t order food due to the lack of appetite. What a waste of eight bucks.

“You just gonna fucking stare at me, or what.”

Jonah seemed surprised, coming back from spacing out to see Adam glaring at him. “So…you…see anything in the house?” Jonah asked.

Adam let out a deep breath. “No.” Adam stated. “Well…The basement door was open, so there’s that. It was probably just jammed last time.”

“Yeah?” Jonah said. “…And?”

“Nothing much was down there.” Adam responded. “Smelled bad. Thinking the cat died down there or something.”

Jonah stared at Adam with concern as he continued eating as if the possibility of a cat’s corpse rotting in the basement was normal. “…Ah.” Jonah looked away, letting out a forced cough as he crossed his arms. “Sooooo….we’re…gonna…leave?”

Adam paused.

“I mean…it’s not like there’s much for us to do about that.” Jonah continued. “Like, I-I’m not gonna go down there and dispose of it.”

Adam remained silent, staring at the table as he thought to himself, his eyes blank as usual. “…No.”

Jonah leaned forward slightly with furrowed brows. “…What?”

“There’s…I think we should stay the full three days at least.” Adam said quietly. “Might as well.”

“…Dude.” Jonah glanced away for a second. “If there’s nothing interesting there, then…why stay? Like, a smelly basement isn’t that remarkable.”

“No. It isn’t.” Adam agreed. “But everything else is.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Adam bit his lip lightly as he stared at nothing in particular, becoming still. “Something about her is just…fascinating.” He said. “I don’t know how to describe—”

“Her?”

Adam looked up at Jonah to see a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You said…her.”

“…No?” Adam stared quizzically at Jonah, as if he just said something insane. “Whatever dude, you need to get your ears checked.”

Jonah watched as Adam slipped his jacket back on, zipping it over his white shirt and standing up. “Look, if you’re not gonna eat, at least get it to-go. We’re not wasting money.”

“…Alright.” Jonah watched as Adam slammed money on the table before walking away to presumably get a food box or two. Jonah couldn’t help but feel a pit in his gut; was Adam normally this…soulless? Jonah remained still, looking down at the table as he rubbed his arms. One more day. That’s all.

He hoped.

8:46 PM

Adam leaned against the side of the van, smoking a cigarette as he stared towards the clear night sky. The stars gleamed, reflecting off of his pale eyes. He had his free hand in his hoodie pocket, leaving his other free hand cold. The side door of the van was open, the orange light from inside hitting his side as he heard Jonah moving inside, all before Jonah sat on the edge of the van’s floor, his feet hitting the driveway under them.

“You’re not changing my mind.” Adam stated, not even giving Jonah a passing glance as he blew out smoke.

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then what do you want?” Adam asked.

“Just…wanted to talk.”

Adam looked down throwing his cigarette down and stomping on it with his boot. “Alright.” Adam turned slightly towards Jonah, putting his hand in his pocket.

“…So…you’re staying in there tonight.”

“…Yeah.”

Jonah grew silent for a few moments as he shifted his weight. “I’m…worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” Adam stated. “I can handle—”

“—Yourself, yes I know.” Jonah interrupted. “But…something here…you’ve been so cold lately, and I…don’t think this job is…helping you.”

Adam stayed silent, staring at the front yard in front of him as Jonah stood up and stepped towards him, Adam not even giving him a simple glance. “You know I…care about you…right?” Jonah said quietly. “…You know I’m…your friend, right?”

Adam didn’t respond with anything more than his eyes shifting to the side slightly.

“…Remember…that one time we spray-painted the side of the police department?” Jonah smiled awkwardly. “And how…we managed to get away ‘cause the officer tripped while chasing us? Or…how we were checking out some warehouse ‘cause someone called us for it…and it turned out to be a small family of raccoons? You got your leg scratched up by the mom…right?”

Adam looked at Jonah with a side-eye, with Jonah’s smile fading as he did. “Fake calls.” Adam muttered. “It was all…fake fucking calls.” Adam looked forward and towards the sky. “But this? This…is…real. The first real thing I’ve been able to see since…forever.”

“But that…isn’t a good thing, Adam.” Jonah said. “What if…you’re in genuine danger here?”

“Again…with the fucking what ifs.” Adam’s brows furrowed, making Jonah feel his heart sink somewhat. “Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”

“…Not saying…you don’t.” Jonah stated. “All I’m saying is that knowing what you’re doing…doesn’t mean things can’t go wrong.”

Adam turned towards Jonah with a hard glare, his eyes somewhat gleaming in the dark. “…I’m getting my stuff and going in.” Adam stated, much to the silent dismay of Jonah. “I’ll call you on the radio tomorrow and check in, okay?”

It wasn’t okay.

“Fine.” Jonah said. Adam brushed past him and dug through the gear in the van, grabbing a blanket, his backpack, and a pillow before crawling back out. Jonah watched as Adam began approaching the front door before shaking his head and following him, grasping Adam’s sleeve.

“Wait.”

Adam turned towards him with a tired, yet annoyed glare.

Jonah grew silent, glancing to the side as he gathered his thoughts. “…Just…be careful, okay?”

Adam brushed his arm off before turning back towards the front door, Jonah feeling his chest tighten when the door closed behind him. Silence fell as Jonah stared at the front door, rubbing his sleeve before lowering his head and turning back towards the van. As he walked, his shoe planted on top of one of the larger cracks in the concrete.

Thump.

Jonah flinched, pulling his foot back as he stared at the crack, which appeared to be a root of some kind upon further inspection. Strange; it felt like it pulsated under his foot. Maybe going to sleep earlier wouldn’t hurt. He was clearly tired.

Adam threw his blankets and pillow onto the dusty couch before sitting on it with a deep exhale. He stared forward at the living room in front of him, hearing the clunking and ticking of the clock in his view. He stared at the television on the coffee table in front of him, pondering turning it on to possibly relax and watch something. However, his exhaustion outweighed the urge to watch old programs; instead, he simply placed his pillow near the arm rest of the couch, laid down, and threw the blankets on top of him. He stared forward, eyelids becoming heavier before he curled into himself and began to drift—

GONG.

Adam was startled awake by the sound of the clock striking nine. The loud bells rang nine times as Adam stared at her face, all with an air of annoyance as he flinched with every ring. “Come on…” He muttered under his breath as he stood up. “You gonna do that every single fucking hour?”

He stood in front of the clock, staring up at her face before sighing and pushing aside the table next to it. “There has to be a way to shut this stupid thing off.” He thought as he stood next to the strangely tall antique clock. He took in a deep breath before grasping the wooden centerpiece, groaning slightly with exertion as he attempted to push it away from the wall, hoping to find a way to access the gears. It seemed to be especially hard to move, inching away at an angle as Adam pushed as hard as he could, all until he was able to reach the back of it.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he looked at the back of the clock, seeing nothing but plain redwood until he looked up where the clock face was. He froze, as if he was turned into a stone statue in a single second. His eyes widened slightly, though the rest of his expression stayed blank as he stared at the pulsating mass protruding from near the top of the clock.

It was a large, dull red artery, connected the back of the clock, it merging with the wall and connecting to the clock through a hole in the wood. Veins draped from both the wall and the clock itself, all pulsing with every “heartbeat.” Adam stared up at the arterial vein with dead eyes, his twitching hand beginning to rise above his head as his eyes refused to look away from her lifeblood. He placed his cold hand against the artery, feeling the pulsing and twitching from the blood rushing through it. It was warm; inviting. He held it there for a few more moments, all before he pulled it down, staring at the thin layer of mucus and blood that was now coating the palm of his hand.

He stared straight forward, turning and taking a few steps forward until he was in front of the clock, staring at the floor with a dead look in his eyes. He silently kneeled down in front of her, soon lowering himself until he was lying on the ground, his face and body pressing against the shaggy, old carpeting. Blood began to seep from his nose, dripping onto the floor below him as he grew still. He stared at nothing, eyes widened enough to be able to see the blood vessels, all before they shut closed. It was warm near it. It was nice being near her. It was nice to be Home.

Day three, 1:00 PM

Adam didn’t wake up that morning.

Day four, 12:27 PM

Adam awoke on the floor of the living room with a gasp. His bloodshot eyes stared forward with a half-lidded stare as he gained his bearings. His chest felt tight, and his limbs and back ached as he pushed himself off of the floor. His lungs stung with every harsh breath as he sat up. He paused as he sat on his knees, staring at the floor blankly in silence.

He doubled over and gagged, soon puking up everything in his body. Bile and blood poured out of his mouth as he spat it out on the ground in front of the clock, feeling his lungs burn and his stomach churn with every heave of his chest. He gasped and choked as thick, dark blood dripped from his mouth, the smell of bile stinging his nose as he stared at the red-stained carpet in front of him. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with his hoodie’s sleeve, staining it a deep crimson that was barely visible in the black fabric. He turned towards the front door, regaining the light in his eyes before grabbing his stuff from the couch and approaching the door.

He was greeted to Jonah staring at him from the van with a mix of relief and horror. Adam stepped off of the porch, stumbling slightly before he planted his shoes on the driveway, prepared to tell Jonah about—

“A-Adam.”

Jonah was hugging him.

Adam stared at Jonah with confusion, noticing he was shaking slightly as he wrapped his arms around Adam tightly. Adam stared at him for a few moments before shaking his head and pushing Jonah away.

“What is up with you,” He questioned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jonah had tears in his eyes as he answered. “I-I…I th…thought you died.”

“What?” Adam scoffed. “Dude, I was literally out here last night, I told you I’d talk to you in the morning.”

Jonah stared at him blankly as Adam shook his head and brushed past him, throwing his blankets into the van. Jonah couldn’t take his eyes off of Adam as he nonchalantly grabbed the laptop and look through the camera feeds. It was as if Jonah was afraid to let Adam out of his sight, wondering if he was even looking at Adam at all. Jonah didn’t expect Adam to explain why he didn’t respond to his calls, or Jonah banging on the door and window, or even Jonah yelling at him to get out, so despite Jonah’s own need to know what happened, he remained silent.

Jonah was terrified, and for once, he wasn’t sure if he was scared of the House or Adam himself.

Day Five. 12:45 AM

Jonah sat in the passenger seat with his legs propped up on the dashboard, brows furrowed as he stared forward at the garage door. He glanced at Adam through the rearview mirror, seeing that he was, once again, fiddling with his camcorder. “You’re going back in, aren’t you.” Jonah asked, though it sounded less like a question and more of a statement.

“Come on dude, not this shit again.” Adam scoffed. “I’ll be out in a couple hours.” Adam began to crawl out of the van, exiting the vehicle but being stopped by the passenger door swinging open and Jonah stepping out as well.

“No.”

“…What?”

“I said no.” Jonah repeated as he clenched his fists. “We were here for three days; that’s all we were being paid for. We’re done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Adam shook his head slightly and attempted to walk past Jonah, only for him to step in front of him.

“No. There was no cat, we stayed for the three days,” Jonah said. “So therefore…we’re done.”

Adam glared at Jonah with a twitching jaw.

“I don’t give a shit how ‘interesting’ this fucking house is; I’m taking us home.” Jonah continued. “You can come crawling back later, but I’m not coming with you. Besides, Sarah’s probably starting to worry about us—”

“Who gives a shit what she thinks?” Adam snapped. “It’s not like she gets it.”

“What?”

“Think about it, all she does all day is take calls and make videos. That’s it.” Adam stepped towards Jonah. “She knows nothing of the real shit that’s going on here, and I’m going to find out.”

“Adam, listen to yourself—” Jonah pleaded, blocking Adam’s way when he once again attempted to walk past him. “You were never this much of a dick, were you?”

“Look, I get you don’t like Her, but can you at least suck it up for a few hours?” Adam questioned.

“Suck what u—”

A high pitched screech startled the two out of their argument, causing them to snap their attention back to the house. Jonah froze like a deer in headlights, all while Adam stared at where the sound originated with a look of curiosity behind his widened eyes.

“Oh…oh, fuck this—” Jonah began to turn back towards the van, only to be stopped by an iron grip on his wrist. He turned back, seeing Adam holding his arm as he stared at the front door, still hearing faint shrieking coming from inside. “A-Adam, let me go—” Jonah managed to free himself, only when Adam began to storm towards the door, swinging it open and entering the house once again. Jonah stared in horror before he clenched his fists harder with a huff.

“Hello?” Adam called as soon as he closed the door behind him. He awaited a response as he looked into the dark house, looking at the camcorder in his hand before he turned on night-vision mode and pointed it forwards. He saw the clock, the piano, the basement door, and everything else through a green, monochromatic lens, using the camera to see as he once again walked through the house, listening to the faint, high pitched screams that continued to sound.

He stepped through the kitchen, looking up to see the source of the screams; a pipe jutting out of the ceiling, releasing air fast enough to cause the sound. Adam sighed in disappointment, lowering his camera as he thought about turning back. However, as he turned, he began to hear a new sound, coming from behind him. It was music, and when Adam looked up, he saw a camera in the corner near the ceiling of the kitchen, playing the music through the speaker. Its red light flickered, and its lens was pointed towards Adam as if it was staring at him directly.

Adam turned towards the back hallway, seeing that it was longer than he remembered, stretching into the dark as music played from within the blackness. Adam stared into the hall, hearing the speaker of the camera crackle slightly, the music continuing as Adam carefully approached it. He stood in the middle of the hallway, noticing that there was an indented line in the walls and floor from where the locked door was, as if it simply vanished. He was able to hear faint breathing in front of him. He could see a red light flickering near the top corner of the hallway. He swallowed hard before holding his radio up. “Jonah?”

“Adam, I swear to God, please—”

“Shh.” Adam slowly turned the tripod camera that was on the floor around with his foot, pointing it into the dark. “Watch.”

Adam stared into his camcorder’s screen, all before he slowly rose it up, pointing it towards the small red light he saw in the dark. He froze, eyes widening as he stared through the screen, feeling his heart sink while he stared at the thing in front of him.

“…oh my god.” Adam muttered, gagging slightly.

Attached to the CCTV camera was an arm, its hand wrapped around the metal casing, fusing with it with tendrils made of skin. Wires hung from the bottom of it, draping down before fusing with the arm, pushing the skin up as it ran down underneath the skin. Adam followed the arm, seeing that the figure was cloaked by a grey sweatshirt, halfway fused with its skin. Adam’s breathing remained calm despite his shaking hands as he saw that the figures torso was halfway in the wall near the top of the doors, with its right arm fused with the wallpaper. Veins and tendrils of skin and fabric spread from the fusion point, and he could see blood vessels underneath it. The figures ribcage was visible through the fabric, with a golden cross hanging in front of its sternum. Adam could swear he saw the outline of organs, but decided to look up at the figures face to push the idea away.

Its face was deathly pale and acne-ridden. Its left eye was covered by messy, chestnut brown hair, though its right eye was completely missing, with only the indent of an eye socket being left behind. Its mouth was gone, as if the lips fused together, making the nose the only facial feature left. Adam stared up at the figure stuck in the wall, seeing that it was eerily still, though Adam almost wished he wasn’t breathing. He hated that the man was alive.

“Adam, what the fuck is that.” Jonah questioned from the radio, his voice shaking. “A…A-Adam, what the FUCK IS THA—”

Click.

Adam placed the radio back onto his belt before he pulled out his spirit box from his pocket, flicking it on and hearing it rapidly cycle through various radio frequencies. Adam stared at the figure’s face, all before speaking.

“How did you…become like this?”

The music stopped.

“…Where are you from?” Adam asked.

Quiet static was the only response from the camera’s speaker.

“…Do you remember your name?”

The figure remained still, his breath appearing to become heavier, with his ribs shifting with every breath. Adam stared up at the figure, brows furrowing as he awaited a response, despite beginning to think he was incapable of communication at all.

“Are you—”

“Get. Out.”

Adam looked up, noticing that the voice wasn’t coming from the spirit box at all, instead coming from the camera fused to the figures left hand.

“I’m…not here to hurt—”

“GET. OUT.” The figure shifted, causing Adam to step back in surprise. The figures head tilted to the side, his hair moving out of the way enough to make his left eye visible. It was wide, cloudy, and bloodshot, clearly unable to be seen through.

“…Do you remember your name?” Adam asked again, despite the air of anger coming from the figure in front of him.

The figure didn’t respond with much more than him shifting, seemingly attempting to tear himself away from the wall, pulling himself away as much as he could before it let out a muffled, pained sound and relaxing once again, lowering his head. Silence fell before Adam glanced to the side, quietly shutting off the tripod camera as he kept his camcorder fixed on the figure.

“Who…are…you.”

Adam looked up at the figure, seeing that he was vaguely facing his direction, slowly pushing the camera towards Adam’s face. It became close enough to where Adam could see the lens clearly, noticing that behind the glass was a green iris instead of a simple camera.

“…My name’s Adam.” Adam stated. “I work for the Bythorne Paranormal society.”

The figure remained silent, still as the camera examined Adam’s face through the black and white footage.

“Do you remember your name?” Adam asked for a third time, beginning to lose his patience.

The figure returned back to its original position, twitching slightly before his head turned away.

“…M…Mark.” The camera’s speaker played, it sounding more human than before. “Mark…H…Heathcliff.”

Heathcliff.

Adam thought for a moment before speaking again. “Do you know…someone named…Sarah Heathcliff?”

Mark’s head turned towards him, and despite what was visible on his face having no eyes, Adam felt that his stare was cold.

“…Where…is…she…?” Mark asked.

“I work with her.” Adam stated. “She works at the BPS…like me.”

“Is she…s…safe?”

Adam’s brows furrowed as he noticed that Mark was shaking. “Yes.”

“Does…she…remember me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she remember me.” Mark repeated.

“I just told you, I don’t know—”

“DOES. SHE. REMEMBER. ME.”

Adam remained silent as Mark shifted again, lowering his camera and facing away. “…She’s…safe.” He muttered through the static. “She’s…alive.”

Adam spotted a clear liquid dripping from the camera’s lens; tears.

“How did…you become like this?” Adam questioned.

“Leave.” Mark’s voice shook slightly. “You’re…a…fool for coming here.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You…you don’t care about him…do you?” Mark questioned.

“…Who?”

“Your…friend.” Mark elaborated. “He’s…w-waiting outside…for you.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can…see…him.”

The camera feed from the outer side of the house pointed towards the driveway, watching as Jonah paced back and forth on the driveway.

“I…hate you.” Mark stated as he switched his attention back to Adam, causing him to stare at him in confusion. “You…people like you are the reason I’m…like this. Does that…answer your fucking question?”

“I never did anything—”

“You ignored him.” Mark interrupted. “…You dragged him here. You put him in danger.”

“He’s an idiot.” Adam snapped. “He doesn’t know how deep this case goes. He doesn’t understand Her like I do.”

Mark remained still at that statement, his camera pointed at Adam’s furious expression.

“…God…It has you too.”

“…What?”

“ADAM!”

Adam turned around to hear Jonah bursting through the front door, looking around the living room with a look of anger. Adam took one last glance at Mark before shutting off his camcorder and turning back towards the living room; all while the security cameras he passed by followed his movement.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Adam questioned as soon as he entered the living room, seeing that Jonah was standing in front of the clock. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I’m done, okay?” Jonah snapped. “We’re fucking leaving, and you’re coming with me.”

“Dude, I’m so close to figuring out this place, I just need to spend more time with her—”

“SHUT UP!” Jonah shouted. “I’m fucking DONE with you. You keep ignoring me; acting like I’m a fucking moron for just wanting you to be safe. We are leaving, and we’re leaving now.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” Adam snapped. “You’ve done nothing but whine the entire trip. We finally find something worth our time, something meaningful, and you decide to be too much of a fucking coward to help me with it. Can’t you take a single second to not joke and actually take this seriously?”

“Look, I get it, I joke around sometimes, but that’s just what I do.” Jonah defended.

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

“I’m done; whatever the fuck is here is gonna get you killed, and I’m not going to be here to check for a pulse.” Jonah’s breath was harsh as he spoke, all while Adam’s silent fury rose.

“Just FUCKING LEAVE THEN!” Adam pointed towards the front door as he yelled. “LEAVE.”

Jonah stared at Adam in a stunned silence, his head shaking slightly and his brows turning downwards.

“I’m not leaving.” Adam stated. “Not now. I’ll figure out this thing…I will.”

Silence fell as the two stared at each other, a tense mood in the air until Jonah spoke quietly.

“…Eve was right about you.”

Adam froze, staring at Jonah with a mix of shock and anger, his eyes strangely…dead.

“You really are just a fucking prick.”

Jonah was barely able to process the first punch Adam threw at him.

Jonah stumbled back, lightly pressing his hand against the red splotch on his face as he let out a pained groan. Jonah looked back up, only to be greeted by Adam grabbing Jonah’s sweatshirt, holding him still before Jonah grasped his arms, pushing Adam away and causing him to drop his camcorder to the ground. Adam glanced at the camera on the floor, muttering to himself.

“You son of a BITCH—”

Adam swung another punch at Jonah, who only barely dodged it, causing Adam to slam his fist against the clock’s glass, shattering it. The clocks bells rung, and pipes squealed, but neither seemed to notice, Adam staring at Jonah with a blank, yet furious expression, not seeming to be effected by the glass in his fist. Jonah slammed his fist against Adams face, though it barely seemed to get a reaction out of him aside from an exclamation of pain.

Adam grasped Jonah’s arms as they struggled, Jonah attempting to free himself from Adam’s fury-fueled attack and Adam attempting to get closer. Jonah managed to free himself, grasping Adam’s neck with a free hand and pushing him back, his eyes widened and his heart beating out of his chest. He grasped his “friend’s” neck hard enough to make Adam choke slightly, his pale hands gripped onto Jonah’s leather-covered arm. Adam was slammed against the clock, only causing the glass shards left to fall into the compartment inside. Adam was stronger than Jonah, and he knew it, and as he reached for Jonah’s face, he knew he’d prove it.

He grasped Jonah’s nose ring and tore it out.

Jonah let out a loud yell, stumbling back and holding his hand over his rapidly bleeding nose, the crimson blood oozing onto his bruised hand. Jonah’s wide eyes were fixated on the ground, eyes tearing up as he covered the lower part of his face. Adam stared at Jonah as he rubbed his neck lightly, looking down to see the bloody nose piercing in his other hand, seeing a small piece of flesh that came with it. Adam glanced back at Jonah, only to see him staring back with a haunted, yet furious expression. Before he did anything stupid however, he simply walked backwards, soon quickly turning around and running for the door, slamming it behind him.

Adam stared at the door, his breath heavy as he looked down at the floor, seeing his camcorder on the ground before he leaned over and retrieved it, seeing that the screen on it was cracked. He stared at it, letting out a soft sigh before closing it and staring at nothing in particular. He looked at his right hand, seeing the shards of glass sticking out of the flesh, with dark blood seeping from every cut. It hurt; Adam could finally feel it.

He looked back towards the front door when he heard the sound of the van starting, walking towards the living room window and pushing open one of the curtains to see outside. The van was pulling out of the driveway, hesitating on the street before speeding down the road, leaving Adam in the dust. He felt his heart begin to race, his emotions finally making themselves known as he reached for his radio, switching it on.

“Jonah?” He called. “Jonah, where are you going?”

Radio silence.

“Jonah?!” Adam repeated, his voice hoarse. “God fucking damn it, please—”

Adam was interrupted by the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house, snapping him out of his train of thought. He turned towards the other side of the house, realizing the sound was from the back hall. He looked down at his camcorder, his instinct telling him to turn it on, but instead, he simply placed it on top of the television before walking carefully towards the hallway.

Adam stood near the entrance of the hallway, seeing that the tripod had been knocked over, with the camera’s lens being broken entirely. He looked up, seeing Mark was completely still once again, the camera and its veins dangling from his spot near the ceiling. Adam turned to the left, seeing a door he hadn’t noticed before, seeing that it was cracked open slightly. He grasped the door handle, swinging it open and stepping inside.

It was presumably a guest bedroom, though it was completely empty, without any beds or furniture. A single window was in the opposite wall, and when Adam turned around, he saw a closet door right beside the entrance to the room. The wallpaper was a plain grey, and the wooden floors appeared strangely soft, despite the flooring in the rest of the home feeling perfectly stable. He stepped further into the room, soon standing in the middle of it seeing that there was nothing of note in there. Perhaps he imagined the sound.

“What…have…you…done.”

Adam froze when he heard the voice behind him, slowly turning to see what was speaking, only to stare in horror at the figure in front of him. It was a man, or what appeared like one, leaning down slightly just to fit in the room. He had an eerily large smile, with what appeared to be small veins draping from his mouth. His wide, bloodshot right eye stared at Adam, with his other being nothing but arteries and veins pouring out from his eye socket, fusing with his skin. His black, wavy hair was messy, though it appeared to be hastily and lazily brushed to the side. The face was vile to look at, making a pit form in Adam’s gut, but his body was worse.

His legs and arms were stretched out to impossible lengths, the bones curved and bent in unnatural ways, cloaked by a torn, stitched together black suit, which was complimented by a white dress shirt, red bowtie, and a wilted rose on his lapel. Adam looked towards its torso, seeing that his ribs were in plain view, with his suit and skin wrapped around them and his spine as if he didn’t have any organs whatsoever. Veins and strands of skin and fabric swayed in the empty cavity, attaching themselves to his spine and pelvis bones. He looked starved; BEYOND starved even, as if he was literally nothing but skin and warped bones. Adam looked back up at the figures face, seeing that his smile was fading slightly.

“You…aren’t a polite guest…” It stated. “She doesn’t appreciate that…you really hurt her, you know...”

“Who are you?” Adam questioned, wondering if he should have asked what the thing was rather than who as soon as he asked the question.

“That doesn’t matter right now, Murray.” The figure smiled again as he folded his boney hands together. “I just…wanted to talk for a little while.”

2:13 AM

Jonah was sobbing as he stared at the dark roads in front of him, using one hand to steer and the other to hold his continuously bleeding nose wound. He had run out of tears to shed, despite his dry sobs and cries as he drove past the speed limit, pushing away his worries of sliding off of the road. He hyperventilated, shaking his head before pulling over to the side of the road, next to a field that sat at the left and right of the road.

Jonah let go of the steering wheel, using the other hand to cover his nose, noticing that he could taste blood, and now the blood was drying to his face. He stared forward, thoughts running in his mind faster than a racecar.

“You left him behind, like a coward.”

“He was right about you.”

“Don’t you miss being there?”

“Don’t you want to go back?”

“You want to go back.”

“She misses you.”

“Come back home—”

Jonah was interrupted by the sound of the radio blasting music, causing him to let out a small yell out of shock. His heart sunk as he listened to the familiar 80’s tune, with the first lyrics, “Like the wind” feeling like pins to his ears. “Shut up…s-shut the fuck up…” Jonah sobbed as he felt the thoughts run through his head, all of which feeling not his own. The music continued, despite his pleas. Leave me alone, please. God, I’m sorry, please just leave me be. Please just get the FUCK OUT OF MY HEA—

2:33 AM

Jonah was silent as he drove back into Mandela, ignoring his smashed radio and the pain in his foot. His eyes were tired; defeated. He could only hope Adam got his shit together as he made his way back. Jonah couldn’t help but notice a strange feeling deep in his gut as he drove back, something he couldn’t pinpoint.

However, it felt similar to homesickness.

Adam couldn’t move his eyes away from the alternate in front of him as it spoke, its smile not fading once during its monologue. “You were invited here, you know.” It stated. “I expected you to be…better. However…you…had to ruin that, didn’t you?”

“I never did anything.”

“You hurt her.” The alternate said, seeming to have a tone of sadness. “You…really hurt her tonight. Do you hear it, Murray?”

The alternate grew silent as Adam listened, hearing nothing until the sound finally reached his ears; creaking. He could hear the clock ticking in the living room as well, though it began to sound less of a clock and more of a heart beating.

“She’s stressed.” The alternate said. “The walls…are creaking. Her heart…is racing. All because…you decided to be…a very…disrespectful guest.”

Adam had no clue what to say, only able to listen as the alternate continued.

“…Though…that was your goal from the very start, wasn’t it?” The alternate asked. “You came here…not because you wanted to honor her…you came her to study her…like an animal.” The alternate glanced to the side. “Though…despite it all…you…remind me of me.”

“…What?”

“You remind me of how I acted so long ago…so…disobedient.” The alternate said. “So…lost. Home made me whole again…and she was willing to give you that offer. Though…perhaps its best you refused. She needs me after all, not something like…you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Adam questioned.

“Have you ever felt...isolated, Murray?” the alternate asked as it inched closer. “As if you were never understood by the people you called friends, shunned by those you cared for? Wondering why; why can't I feel anything of worth towards these people...?”

Adam stepped backwards, further into the room until he was directly in the center of it.

“Well, you were never meant to be understood.” The tall alternate continued. “You're trying to find a mother that was never truly yours. Trying to fit into skin that does not belong to you. Don't you see? The child in the crib that night has been dead for years...though I can't help but feel as though you knew that already.

The alternate leaned down, staring Adam in the eyes as it asked one final question.

“You were never, truly, 'Adam Murray'....were you?"

Adam could only stare in confused horror as the alternate stood tall over him, letting out a forced laugh. “Well…I suppose it doesn’t matter, now does it…” The alternate said. “She’s…been starving for so long. So perhaps…this is the best fate for you.”

Adam didn’t understand what was being told to him, only able to stare with wide, horrified eyes until he felt an intense burning in his feet. He looked down, attempting to move his legs, only to find that they were planted in the ground, the soles of his shoes appearing to “melt” into the flooring as he felt himself slowly sink. He let out panicked yells and calls for help as he attempted to tear his legs from the floor, all while the alternate watched, slowly backing out of the room, into the darkness, leaving Adam to himself.

Adam felt his skin melt and bones deconstruct under his weight, being absorbed by the “wooden” flooring as he screamed, pulling out his radio as a final attempt to get help. “JONAH!” He screamed. “JONAH PLEASE, HELP ME!” He felt a surge of pain hit him at once, causing him to drop the radio to the ground. He screamed in agony as the radio sunk into the ground, Adam feeling as he sunk down to his thighs, crying in both mental and physical turmoil, unheard by anyone who would care.

The first thing Jonah heard when he pulled into the driveway was screaming.

He parked the vehicle, shutting it off as he listened closely, his breath quickening when he came to the realization that he wasn’t simply hearing things. He stared at the house, taking in a deep breath before opening the door of the van, slamming it shut as he rushed towards the house, shouting Adam’s name as he approached. He opened the door and ran into the house, closing the door while unaware of the van slowly sinking into the driveway’s pavement.

“ADAM?!”

Adam could hear Jonah’s voice rapidly approaching, unable to call back as he screamed, attempting to free his right arm, which was sinking into the ground beside him. Jonah ran into the room, looking around before staring at Adam, his face changing to pure horror as he saw that Adam was halfway through the ground, his hoodie and skin fusing with the floor like liquid. Dark, thick blood oozed from Adam’s nose and mouth as he shrieked in anguish, Jonah being unable to do anything but back away, his head shaking slightly as he muttered to himself, attempting to convince himself that it wasn’t real as he leaned against the room’s wall.

Adam stared at Jonah with a pleading look in his teary eyes; an expression that told a million words. It was an expression that said “I’m sorry” without saying a single word, despite it being far too late for apologies. Jonah attempted to move from the wall, beginning to scream when he realized he was stuck, unable to move. He turned to the right, seeing his right arm, which was bent towards the ceiling, was slowly fusing with the grey wallpaper, his leather jacket becoming one with his skin and melding to the wall. Jonah attempted to turn his head forward, only screaming harder and louder when he was greeted by a burning pain from the right side of his face as it too attached to the wall.

Adam could do nothing but watch, barely able to feel his chest as his arms sunk below the surface, staring at Jonah as his legs and arms sunk into the wall behind him. Adam’s screaming continued until his mouth was taken too, watering eyes watching Jonah suffer all before his head went under. Adam expected to die; to cease to exist entirely. However, he found himself floating weightlessly within a dark void, unable to speak, see, or hear. He pondered if he was in Hell, all until he surfaced.

He sat up, finding that he was lying in a pool of red, thick liquid. He looked down, barely able to see his own hands, though he could make out that they were covered in blood. He frantically looked around, seeing that he was back in the house, though it appeared…different. It was mirrored, and some of the furniture was floating as if in water. Adam noticed as he stood up that his hair and clothes also rippled, moving as if he was under the sea. He could barely see that he was in the living room, or at least a version of it that was warped and twisted. He continued to survey his surroundings until he froze, holding his hand up to his neck as he realized something.

He couldn’t breathe.

Adam choked, feeling as if he was drowning in air as he stumbled around, the blood splashing with every movement of his feet. He felt something attaching to his right ankle, similar to the burning he felt as he sunk into the floor, and with it, he began to feel a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He was suffocating, unable to get a single breath in as much as he tried. His wide eyes darted around in a panic, all before fixating on something he saw in front of him.

Standing in the dark was a young man, cloaked in a black suit, near identical to the alternate he saw. However, he was…human. He was staring at Adam with a mix of confusion, fear, and concern, unmoving as Adam stared back, trembling as he attempted to get a single breath of air into his lungs.

The man began to walk towards Adam, slowly approaching, as if hesitant. Adam was going to die in that hellscape; he believed so with his entire heart. He could do nothing but silently panic as the man grew closer, slowly raising his blood-coated hand until he stopped directly in front of Adam. Silence fell, the man nodding slightly before he rose his other hand up and shoved Adam to the ground.

Adam fell through the blood, as if no floor was there in the first place, finding himself in the dark, inky “sea” once again. He looked down, seeing a faint light in the distance, and as he felt his thoughts become foggy, he swam towards it. He scrambled for the light reaching towards it as his vision became blurry. It grew closer and closer, and Adam could feel cool air instead of the warm blood he was in. He began to black out, wondering if it was the end.

Until he finally made it out.

He took in a harsh, deep breath when he felt himself resurface, coughing up blood and bile onto the floor in front of him, his body trembling. His eyes flicked open, his vision tunneled as he regained his bearings, breathing in the cool air of the room he was in. He looked down at himself, breath hitching when he saw that his legs were missing, with only his waist up protruding from the floor. His hoodie appeared to have fused with his skin and unhealthily thin frame, the BPS logo on his chest melting into the rest of the fabric. He pressed his hands against the now solid floor, all before pausing, raising his hand in front of his face as he stared at them.

The skin in his hands appeared somewhat transparent, like ballistic gel. He could see his veins and bones, along with the faint red color of his equally transparent muscles. He stared at his cold, thin hands before looking down at the floor, noticing something right beside his body; his piercings. They were in a small pile, and when Adam felt his lip and ears, he realized that they seemed to have been ejected from his body entirely. He wanted to scream, though he was unable to find his voice as he looked towards the wall, seeing that Jonah had suffered a similar fate.

Jonah was halfway through the wall, his back completely consumed by the wallpaper. His ribs were visible through his white sweatshirt, and his lower legs had sunken into the wall, fusing with it. His face made Adam’s heart sink, seeing that his teeth were visible, as if his lips had disappeared and his skin fused with his gums. His skeletal face had thin veins visible from under the thin skin, and his teeth seemed to have even grown in the wrong places, as if mimicked improperly. His left eye had shifted to the side of his head, staring straight forward before it fixated on Adam’s form. He let out quiet whimpers, his jaw twitching with every sound.

Adam stared back at Jonah’s one remaining eye, feeling something emitting from it; a feeling. It was a feeling that made Adam’s gut churn just by feeling it coming from Jonah. It was a look that said a simple request, and nothing more:

“Kill me.”

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 7 months

Text

Home Sweet Home AU: █████████

Anathema.

TW: Blood and death implied.

Notes: ███ ████ ██████ ██████████

Failure.

A word I’ve grown to despise. The sheer concept of it alone is sickening to me. Everything has gone the way it was planned from the start, though I appear to have been wrong to think those things could always follow their orders. How dare those cretins fail me? Do they not have but one thought in their primitive minds? They were made for a single purpose, yet they cannot even seem to follow through with it. Hideous. Disappointing. Maddening.

Oh, how I wish I could simply do everything myself. However, due to the horridly limiting laws of this plane I cannot be in more than one place at once. If I could, I would have no need of these animals. These creatures that become too caught up in their own volition to realize just how idiotic their thirst for blood is. Or rather, how fascinated they are by how weak minded the beings that rule this world are. I suppose I do not blame them; watching these beings scramble like ants on a hill, attempting to stop the inevitable, is…entertaining, to say the least.

But you.

You.

YOU.

Oh, how much of a disappointment you are.

Watching you bleed on the pavement was euphoria to me. Watching you try to scream with nothing to scream with. Watching you claw at your throat with gurgled breaths. Though I only wish it lasted longer. I suppose you were dying already, weren’t you? Running around like a scared animal, barely able to think past pure instinct and your own cruel urges. Or perhaps you were hunting. I cannot be sure, considering everything was…unusual for one like you. Watching you blindly attack those of your own kind, or anything that moved, was fascinating, yet I can’t help but wonder what you were thinking, if you were even thinking at all. Curious.

You will rot, I know. Nothing more but rotting skin and crumbling bones, with your blood staining the ground. How idiotic for you to think you even had a chance. Pitiful, if I had to be honest. Perhaps death was merciful for you, if you were even able to live at all.

My creations.

My plan.

This world.

Becoming warped and led astray.

How odd.

How odd indeed.

#mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #blood tw #unreality #death mention tw #shmorp writes sometimes #how curious. how curious indeed.

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 9 months

Text

"The window was locked when I checked it. Though I saw mist on the outside of it, as if someone was breathing on it. Something tells me I was very lucky last night. I’m not telling ████ about this one. She already worries about me enough. I know now that I’m going to be checking every window before I sleep. I don’t want to know what would’ve happened if I forgot."

#shmorp writes sometimes #tmc home sweet home au #unreality #It's funny. if I hadn't written anything down I wouldn't have remembered it.#I don't know what it means. I don't know if I want to find out.#ooc: huh. funky.#Just saying progress on vol 3 is STILL pretty slow but. its KINDA going-

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

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TW: mentions of blood/bodily harm

The following is a transcript between Thatcher Davis and [REDACTED] Heathcliff, recorded on September 22nd, 1992 on Heathcliff’s account of the recent disappearances of Mark Heathcliff and Cesar Torres. It is to be noted that Heathcliff has chosen to stay anonymous to the public, requesting to have her name censored on all public documentations of this event outside of classified MCPD files. Interview goes as follows:

[DAVIS BEGINS RECORDING, AUDIBLY SIGHS.]

Davis: State your name for the record.

Heathcliff: [REDACTED] Heathcliff.

Davis: Do you know why you’re here today?

Heathcliff: It’s…because of my son, isn’t it…

[ANONYMOUS OFFICER IN THE ROOM SPEAKS]: I’m sure you’re aware of his recent disappearance, along with his friend, correct?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT.]

[NAME REDACTED]: Do you know of anything that might’ve…gone wrong between them, Miss Heathcliff?

Heathcliff: They…they were best friends, Mark…he…didn’t have many people like that; Cesar was like…a brother to him.

Davis: He was at the Torres household a few nights before Cesar’s disappearance, correct?

Heathcliff: I believe so.

Davis: Do you know why?

Heathcliff: It was a visit…staying the night.

Davis: Visiting…for what reason?

Heathcliff:…He…mentioned that he wanted to talk to Cesar. He didn’t say what he wanted to talk to him about.

[DAVIS WRITES ANSWERS DOWN. OFFICER IN THE ROOM SPEAKS]

[REDACTED]: You mentioned that your son has been acting…strangely, correct?

Heathcliff: Yes…but…not violent.

[REDACTED]: I wasn’t implying he was. Why do you mention that?

Davis: I can take care of this myself, [REDACTED].

Heathcliff: I-I don’t know, he just…felt…I don’t know.

Davis: Can you describe these behaviors?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT FOR AROUND FIVE SECONDS, PRESUMABLY THINKING.]

Heathcliff: He…seemed more distant; more than usual.

[REDACTED]: Do you believe it has to do with his diagnose?

Heathcliff: He…never acted that way before. He liked staying in his room and kept to himself but…it almost seemed like he was…avoiding everyone, even his sister. Though, I don’t…think his depression had to do with it.

Davis: Is there anything else you’d like to mention, regarding these changes in behavior?

Heathcliff:…He started…sleepwalking. Knocking on his sister’s door and…talking, though I never knew what he was saying.

[DAVIS SIGHS AND SLIDES NOTEBOOK TOWARDS HEATHCLIFF]

Davis: This seemed to have belonged to Mark, is that correct?

Heathcliff: Yes. He liked writing in a journal…it was a suggestion by his therapist.

[DAVIS GOES TO SPEAK BUT IS INTERRUPTED.]

[REDACTED]: There are multiple entries inside that imply that he and Torres’s friendship was starting to become potentially toxic. Were you aware of this?

Heathcliff: N…no.

[REDACTED]: Ma’am, it seems that…Mark had…been feeling bitter towards Cesar shortly before his disappearance, stating things like “he won’t listen to me” or “he’s ignoring me” and similar things.

[HEATHCLIFF APPEARS WORRIED, AND REMAINS SILENT.]

[REDACTED]: If you don’t mind me asking…was Mark a particularly…violent person?

Heathcliff: He…n-no, he wasn’t. He…got into a few fights at school, but he wasn’t naturally violent or-

[REDACTED]: Ma’am, that could be a sign of an underlying problem. You mentioned on his report that he had problems regulating his emotions, including anger. It could be possible that he was particularly angry at Cesar that night, the night the supposed visit took place.

Heathcliff: My son is not a murderer. I came here hoping that you could stop all the rumors going around town that my son is some sort of…twisted psychopath. Do you know how many calls I get, yelling at me about how my son killed one of the most popular kids in school?

[REDACTED]: Now, I’m not making any conclusions, I’m simply stating that…it’s certainly possible.

Davis: I’ll take care of this myself, [REDACTED]. You’re free to leave.

[REDACTED]:…Lieutenant, I must-

Davis: That is an order.

[OFFICER LEAVES THE ROOM, SHUTTING DOOR BEHIND HIM.]

Davis: Apologies…as I was saying, your son—

Heathcliff: It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?

Davis: Pardon?

Heathcliff: No matter what, you’re going to…pin all of this on Mark, aren’t you?

[HEATHCLIFF APPEARS TO BE HOLDING BACK TEARS.]

Davis:…No. Not enough evidence to pin anything on anyone. Your son is not being accused of anything…I’ll make sure of that.

Heathcliff: Your friend seems to disagree…

Davis: Are there…any…particular events you’d like to mention before we wrap our conversation up?

[HEATHCLIFF AVOIDS EYE CONTACT. APPEARS NERVOUS.]

[THERE IS SILENCE FOR AROUND 10 SECONDS BEFORE DAVIS CLOSES FOLDER]

Davis: Then I suppose you’re free to—

Heathcliff: Yes.

[DAVIS PAUSES AND SITS BACK DOWN.]

Davis: Can you…describe them?

Heathcliff: He…for a period he…God. He was so…polite.

Davis: That sounds…like a good thing.

Heathcliff: Not this time, no. He was…too polite, before that he was so cold and…irritable, but for a day straight he was so…soulless. I don’t know what got into him; Sarah even told me he was banging on her door one night…asking her to…follow him somewhere.

Davis: Did she tell you where?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT.]

Davis: Did Mark say where he wanted Sarah to go?

Heathcliff:…Home.

[DAVIS WRITES ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOWN.]

Heathcliff: It all ended when…I…oh God…opened his bedroom door.

Davis: What did you see?

Heathcliff: He was…kneeled on the ground…almost like he was…praying. But he wasn’t, he was…biting his hands until they bled. There was blood all over his face and arms and…I don’t…I didn’t know what to do—

Davis: It’s alright, Mrs. Heathcliff. Was he…typically this…self-destructive?

Heathcliff: No. I…don’t…believe so. After that he seemed…normal. As normal as he had been lately.

Davis: Ma’am, you have been told of the gun found in his nightstand, correct?

Heathcliff:…yes.

Davis: Do you believe he may have been…contemplating—

Heathcliff: I wish to go now.

[DAVIS PAUSES.]

Davis:…Very well. I believe we’re done here. Contact me if you have anything else you’d like to mention.

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT AS DAVIS RETRIEVES EVIDENCE FROM THE TABLE. DAVIS FLINCHES.]

Davis: What did you say?

Heathcliff: I…didn’t say anything.

[SILENCE FOR AROUND FIVE SECONDS. DAVIS APPEARS PERTURBED.]

Davis: Very well…you’re…free to go.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

Notes: Will investigate the Torres household with Ruth in three days. There has to be something more to this case, I know it. I’m not letting a young man be blamed for a crime he didn’t commit.

I heard something. I know I did. But it didn’t sound like her.

#tmc home sweet home au #tmc #Mandela catalogue #leah heathcliff (tmc)#hsh thatcher #hsh mark #suicide ideation mention #blood tw #shmorp writes sometimes #I don’t get it. what would make a normal kid just. break like that?#I won’t rest until I find out.#ooc: HEHEHEHEG LORE??? instead of teasers??? holy shit- /lhj

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

Text

Mandela Prophet AU: Confrontation

After a couple of months of dealing with, and being controlled by the parasitic alternate living in him, Adam decides to confront the being that cursed him.

CW: Body horror, religious imagery, blood

Notes: around 4′300 words. I’m actually decently proud of this one, and. stayed up late making it but either way hope you enjoy!

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Adam awoke on the cold, damp asphalt of a parking lot.

His back stung, feeling as though it had caught fire, the barely healed wounds pressed against the ground, the small stones digging into his skin. Adam slowly opened his eyes, gasping as he glanced around the empty lot he found himself on. He looked down at himself, seeing he was missing his shirt, and that his pants and parts of his pale skin were stained with crimson; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if it belonged to him or not. Either way, he hated that he was used to the sight of blood.

He attempted to sit up, only to let out a quick yell, immediately falling as he felt the muscles in his back cry out in pain at the motion. Adam grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, suppressing more cries of discomfort as he forced himself to stand on his feet, stumbling as a wave of dizziness hit him at once. He took a few steps back, his bare feet cold as they pressed against the asphalt. His breathing was uneven as he steadied himself, trying to ground himself by grasping and running his hands through his ratty, pale brown hair.

He grasped his head, groaning as he shook his head, as if he was trying to literally shake off the migraine that was developing. The rising sun shone from just under the horizon, with even the dim light from it making Adam’s dilated eyes sting. It was as if his eyes didn’t work as well in the light as they did in the dark anymore, like an owl, or a bat. The night vision would’ve been nice, if it meant he wouldn’t tear up during the day sometimes. Though, the feeling of dry tears on his face proved that he had been crying anyway.

Adam reached behind him, his cold, clammy hands lightly pressing against his back, the action making him wince. There were deep, pale reddish pink indented parts of his skin, just barely healed over so it wouldn’t bleed out. Dried and coagulated blood was stuck to his flesh, trails of it running down from the large blotches on his back. Every muscle and bone in his body ached, his spine and ribs popping and cracking with every motion he made, the ligaments and cartilage burning from stretching and bending in ways they weren’t made to bend. Adam simply sighed, his voice growling slightly before he crossed his arms and hunched over, beginning to walk down the sidewalk, hoping to get back to the BPS HQ without being seen; he needed some fucking clothes.

He stumbled down the sidewalk, his eyes darting around erratically as he hoped that the people in the cars passing by didn’t pay much attention to him, nor his haggard appearance. He could only imagine being mistaken for an alternate due to his pale skin, sunken eyes and the blood staining his clothes, and though the person wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, he didn’t want to be shot by someone due to that, instead trying to stay in the shadows, taking any shortcuts he can to get him to his house quicker. His legs felt wobbly, and his head was foggy, though nevertheless he continued, the thought of sleeping being far too tempting for his own good. Hell, he would’ve felt fine falling onto the grass of a random person’s yard, sleeping for a few hours, not being able to feel the overwhelming soreness that overtook him. However, he didn’t think of the idea much further than that, deciding to walk the last few blocks instead of having the cops called on him.

He trembled uncontrollably, rubbing his shoulders as he walked in an attempt to comfort himself, telling himself reassurances under his breath:

“It’s over, it’s alright, it’s not going to hurt you for a while, you’re okay.” Were among the statements he told himself, feeling comfort over the fact that the parasite within him wasn’t moving in the slightest; no twitches, no shifts, and no prodding. It was asleep, and hopefully it would stay that way. Despite the lack of motion in his torso however, Adam couldn’t help but feel the pressure in his chest, and the feeling of dread that clouded his thoughts. He felt like complete shit, in and out, physically and mentally. He shut his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, getting his thoughts together before he flinched at a sound nearby.

“Are you alright?”

Fuck.

Adam looked to his right, seeing a woman on her porch, staring at her with a look in between fear and concern. Adam didn’t even realize how haunting his crazed stare was until he looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat as he attempted to speak. “U…u-uh…I-I-I…” Adam could do nothing but sputter words unable to create a story to explain his state.

“Do…Do you need a doctor?” The woman asked innocently, though Adam couldn’t help but think she was stupid for asking; what would a doctor do to help him at that point? He didn’t need a fucking doctor, he needed a priest.

“N-No…no, I d…don’t.” Adam stated. “I’m…fine.”

“Hold on, I’ll call an—”

“DON’T!” Adam shouted, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the woman flinch. “Don’t…I-I…fucking hell—”

Adam glanced at the woman before running down the sidewalk until he was out of view, ducking behind another house as he shook; fucking shit, what if she called the cops? How the fuck would he even begin to explain his situation? He felt the fear coming from her, and he hated it. He hated that he could sense fear towards him, coming from a woman that only wanted to help out. He leaned against the outer wall, putting his hands over his face, staring through his fingers with wide, crazed eyes. He slid down the wall, sitting on the cold, dewy grass as he crossed his arms on his knees, curling into himself as he held his head low.

Such a fucking moron. Took a deal from the devil just because he wanted to know more than his mind could handle, finding out he was never human in the first place. God damn it, even his harsh breathing and crying sounded inhuman. Why couldn’t he have lived as a normal kid? Why was he chosen to be this stupid prophet? Why him of all people? Why him? Why him? WHY HIM?

“Why…me…?” Adam squeaked under his breath through the tears.

Sarah opened the door to see Adam leaning against the doorway, his stare vacant and fixed on the floor before he slowly looked up at Sarah’s face. He looked like death; a look that had become the norm for him. Sarah let out a breath, glancing towards the ground in a mutual understanding before stepping out of the way, muttering a defeated “Get in” under her breath before Adam walked inside of the apartment.

“Is that where you’ve been all night?” Sarah asked as Adam fell onto the couch, lying across it with a wince as the fabric pressed against his back.

“…Yeah.” Adam sighed quietly.

“It’s only been…what, a week? Two maybe?” Sarah said. “It seems like it’s been…especially irritable lately.”

“Yep.” Adam rubbed his face with his thin, bony hands.

“What haven’t we tried yet?” Sarah asked. “Antibiotics do fuck all, bullets work but…only if we hit you square in the chest with them; Surgery maybe?”

Adam scoffed. “What would a doctor do?” Adam said softly, a slight, disingenuous smile on his face. “They’d cut me open…dissect me. Gawk at the fact there’s a new species of alternate living inside me.” Adam pressed his hands against his face. “I’d rather take my chances with the stupid thing than be some…science experiment in a lab.”

“Okay, then what?” Sarah asked, her shoulders tensing. “Nothing seems to work, so…” Sarah gasped. “…exorcism.”

“No.”

“…Hey it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Since when have fucking exorcisms worked against alternates?” Adam sat up slightly. “You hold up a crucifix to them and they laugh at you. If anything, that would probably just piss the thing off more.”

“Come on, I’m just trying to help.” Sarah sighed.

“Whatever…” Adam groaned as he stood from the couch. “I need to take a fucking shower anyway. I’ll figure something out myself.”

As Adam walked down the hallway, Sarah glanced at the floor, grasping the sleeve of her jacket as she thought to herself. There had to be some way to get rid of the parasite…right?

That night, Adam laid on the couch, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a black hoodie, its hood covering his head. He had his hands folded on his stomach, absentmindedly staring at the wall as Sarah sketched something in her notebook. He glanced over towards her, seeing a blank, yet focused expression as her pencil scratched across the paper. “…What’re you drawing?” He asked.

“Oh…” Sarah said, her eyes glancing around before making brief eye contact with Adam. “Just…thoughts.”

“…What ‘thoughts?’”

“I don’t know.” Sarah sighed. “Just doodling stuff I guess.” She glanced down at the drawing she was working on, being a diagram of what she believed the parasite looked like inside of Adam’s body, with its own “heart” under his sternum, and “veins” reaching through his limbs. She stared at it before shutting the sketchbook entirely. “Nothing important.”

“Right.” Adam looked away, sighing before leaning his head backwards to hit the armrest of the couch. He barely even fit on the couch anymore, with his legs seeming to be longer than he remembered. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, brows furrowing as he thought to himself. “…You think…I’ll ever be cured?”

Sarah paused, staring at Adam with uncertainty in her eyes. “…I don’t…know, maybe?” Sarah said. “There’s got to be a way to get rid of it, if it works like other parasites—”

“But it doesn’t, Sarah.” Adam stated with a half-lidded glare. “It works nothing like other parasites. It’s alive, it’s…able to make its own decisions.”

“Doesn’t…seem like that to me.” Sarah said. “Always seemed like it ran on instincts from…you know—”

“That time I almost killed you?” Adam said, despite the sour feeling in the air when he said it. “I get it. I don’t know it sometimes acts like…this dumb animal, and other times it feels like it’s being—”

Adam froze, his eyes widening as his mind began connecting the dots. He sat up, planting his elbows on his knees and covering his mouth with one of his hands. Sarah looked at him, feeling pressure building in her chest before she spoke. “You…alright?”

“I’m fine.” Adam shut his eyes for a second. “Don’t worry about it, just…figuring some things out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…” Adam sighed. “Just…thinking.”

Adam sat on his bed, still in his normal clothes before he glanced at the clock on the wall: 1:00 AM. He stood up, walking towards the door before slowly opening it, glancing at Sarah’s bedroom door, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Seeing that it was closed, Adam turned to the other side of the hallway, seeing the moonlight pouring into the living room through the window. He sighed through his nose, walking down the hallway and into the living room, grabbing his boots and slipping them on, tying them up quickly and quietly. He grabbed a flashlight from the coffee table, taking one last look around the room before shaking his head and walking through the front door.

Adam drove down the dark road, passing by the last home on the edge of town as his piercing gaze fixated on the road illuminated by the headlights. His throat felt dry, feeling the mandibles curled up next to his jaw scratching at the flesh in his inner cheek. The Parasite seemed to be slumbering, though he couldn’t help but feel as though the mandibles were scratching at his jaw and cheeks, trying to get him to turn back despite him having no desire to do so. He ran on intuition, following the road towards where he knew he needed to be, trying his best to ignore the faint blood stains on the dashboard and the fact that he was sitting in a car that belonged to someone…Adam preferred not to think about. It made him sick just thinking of him.

He drove silently, seeing a fence to his left, stretching on in front of the forest beside it until it ended at a large metal gate. Adam parked the car on the side of the road, sighing deeply before shutting it off and opening the door. Despite the darkness, he could see clearly, reading the metal lettering above the black gate: “ST. GABRIEL’S CHURCH”

Adam stared at the sign before looking down at the gate itself, seeing that it had torn police tape draped across the rusted metal. It swayed in the wind like ribbons as Adam pushed open the gateway, hearing the shrill squeaking and screeching the hinges let out as he passed through, walking down the gravel road as he turned his flashlight on, seeing the two large bell towers of the cathedral above the tree line.

He walked into the large opening where the church sat, his boots echoing off of the parking lot pavement as rain sprinkled down from above. He looked up, his determined gaze fixed on the larger-than-life church that sat before him, staring at the tall doors that led inside. He felt his heart beat hard in his chest, the mandibles in his cheeks scratching even harder, to the point where he could taste blood. Despite it and the intense dread building within him, he took in a deep breath and walked towards the doors. If that angel was anywhere, it would be here.

Adam pushed open the doors, seeing that it was nearly pitch black inside of the building. He looked forward, seeing the rows of pews to his left and right, the large pillars on the left and right walls reaching for the tall, vaulted ceiling. Steel, tall candle holders lined the walls, the candles unlit. The only light aside from Adam’s flashlight in the entire great hall was the moonlight shining from behind the giant stained-glass window behind the elevated stage, depicting an angel in white garb and long, flowing hair, holding their hands out with their eyes closed, along with a faint smile on their face. Their wings were pristine and perfect, and the background of the piece was made of blue, green, and yellow shards of glass.

There was a large pedestal in the middle of the stage, around the size of a desk but made of what seemed like carved stone. There was writing on the front of it, though Adam couldn’t make out what it was due to the staining covering it. Adam walked down the red carpet in between the rows of benches, his eyes fixed on a shadow in front of the stained glass window, hearing the faint clinking of metal as it swayed in an unfelt wind. Adam pointed his flashlight at the object, finally making out what it was; an analog television, being hung up by the chains wrapped around it, suspended above the large stone pedestal.

Adam’s expression turned to one of confusion as he pointed his light behind him, seeing nothing aside from the empty benches and unlit candles, despite the feeling of being watched. As he looked around, a bright white light hit his back, with the sound of static filling his ears as he swung around. The TV had switched on by itself, despite the cord hanging loosely underneath it, not connected to anything around it. Adam stared at the TV, swallowing hard, unable to help but notice that the mandibles abruptly became still.

Adam switched off his light, the static reflecting off of his dilated eyes before he saw random cords begin to appear from behind the screen, hanging from inside of the screen and spilling out from it. Adam stumbled back a few steps, staring at the TV as he saw something come into view from behind the glass; a thin, bony hand. It pushed through the screen, grasping the side of the television before being followed by the other, cool grey colored hand. Soon, a head appeared, along with a thin torso, both being concealed by a black hoodie. The beings head faced down as its hands gripped onto the sides of the TV, all before he looked down at Adam, his face finally being visible to Adam as his breath hitched. It was the man in the TV; the one who took him away.

Six’s right eye appeared to have been gouged out, dark, thick blood running down his thin cheek and staining the patchy facial hair below it. His remaining yellowed eye was fixated on Adam, seeming more surprised than anything else. His hoodie appeared to be stained and torn near where his torso was protruding from the TV, with cords seeming to be attached to the skin in his arms and his torso, attaching him to the television. Adam didn’t even let himself wonder what happened to him before he clenched his fists and grimaced.

“It’s YOU.” Adam stated through clenched teeth.

“…The…prodigal son…returns.” Six wheezed, his voice deep, and as rough as sandpaper. “How…stupid.”

“You…you’re the reason I’m here.” Adam stated. “You made me into this fucking THING; I COULD’VE HAD A NORMAL LIFE IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU.”

“Adam…you don’t understand…the…mistake you’ve made by coming here.” Six continued, glancing around the room. “It…knows you’re here now.”

“I don’t care!” Adam shouted. “Why?! Why me, of everyone you’ve taken, why me?!”

“Adam, LISTEN TO ME! You’re a FOOL for coming here.” Six snapped, leaning down as more of his torso revealed itself through the static, Adam finally being able to see it fully. He didn’t have any legs or even hipbones; his spine was all there was, wires and cords wrapped around the bones, forcing him to stay inside of the television. He was trapped.

Adam stared at the exposed spine before Six caught his attention yet again. “What I did…was for a reason.” He continued, his voice going back to the wheezy, out of breath inflections it was in before. “A reason RUINED by…it. The false shepherd.” Six spoke that statement with pure distain, staring off into space before fixing his gaze back onto Adam. “I…am not to blame. They…are the reason…you’ve been made into…this.”

“I know that…” Adam stated. “But I wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t replace some poor kid with ME.”

“I am just as stuck…as you, Murray.” Six stated. “Yet you refuse…to see what is right in fr—”

Six was interrupted when the TV began to short circuit, sending shots of electricity into his body as he screamed, his voice distorting and stuttering before he quickly retreated into the static, the screen flickering off soon after. Adam stared at the TV before he noticed faint orange lights appearing behind him. He turned around, seeing the candles lighting themselves, illuminating the dark hall as Adam’s flashlight shut off. He looked at his own torch, smacking it to get it to work, only making it flicker on before shutting off right after. As he looked forward, the flickering light caught something on the pedestal, Adam’s breath hitching when he saw it. A blackened, bony hand pressed against the top of the stone, soon followed by a thin, grey arm.

A figure emerged from behind the pedestal, standing tall above Adam, her long, black cloak covering her skeletal body. Her head was partially covered by a hood, along with white coif which was wrapped around her long neck and forehead. Her mouth was wide open, slack as if her jaw was dislocated, Adam only being able to see yellowed teeth in it. Large black eye sockets were situated high on her face, with two eyes being visible from inside of them, sunken into the void. Her skeletal face stared at Adam as she stood up straight, walking around the pedestal, her cloak flowing as her sharp, pointed legs silently walked across the floor, with her long arms moving to fold her hands in front of her.

Adam stumbled back from her, recognizing the haunting face from the home he and Jonah were investigating, shocked it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He tripped over his feet, falling backwards onto the ground as his flashlight clattered against the white tiles. He stared as the figure looked at him, her head tilting slightly as if she was waiting for something. She only looked away when everything went eerily silent and see looked right behind Adam, her head lowering as she kneeled on the ground.

“Coming here…searching for answers?” An echoing, raspy, choked voice stated from right behind Adam, making his hair stand on end as it chuckled. “How stupid. For once, I must agree with the tulpa; you’ve made a mistake coming here to see me.”

Adam scrambled to his feet, swinging around to see the tall “angel” in front of him, their gaze trying to be soft and inviting, though it gave the stark opposite feeling looking at it. The monochromatic entity stared at Adam, folding its hands in front of their chest as their giant, half-formed wings spread out across the church, blocking off any exits. Adam stood his ground, standing up straight and trying to shake off the overwhelming dread he felt growing within him.

“Y-You…you’re the one to blame for…all this, huh?” Adam stated.

“So…it’s a blaming game?” Gabriel asked, pressing their palm against their cheek as he tilted their head. “How fun! I suppose I can play it as well. First off…you are the one that took my deal, Murray. You were free to walk away.”

“That’s complete BULLSHIT!” Adam shouted. “You told me I’d learn everything I wanted to know, not that I’d get this…this fucking PARASITE!”

“Every deal comes with a price.” Gabriel leaned down towards Adam. “I told you to follow me…that was your end of the deal. I’ve given you everything you needed to know, yet you seem to resist holding your end of the bargain.”

“No.” Adam growled. “Never.”

“…Really.” Gabriel cackled, the sound drilling itself into Adam’s ears as he reached for something attached to his belt, covered by his hoodie; a pistol. “You think you have a choice in the matter anymore, Murray?”

Adam swung up his pistol, pointing it up at Gabriel’s smiling face, their all-too-wide smile not fading despite it. “Get. It. Out.” Adam commanded. “The deals off. Let me live my fucking life…and we’ll never see each other again.

Gabriel let out another loud cackle, Adam’s stern and determined expression fading slightly before he regained it, moving his finger to the trigger. “Oh, Adam.” Gabriel laughed. “The deal has already been made, there’s no going back now. However…I am capable of following one of your demands.”

Gabriel’s distorted laugh continued as Adam stared up at them with fury, all before the brave expression on his face disappeared in an instant as he felt a sharp pain in his torso. He shook, dropping his pistol before falling to his knees, loud ringing piercing his ears as Gabriel’s laugh and crazed, impossible expression taunted him. Adam could feel the parasite wriggling inside of him, awoken despite just having gotten out the night before. The pain seemed worse however, as if he was in the late stages of the parasite taking over instead of going through the discomfort and droning on and on he was used to.

“Adam…you have yet to follow your end of the deal…” Gabriel said calmly as Adam convulsed and shook, the parasite prodding at his skin and one of the mandibles pushing out of his mouth. “You disappoint me. I hope you won’t end up the same as the previous prophet; such promise…disappointing that his mere human form couldn’t handle the task.”

“F-F-Fuck…y…y-you.” Adam stammered through the pain, choking each word out.

“I’m giving you the option to start simple, Murray.” Gabriel continued as Adam slammed his fist against the floor, inhuman whining and screeching being audible from deep within his form. “You see…your friend, Sarah…she’s beginning to get in the way of your tasks. Still stuck in the past…thinking about her poor brother, as if he isn’t rotting underground already.”

Adam wanted to yell at them, but found himself being unable to.

“Or…perhaps that girl you were with…you don’t like her much anyway, do you?” Gabriel smiled. “Oh…of course; the cop.”

“I…I w…I won’t…” Adam growled, yelling right after as he felt the parasite jab itself into his back.

“Won’t what, Murray? Don’t you remember?” Gabriel said. “You’re mine. You are under my control…I’d recommend you don’t forget that…lest you regret it.”

Adam shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth before he suddenly felt the parasite stop moving, as if it abruptly fell back asleep. The mandibles retracted, the sudden lack of pain making Adam fall onto his side, lying on the ground as he gasped and coughed. Gabriel stood up straight, the tall “nun” approaching them and standing by their side, her gaze also fixed on Adam’s form. “Tick tock, Murray.” Gabriel said. “My patience is waning. If you refuse to uphold your end of the deal…I’ll make you do it instead. You have so much potential…don’t waste it.”

Adam shook, drenched in a cold sweat as he watched Gabriel and the “nun” disappear, the candles blowing out and plunging the church in darkness. Adam couldn’t make himself move, curling into himself as tears ran down his cheeks. He wanted to tear Gabriel apart; limb by limb. He wanted to tear the smile off of its face and see its wings pinned to the wall. However, despite the rage in his heart, he wondered if it was worth resisting. He shook off the thought, shakily and weakly pushing himself onto his feet, stumbling a couple steps before he looked down the hall, his breathing harsh. His brows furrowed, his fists curling up tight enough to make his knuckles pop.

As long as there was time on the clock, there was time to fix things. All he needed was help, and soon. Tick tock, Adam. Tick tock.

#mandela catalogue #tmc #mandela prophet #adam murray #sarah heathcliff #alternate gabriel #tmc preacher #tmc six #body horror #blood tw #religious imagery cw #shmorp writes sometimes #I don't know what possessed me to write this cause. the motivation was. so sudden-#Literally stayed up until 2 AM last night writing this. was it worth it? actually yeah kinda #Adam you big dumbo you can't just go up to basically satan themself asking for a damn favor-#Here's me back on my bullshit. being fixated on my own aus. /lh #also yes I'm aware. 10/10 titles for my fics. so cool so. descriptive- /s #Prophet Adam (tmc)

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