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3 _ 47 _ Stalking Ghosts

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

Across the city and upon the rooftops of withered tombstones, the rain fell as it always did the faded memory of a long-gone era. The windows gaped at the roads winding far below, guarding rooms from a tantrum thrown by gale and sharpened pellets. Some rooms still have a television for the devoted denizen of the signal and an occupant, to poor their fixation on the screen yammering gibberish.

The odd character wove among bands of static smiles, and flashed varied objects of allure – a wonderful device to contact others, a knickknack no kitchen should be without, the best chair for lounging, a place out at see where you could eat and eat and eat. And more.

Among shrieks of static and garbled songs. Between the frayed pages of the signal, a lighthouse upon a dome island winked behind the snow. With a sputter, the pictures dissolve back into the routine program of daytime dramas with compelling instruments.

From the crooked doorway waddled the lopsided shape of a Viewer, still glossy from the rains and dripping. In one hand it hauled suitcase, but that goes dumped beside the desk table at the tall. He does not bother removing the hat on the waterlogged dress coat, instead it scrambled to the defeated recliner planted in the center of the room, and the moldy carpet. Home at last and at peace, the Viewer melted into the chair and gave its full attention to the sputtering screen.

Everything it could want was behind the glass. A world of possibilities, out of reach but not unattainable. All he had to do was sit and think of everything he ever wanted, all the little necessities and splendor of evading obligations. What even was the point of working, if Tommy in Research was getting favoritism. And now Oscar was sucking up to Project Manager of the Galleon commission.

I̷̬̯̔N̵̺͇̬̒͋D̶̰̺̩͉̄̅Ȩ̶̳̘̓̌̂Ȩ̴͎̽̌̀Ḋ̷̛̘̮͑

̷͚̥̊̇̄̓

̵̛̮͖̲̯̒̚B̵̖̬̞̥̽̿͒̐E̵̢̖̝̱͝T̸̲̥͔̓̚ͅT̵̟͠E̷̲̩̳̻̍̏̓R̸̢̹͎̭̂

̷̣͖̾̊̅

̴̫̣̐̽͂͘O̷̗̠͎͕͛̾Ś̶̖C̷̯̣͍̈̉A̴̬̿́͌̂Ṛ̵͔̫͛̔̃̾

̷̱̟͚͋̋͝ͅ

̷̰̟̎͂̑̋͜Ṫ̵͍̦̗͗̃̕ͅȞ̶̛͎̼A̸͚͉̬͛̋̓N̷̗̳̈́̅ ̶̛̱͉͗̚

̴̭̥̓̀͊Á̴̛̙̠͐L̴̡̬͒͐͠L̷̜̙̪͐ͅ

̷̯̉͠ͅ

̶̜̰̺͗̄͝S̴̥͎͎͖͠E̸̩͚̓Ẹ̸̰̣͊

̴̘̳̆̔͐́

̶̲͉̈́͋͜͝D̴̻͐̉Ö̷̹́̀

̶͇̯͒͊

̵̞͔͙̄̏̈́Y̸͍̣̗̋̊O̷͚̟̱̊̓͘Ú̷̻̱̩͆̃͊

̵̢̟̭͔͆

The televisions chatter rolled through the Viewers corrupted flesh and alit on each nerve through its spine and cranium. Yes. He was better then them all. Why did he put in the extra hours, only so Bill can catch the last tram home. It was always he that put in the extra hours. Him. Mr… Mr….

Ñ̷̻̤͇̀̀A̵̠̪̦͝M̸̹͈̀Ȩ̴̝̬̾͑͆Š̴̢͕̹͑̀

̷̛͕̅

̴̢̖̀͘Ä̸͇̥̯́̓͘R̶̬̼̈̿͌E̸̲͔͈̿̕̕

̶̮͎̉

̴̬̻̤͘͝͝Ň̶̲̱͝Ä̵͇̻́ͅM̷̺̎̃ͅÉ̴͎̌Ś̵̨̰͔͐̅

̴̢͎̀

̴̬̻̫͑N̷͎͗̕O̶͙͎̘̔ ̸̳̗͓̌̆

̶͓̪͔͊

̴̦̹͐̿̃O̵͉͉̦̾͐F̸̥͎͑͠

̶̣̠͐͝I̶̞̮͘M̴͕̝̆͐̊P̵͈͐̏̕O̷̪̐R̵̦̆̈͜T̴͉́͜Ạ̴͕̦̋̾́N̸̯̈́̽T̷̩̜̀A̷̬̱͐̍͝N̶̡̖̟͑͝C̴̦͐È̷̼̒

̶̰̳̔͆͝

̵̘̟͛ͅO̶̯̓͜V̶̧̻̼́E̶̥̰͆̏͋R̵͕͛͜Â̵̢͖̫̋̿T̸͕͈̟̈́͛̕E̸̯̝͓͂̓̌Ḑ̴̞̥̌̐ ̷̲̅̿

̵̲͊̃̕

̷̰̪̯̎C̴̠̻̎̕O̷̱̙̱̊͂M̵͈̎Ë̵͖͝

̴̟̇͗Ļ̵͎͌̓́Ȉ̵̩̯͎͠S̴̠̜̀T̷͓͌̈Ę̵̗̊͑̾͜N̸̰͕̈́̾͜

̷̙͆ͅ

̵̨̪̚

̴̭̇͜

When the tempered sheen on the walls is flushed with fresh light from the windows, the Viewer has no moved from its seat. This would be the hour he rises from the recliner to pluck up his briefcase, and return to work somewhere in the city. That seemed unimportant. Outside it was raining, the streets harbored filth and vermin, and Neil from reception would not stop talking about his big wedding.

The television and its monochrome pools bathed the Viewer in a warmth that was mysterious and soothing. None of the spite or the envy meant anything here or now, not when he was gratified by this marvelous device and its powers. He could do anything, if he just thought of it.

Within the ravels of gray and blacks, a modest home winked at him. His wife was there too… did he always have a wife? It was all his. The company, his wife, and a home in his name.

P̴̜̫͊͜R̴͓̜̫͐E̶̯̋̄C̴̫̉̀̀I̷̢̲͐O̸̧̍̔̔Ṳ̸̮̃́͗S̵̛̗̟͍͋͝

̵̰̟̈̄I̴̧̺̺̓̂́Š̸̛̫̤ ̶͕͍̞̓̆͆

̷̫̰̯̈́̌

̵͚̤͠

̵̭̉̑

̶̮̖̻̈

̵̞͙͖͌H̶̙͐À̷̝̯̼̋V̴̯̹̑Ę̸͍͈͑̈́ ̶̰̕

̵̝̂̅͜C̶̜̊͝Ò̵̗̈͝M̴̗̯̼̂͒͂Ẹ̸͇̃̆͠

̶͈̭̼̈̓̇F̴̣̑͒Ȁ̸͎͉͕̎R̶̨̲͌͛

̷̻̘̾̚͜

̴͕̣̜͛̏S̷͎̉͆͘Ȯ̴̡̡̞

̷̭̓̓

̶̛͇̻̠̄̓F̴̬͍͆̄Ā̴̮̬̯̐̕Ȓ̸̤

̷̧̃

̵̦̻̲̔͗̑

̶͇̈́H̴̳̠̘̒A̷̢͈̘̋̋V̸̜͆̊Ẻ̵͚̑̓

̵̦̫͚̆

̵̧̤̎C̵̼͖̀̎̓O̷͚̩͋̈M̶͉̗͓̎͋͐E̷̻͆̇̌

̷̢̛̲̣̍̃

̷̼̝̎̊Ç̸̞͛L̷̡̃̊͜A̷͕̞̪̎̍Í̶̙̦̏͠M̴̨͙̗̐

̶̲͎̭̽̊

̷̢͕͚̓̈́̕Ÿ̷̤̼́͛͜O̴̮͍͕͊͐͂U̶͎̖̓R̴͍͔̽

̷̩̺̻̊Ď̷̳̹̃R̵̳̞͇̈́̔͝E̷̟͐̉Á̸̡͔M̸̛̫̆Ṣ̶̰̀

That sounded so nice. All those benefits and promotions would be ripe for the taking. If only he reached out. He could feel them in his grasp, those ages spent tapping on the keys and scratching in the logs. He would finally have a break from it on, maybe afford a vacation while he was at it.

Y̵̭͎͋Ǒ̴̞̕Ȗ̷̡͖͒

̶͇̅̆

̴̘̪̂A̷͚̲͆̈́Ŕ̷̪Ę̷̓

̵͍̒̓͜

̵̞͌F̵̧͍̍͗I̸̡̱̚N̵̖̲͂̐D̶̩͊͒

̷̠̽

̶̨̬̓͐F̸̥̽̈́U̷͖̻̿L̴̜̯͒F̴̼̓I̷͓͐L̷͈͖͛̒L̷͇͆͝M̶̧͉̌̈́E̷̛̪Ṅ̵̦̄T̶̯͌̊

̶͖̆

̵͍̇̄F̵̯̠͗I̵̭͑N̵͙͊D̴͖̟͆̾

̴̹̬͌

̵͖̓̕Ỵ̶̧́͠O̷͚͍͂Ú̷̦R̴̬̥̔

̷̧̂͒

̷̭̿Ẁ̵̯E̴̮͐

̷̃͌͜

̷̰̤̎͛

̶̭͙̈́A̵͚͝

̶̡̈͌

̵͇͍̐̈́S̸̨͙̆͆P̶̰̆͌͜L̸̠̐̀Ĕ̵̼͎͠N̵̹̙͐̽D̸̜͂̇I̸͉͊D̴̤̯͌

̷̝͛

̷̌̀ͅÇ̵̎Ó̵̖͇M̴̩̌E̸̲̺͒ ̷̬̰̇̎Ẅ̷̭́͜Ĭ̵̬T̶̗̩͝H̸̜̉̈́ͅ

̵̡̢̏J̷̲̖́Ơ̴̙B̷̟͎͘ ̵̝̌̌

̷͕͙̏O̸̠̾̀F̷̡͎̒F̴̣͑E̵̲͆͂Ř̶͎́

̷̺͐͜

̴̫̝̒̈W̷͉͐I̷͈̚T̵̩̍̕H̷͍̾̐ ̸̣̈́̓U̷̝̕S̵̬̔

On the other side of the rickety window and through the currents or water seeping across the remaining chunks of glass, a bright and searing blaze vaporized the walls within the small room. A deafening shriek cut through the howling storm, but momentarily. Once the over exposure of radiance blanked, the wind held its breath in anticipation. In due time, the cool pellets of rain pinged against the few slates of glass, the water gushed off the cement outer skin of the building. Even the wind resumed its twittering tune chime, performing a merry duet with the passionate crooning of the ongoing programs – romanticizing the latest in décor, or how the streets would see repairs, or how a ship would grace the harbor.

All things considered, it was just a glorious day in the Pale City.

It is today, but he doesn’t know what is today. It’s another day in a long line of days, all of which are not distinct from the other or the next, or the one now from a ways off from this specific slot of time. Time is a constant muddling, or intense storms and dark clouds, of hazy periods and glaring bright haze filtering from the boiling overcast. The distinction among slots of time are when it is rest and then scout, or the periods when he should sit and rest, maybe nibble on something discovered scattered in a cupboard. Except today is a very good and happy day for him, it is also a very upsetting day. Though days themselves are always upsetting and include some amount of hurt, this one is no different. Except he is mixed up.

When the Thin Man becomes cautious and tense, the vibrations in the air intensify with a muffled hum, Mono has learned very easily this is the time to be very-extremely alert. He does not grasp what could possibly frighten the Thin Man, but at times the Thin Man reaches a place of a building or random alley, some broken road, and he will buzz about Mono being cautious. The crackle in his speek is so harsh, Mono is afraid to anything but stay quiet and hide. It is the only time the Thin Man will go on his own for scout, and Mono would do the same - seeking the danger, and then doing trick to make sure him and his Thin Man are always safe.

This time, while on the rooftop, Mono hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. And with the increasing ferocity of the rain, he lost trace of where the Thin Man had gone. Visibility was best defined as his imagination, and he meandered around trying to recognize the patchy tears in the roof that sank under his weight. The rain drilled at his shoulders and hat, though his head was sheltered the hat had sprung a leak and was saturated to boot. He wished there were footprints in the mud glittering eyes to hint him on his course.

Then the obscured lump smashed into the roof, sending a wave of water across Mono's form. Over the chattering din, he nearly missed the creaky melody pouring from the demented thing.

Usually the impact destroyed bodies, snapped bones and cleaved sinew. However, this one had floundered out of a low office window, the fall not quite enough to shatter its organic mechanisms that drove it to the signal. Worshipping the signal never took a raincheck.

The denizen of the Signal rose off its hands. Mono watched the lumbering shadow dumbly for a moment, before he realized it was hurtling straight at him and screeching. He had barely enough time to dive aside, the icy mist cut over his face as he searched his limited peripheral for cover, or a trick. Why couldn't the Viewer be as lost and confounded in the rain as he was? This wasn't fair!

A large metal opening snagged his attention. It cut through the mist, nearly tearing at his arm if he hadn't caught on to the flattened rebound of sound. He had already bypassed the shelter but managed to skid over his heels and make a sharp pivot, the sleek surface of the roof skid him out of the Viewers range when it toppled. A stray arm zoomed through the glittery beads, he barely vaulted over it as he dove back into his run. The opening was obscured entirely since he raced by, his only guidance was his sketchy sense of direction on the general range. He put all his effort into his weary legs to gain traction, while at his back, the footfalls of the adult hastened, becoming louder but less distinct through the hurtling globs of rain.

At a mere two strides the black veil flashed at his left, and Mono dropped into a slide - smashing into the metal grate within the opening. He dug his fingernails through the slates and braced his feet into the frame, straining with his last traces of reserves to pry the flue upward. The corroded metal shrieked, from his throat burst a ferocious snarl. From outside the chute the Viewer gurgled; perplexed, or annoyed? It wouldn't be long before it started groping around.

With a few desperate tugs, Mono managed to cram the bent grate up enough to shove himself through backwards, on his back and scraping his ribs over the sharp frame - anything for flee. Just in time for the Viewer to squeeze its gnarled arm into the narrow space and lash out with its hands – Missing his hat by a thread.

The chute was dark, and before Mono knew it, he’d gone too far backwards and lost his grip on the sleek sides. An unexpected hoot shot from his lungs as he plunged, reminding him a little too much of the Tower, and falling. Falling forever, with nothing but he black everywhere and the light - escape - dissolving from his fingers as he reached high. In the gloom above, he thought Her face glared down on him. He screamed again, though he was uncertain what frightened him more – the shrieking so loud, or the falling into a cavernous pit.

When he comes to, the static buzzed all around him and hummed in his head. To his dismay, it was just the rain tumbling within the sprawling darkness. Blotches of light glistened from faulty bulbs, forming patches of lacy ribbons twisting and fading in the ethereal blackness. Some bulbs pulsed and flickered, constantly changing the shapes of shadows and the halls that didn't exist.

Slowly, he eased up on the pile of clothing and discarded junk, all packed into a mound of toys and pulverized rubbish. He’s sore. Scaffolding or some sort of shelving under the pile jammed into his spine, and made the hurt. It takes a mighty effort to get up and force his body to work, make certain nothing was busted. No alarming pain snared him when he checked his arms, his legs seemed okay, but were somewhat jelly and quivered if he stood for too long. Considering from how high he dropped, he was lucky he wasn't in pieces.

Mono rubbed at his shoulders and worked out the stiffness from the chill. His footing teetered on the battered surface, reminding him too much of rolling slopes of flesh something from his nightmares. The overbearing quiet was the same eerie stillness of the hospital, but the dingy dust and mildew scent eased out any anxiety. This was a shop of some kind, or a storage place. The painful odor of burn water didn't stinge his nose, and the glittery groves of glass don't decorate the floors.

The wispy scratching and breezy shuffling set him to alert. He’s not alone.

Scout and movement were forefront of survival. Know the place and have find dangers first, or find the hide places. When he tumbled off heap of refuse, he followed the first path clear of ruin and searched for unaccounted shadows that moved without the pale shimmer of the bulb's direction. Everywhere he wandered, tall shelves stretch this or that way; many had fallen over, the contents buried the floors with objects and crumpled boxes. While sprinting through a mostly clear aisle, he plucked up a sizable bar and dragged it. The new tool slowed him considerably, but that wasn't a problem.

The slithering noises darted around the clutter he wove through, each turn or leap he made kept him a step ahead of whatever was fumbling, but he couldn't break the pursuit. Sometimes the wave of a limb caught a gleam of light, but he hadn't put together what was creeping after him. And no matter how silent his steps were, they managed to stay near. He couldn't focus on other dangers that might be lurking, not with the scratching at the forefront of his thoughts.

At last he dragged through some faint vapor of light and edged around, forcing the bar to check his movement and turn correctly. He didn’t know what he expected, but even if it was another kid, he likely wouldn’t have hesitated. With a throaty growl he brought the pipe down with all his strength. It never paid to hesitate, regardless what was there.

A spray of black and brown expelled from the sides of whatever it was. The small wily thing twisted and jerked wildly, trying to claw away. Once again, and again after that, he slammed the pipe down. At least the floppy shirt it was bundled in muffled the impact, and smothered the crackling shell. For good measure, he brought the pipe down a final time. The mass of goop and limbs crinkled as it curled up, like an insect.

Mono prodded at the ugly former antagonist with the bar, keeping a good distance from the repulsive mess. In case. It took some work to make the bar turn one way, but he managed to sift the fold of shirt over enough to reveal a tear. It was a mesh of ooze and vaguely buggy limbs, with sharp points. Decidedly, this was not something that should be allowed within five hundred feet of him. And why the dumb shirt? What would—

Something snagged at his heel, and he sprang up. He managed to snap his ankle loose and when he came down, a few feet from where he was last standing (with a sizzling crackle), he scrambled to the nearest shelf. Never before had he climbed so fast, but there he was five shelves up and glaring down over his elbow.

Another one! Of course, the place was infested! Lucky though, these nasties didn’t do the climbing. Not like hands.

He shuddered.

The scuttler floundered below, whipping the shirt sleeves of its mangled relative like some stupid top. It scrambled in circles, creeping over to where he had taken shelter. While dangling from the shelf, Mono gripped the side of a large bulky box, braced his body to the edge, and heaved the bomb out. The projectile hit its target, he’s sure, but the scuttly thing wriggled off. Maybe hurt. It didn’t quite matter, the faint scurry-shuffle noises continued throughout the vacant wastes.

He would have to be careful. Noises carried and clashed, so there must be many crawling or hiding. The things likely did good tricks, but he would learn better tricks.

Abandoning the pipe on the flattened sweater, Mono dashed back into exploration. The pipe might've been a good trick, but if the scuttlers came from everywhere he would wish he did the flee sooner. More than a couple times on his wanderings through the twisting passages and rows, he scaled a high shelf to get out of reach of the nasty critters. The scuttlers languished below, never finding trace of him or try the climbing. He doubted they could see very well through the cloth or paper tangled around their bodies, but he also didn't know how they could be so precise in their movement if they chanced near. The creatures must have a way to smell him, but they got confused easily and wandered off after flopping on the floor for a while. Good for him.

On other occasions, if he was caught in a space with no clear flee, he'd always found some way to confuse and trick nasty awfuls. Lucky, the things got lost quick enough if he was out of range, so he had a chance to find something high up - a box on a shelf, or some precarious leaning thing - to shove over and mash the clothed critters. It almost was a game he kept score of, to see how many he could mince under one box. Unlike hands, they weren't good for lunging. He did be cautious of the swinging limbs and spiney appendages that poked out from whatever the things covered their bodies in. He preferred not to deal with them and keep seeking, but nasty critters were not deterred by the spatter of their friends.

All the while, food was forefront on his mind. His initial search didn’t reveal anything worth scavenging, the boxes didn't have food smells and none of the bags felt like anything but clothing. Clothing too big for Mono to wear - which was something in his head too. But first food!

Annoyed, he accepted his next quest was to find the escape. If light and rain trickled in, then there was a way out.

Sometimes.

Once he made it out of the place, he would go return to his task of going for his Thin Man. Maybe make another nest for the man and his hat. Lately, he was working harder than ever to make up for being Mono – the Thin Man had not much interest in him. Often the man in the hat was distracted by something not Mono, and using big speek while looking at the book that Mono gave him (the best gift and the worst). Something about the book interested the Thin Man more than Mono could, and Mono was trying very hard to find something, anything, that would make the Thin Man recognize that he was Mono. He thought nests would show the Thin Man how great Mono was, but he couldn’t find another special thing the Thin Man would like.

The Thin Man was more agitated all the time, in a hurry to go nowhere, had no place to be but short time to arrive there. For someone that moved at so measured a pace, he was impatient. And the man and his hat was prone to telling Mono to wait in one place, and then getting distracted or losing his way back to Mono. If only he knew more about the book or could look at it, maybe he could figure what had captured the Thin Man's rigid focus. But the Thin Man would rarely set the book aside, and when he shut the thing, it would get tucked into his jacket. Mono hoped the tol man would show Mono things, like the power and make work. But the Thin Man could be very stingy about the things he keeps, like the other children he wouldn't show Mono.

Because Mono was danger.

This left Mono with only the drive to make the Thin Man remember that Mono was his, and Mono would also keep his Thin Man. Such things confused the Thin Man (or it was one of the kid things adults didn't get), but all the same Mono would work to get it through the Thin Man's hat. Whatever it took, he wouldn't lose him like he lost Her.

The high countertop was safe from the scuttling things condemned to the floor, but it had not much to look at. A stiff flyer lay intermixed with papers and some pamphlets, the stocky page advertised a ship out at sea. A haven from the world, cast out onto the waves of the biggest of waters – like a safe box impervious to danger. He plucked up the oversized paper and swiped more of the dust off, and studied over the colorful pictures. It was sort of faded and moisture made the surface bubbled, but that did not deter the framed images filling up the stock card.

There was many speek showing foods. Delicious looking foods – mountains and valleys of so much food sprawled across the longest tables. More than he could imagine. More than he ever thought possible. He stuck his tongue against the silty page. The scrawl markings everywhere didn’t make sense. Was mark speek? It was… different from the books the Thin Man flipped through, and the marks Mono was imitating. All the food heaped everywhere had one message. Come and be fed to bursting.

He tossed the paper over the edge, and watched it sail in a crescent ark to the floor. While he was motionless, he afforded precious time to listen for suspicious noises on the air of the store. Breathing or shuffling, that was distinct from the primal little scuttlers. Nothing alarming, not yet. No sniffling, gurgles, snorts, or clicking. The place was useless, devoid of televisions. Just clothing. Junk. Boxes full of junk.

No televisions meant no Viewers, and though he was not greatly fond of them, someone had to stock and get foods. No adults means no foods. That was the terrible law. Scavenging food always came with a price.

He hoped off the counter and hurried away from one or two – in the murk it might've been a dozen – the scuttle things shuffled, attracted to movement, or something else. If the store didn’t have just clothing, it might conceal other interesting things. He might find a new hat or a mask. Maybe even another paper bag. He could use a hefty pipe right about now.

In one lane, he was pinned by a few of the aggressive scuttlers. Fortunately, large buckets lined the shelves where he retreated, he only had to scramble up the stacks to reach the other side. Unfortunately, the scuttlers could squeeze among the gaps at the base, and they continued their lashing chase - limbs failing, catching on any debris anchored to the floor and using it to drag their bodies along.

Further down the passage and around a corner, another barrier mocked Mono. However, one of the tall basket containers loaded with groceries stood amongst the high clutter. He only needed to drag a crate aside, and pry away some heavy boards, then the cart was free. He pushed it ahead, barely drawing his heels out of swiping range of the awful critters. Moving the wire basket was a trial at first, but once the wheels got moving the tall grocery cart was a powerful locomotive. It crushed two or three under its warp rim, it plowed through another barrier of junk stuff dumped off by a fallen shelf. The cart might've bashed through a brick wall too, had it not swerved out of control and got wedged on an aisle corner.

Now though, a shimmer of light somewhere in the murk caught his attention. Mono adjusted his hat, and with scuttlers clawing through the shallow puddle he wadded across, he lunged into a direction that might bring him nearer the beacon. A lump of sodden clothing swelled to life as he veered toward the opening of another pathway, but he leapt aside and narrowly missed the whipping arms. More of the unassuming heaps twitched at the abrupt commotion, and suddenly ever pile of garbage was a foe waiting for his toes to tease the greasy water soaking through the floor.

Diverting his course yet again, he climbed a moldering heap of boxes and leapt off to reach a rack brimming with clothing. His fingers bore into the cloth, but his weight caused the decayed fibers to tear and he was suddenly tumbling across the floor. The spot he landed was damp, but not soaked or slimy. Likely a distance from where the critters writhed about, smacking one another and slithering through the dingy waters. After gathering himself up, he broke away from the noises of the creatures as they fumbled to retrace his trail. In his unprompted redirection, Mono lost track of the shimmering glow, but it was the least of concerns while the frenzied critters thrashed around blindly.

In a shadowy back passage, Mono slipped into a lit corridor and slowed his steps, panting. This was an actual hall with solid walls, not crammed with goods and lies. At the halls end stood a door awaiting ajar, and when he stumbled into the room, his sights alit on the tall boxes with glass windows shoved against the furthest wall. Oh joy, he knew what those things were! They popped out interesting yummies like flavor water and food bags! He made them work at the Hospital. He didn't like the flavor water, since it bubbled up his nose and made him cough (and everything was noisy when they coughed), but it was better than nothing. Food and water!

The adult lying in the corner of this room did startle him, but he was instantly soothed when he realized they had been there for a while. He inched closer, still cautious in case it had a bit of energy to expend. He moved closer, eyes fixed on the sunken and leathery face, he crept near enough to pry a canister out of the stiff fist. Ugly mounds of wadded clothing huddled against the collapsed body, but aside from looking unsightly, the encounter was uneventful. Except not to get too-TOO near the corpse(?).

Most of the glass was shattered out of the clear front of the dispenser. He didn’t plan to break the glass out, or make noise. He had a plan to climb inside the giving slot and see if he could knock down the food things. With the clear barrier busted, he only needed to find a crate to haul over and stand on. The package containers inside came in varied shapes, a few bags. All his. Every and each one. It would be nice if they were all good.

He gathered up what he could, and as quietly as possibly hauled the loot from the back room and out into the main store. He did this with as much as he could carry, despite how famished he was. He didn’t want to be stuck in a dead end if something came around rooting. Probably the nasty scuttlers creatures. They were persistent.

A small glowing spot by a distant wall served as a shelter, with a nearby open corridor he could scamper into if dangers came sniffling. Following a brief over his surroundings, he tucked in. He had to use his feet and arms, along with bite down on the corner of a bag to rip it apart. It was almost too much force, nearly costing him the precious contents to scatter all away into the gloom. But he managed to keep all the flakes and bits within range, and started picking up those before rummaging at the bags opening. Needed to be more careful.

He forgot everything about caution and shoved his face into the opening, all to snap at crunchy, salty disks. They were okay, chewable at least. Not a lot, despite how big the bag was. He gave into primal urges, next pouncing on a long hard container and tearing at the flat seal. It had crunchy sticks, that were very bland and boring. It also had a sweet paste, which was slightly better. He wished he had flavor water too.

By the fourth bag some of his voraciousness had quelled, and he was not thinking about gnawing on the wrappers. Nonetheless, he packed his mouth full of the stuff from the packages, trying to get that down before he was interrupted. He’d spent too long in one spot, it was rare to sit for this length of time having a good eat.

The next bag was a horrendous trap! Three big bites, and he - oh no, he was coughing and choking. That was cruel. Whatever fiend did that, mean! They deserved a terrible fate!

He gagged in his throat and made a variety of suffering, painful noises. He wanted to scream so bad, this was awful! He flopped onto his back kicking his legs, holding his face. Would the torment end? What was worse was there remained a few mouthfuls left in the bag, and he was still hungry. AND HE WAS TEMPTED TO SUFFER FOR THOSE LAST BITES.

Was this his eternity now? Would it never end? He curled up on his side, rubbing his buzzing face, agonized.

Something approached through the cluttered lanes. Drifting, silent, dark and ominous. Eyes glittered as it patrolled, a listless apparition hunting.

Mono snapped into instant panic and survival. He rocked to his feet and dove in among the endless winding pathways, his footfalls telling somber gossip of his trespass. He climbed up and through an interceding shelf, and zipped through the long reaching path. He skidded on the floor and dropped, tumbling into a bottom shelf littered with items. He shuffled behind ratty boxes and moldy cloth, and wrapped his arms around his face. Only enough that he could see, but he had to stifle his breathing. Pain. This was unfair. Suffering in silence, he could only wait.

The silent and malicious stalker threaded closer. He tucked further back behind the clutter, studying the noise of the thing. Not a Viewer, but it had methodical precision like a twist-top head. Those monsters could be more precise with search and seek, especially once they locked onto a target. Usually, there was another Snatcher or adult with them, and he didn't always encounter one on its own. He listened, struggling through the agony to confirm his suspicions. He was in not condition to flee, not with his nose stuffed and his throat burning.

It would pass by. When it was gone, distracted by an elsewhere or needing to go someplace not here, he would decide on a way to trick it. In all the store, he could think of nothing remarkable that might aid his new task. Flee then. Running was always the better option. Don’t trick when you escape was there. Trick was last resort, a risk. The more time he lolled about, the more chance of him being spotted. And chased.

The cruel searing of his mouth was intolerable, diverting his focus. He struggled to listen for clamor of inspection and other alarming preoccupations. If it continued on its preset path, he would be fine. It had to leave and be a ways gone before risk. Move. But first, still and calm.

A pair of polished shoes clicked by. Stepped, not shuffled. The static bristled at his skin, robbing his focus from his tormented mouth. He knew those shoes. He knew there was no real danger. Yet, he could not make speek. It was worse than him being crippled by terror, now he was mortified.

“Come now, this is tiresome. I do not need to be playing these G̴a̴m̷e̴s̸.”

Mono still couldn’t utter a noise, but he kicked out a collusion of supplies and flopped onto the floor like a sundried fish. The overbearing chatter of static settled around him, and it was almost a pleasant distraction. He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head, unable to convey the utter torment.

“What is this?” the crackle vibrated annoyance. “What H̸a̴v̸e̶ ̴ Y̵o̷u̴ ̶ D̶o̷n̶e̶ now?”

Mono pulled up the sides of his coat around his face and unleashed the most muffled squeal. beneath his hat Some of the ache diminished, but it still buzzed through his throat and lips. His nose and eyes watered. He craned his head back, generating a creaky groan beneath the layer of dust swirling through the discarded store.

An awful paralyzing stillness paraded between the two. Mono coughed and couldn’t discern if he was going to die or suffer another minute of this.

“I̵ ̡̛͞Çą̀nnot̸̢͘ ̕Le͝ţ̵ ̢̀Ýou͢ ͝O̷ưt̵͘ ̵̵̨Ơ͢f ͝M̵͠y͜ ͝S̴̵̀i͏g̸͡ht̛ ̸͘F͝͞or̨ F̕i̕v́͞è̛ ͢Ḑa̷͝m͠ņ̧̀ ́M̀͡in̸̡҉u̷͠t̕e͝͠͝s̛̕.̀͜ ͝͡W̶h͝a̧͘t̸̸͜ H͟a̶p̵̕͟pè̸ne̡d͢?̀” The Thin Man knelt low and formed a perfect cage around Mono with his arched fingers. The tall figure didn’t reassure Mono with any sort of aid or competence with the situation. Not that Mono expected anything other than prodding and squeezing.

“Mo̕ǹ̡o͜͞? W̧h̵a̧͘͘t̷̕ ͘ did you D͜ơ̛? H̶͟o͢͜w ̸do I make T̶h̶i̵s̶ ̴B̴e̷t̷t̸e̵r̸?̶ Come now. W̧͞h̴͡at͟͝͡ are you S̷n̸i̶v̴e̸l̵i̷n̵g̴ ̴A̶b̶o̷u̸t̶?̷͏”

Mono couldn’t understand most of that. He wanted to shrink away and not be bothered with, but he was more frightened of being left again. He pressed his wrists against his face, and chewed at the sleeve on his arm. Careful fingers brushed over his shoulders, and he recoiled with a snarl. No grab!

“I̢͡ ͢cannot ̶he̛̕l̀͞͡p̶ ̧͜un̢les̀͝͝s̶͠ ̷ you do Y̶o̵u̶r̶ ̵S̴p̸e̷e̵k̴. Speek. Tell me and I̸ ̵C̸a̴n̷ ̷H̵e̷l̴p̴.” Mono didn’t want to make speek now. He just wanted the hurt to stop. But he did try and sound out how miserable he was. The noises came forth all garbled and croaky. “What was that again?”

“Ate,” he squeaked. “Som’ing. T’mean.” Foul terr'bull trap!

The Thin Man gawked from the gloom, eyes glinting beneath his hat, likely perplexed and uncertain to the ruckus Mono made over nothing seen. “Ah,” he uttered. “Water. Y̷o̷u̷ ̷ A̷r̸e̴ ̶T̷h̶i̶r̵s̵t̵y̶.̴”

He nodded, not really processing the intonation. Water would be nice. It usually soothed burning aches and cleansed scabs.

The overbearing presence faded and he felt infinitely better. Even if he was alone now. He plopped to his side in the dust and pulled his legs up. He nibbled on his arm, soaking his damp arm with warm drool. That soothed some of the ache on his tongue. Foul trick. Ugly. The scuttling things wandered somewhere in the row over, likely interested in his sullied state. He kept his attention on them, in case they found their way over. If they found him, then he would make them have trick. Especially now that the Thin Man was found, he would need Mono for protect and safe. It was different that the Thin Man does find, or Mono wasn't thinking right with the pain. He didn't find any food for the Thin Man. He did not think the burn trap would be good. It was possible something good had to be in the entire store, somewhere. Something the Thin Man would like.

If he returned.

Some time later, he’s not sure how long – he did half sleep, he thinks – the familiar swirl of vibration, and the cautious, muffled tapping slipped in. Tainted by drowsiness, he sat up as best he could.

A bowl partially full of rainwater was set down by him. “Take G̸r̴a̶d̸u̸a̷l̶ sips. Careful.”

Mono wanted to, but all those chips. He was parched and in blasted pain. He shoved his whole head into the water and drank. It did make him feel leagues better, dousing his flushed face into the cool and refreshing liquid. He snapped his head back for a breath and stayed, bowed over, sipping slowly now that he had his fill.

“A T̵r̶a̴p̶?̵ In food bags?” The Thin Man inquired, a touch of amusement in the staticky timber of his voice. “Did this T̷o̵ ̵Y̷o̷u̶?̴?”

Mono sank down over the bowl, cool water seeped away the burning in his nose and cheeks while his nose oozed. The muggy ripples caught his soured reflection, the trace outlines of his narrowed jaw and taunt cheeks. In the furthest haze behind his face, the Thin Man peered down from under his hat, with a smirk.

“I was W̵o̴r̴r̴i̷e̶d̵. It looked like some A̷n̶i̵m̷a̷l̸ got ahold of them.” A finger rubbed over the back of Mono's head. “For a spell I believed some creature stole you. It is good you are mostly intact.”

Always taunting him. “Trap.”

“Then you should remember to take care. Careful what you collect for eating. And mindful of what you shove into your mouth, eh?”

Adults. Always clueless about these things. If too careful, no eat. Eat what is mostly good, or smelled okay, or wouldn't fight back and trick. Taste didn’t matter. If taste was very sharp and not good, don’t risk. It didn’t take judgment to figure something was not worth a risk. Plenty of kids went still while clutching or clawing their middles. Sometimes it was fast, other times they wollowed and groaned for ages - made enough noise his pack had to go away. Danger always finds noisy kids.

“Better?” posed the face above Mono, with a slight tilt of his head. Even bent low, the Thin Man was so-SO tol. Always looming, ever looking down on Mono.

Mono nodded. The tingling remained, but it was intermixing with the hum of static in his head. It was subsiding, at last. “Was that enough for you?”

“Mm-hm….” He learned his lesson. The food crisps smelled good and tasted alright, but obviously a nasty trick. After that reflection, he lifted his head to meet the steady gaze of the tallest monster in all the city. Which was already uncoiling to his full height. Mono couldn’t scarcely recall the face, and it was a sort of disconcerting the way shadows always hid the eyes. Except for the ever-present glinting deep beneath the shadows.

Then those piercing eyes and the gaze they carried were gone. Taken away by the Thin Man, when he stepped over Mono and began to click down the aisle. Now unconcerned with Mono, what with the awful business of his ache was done with.

Mono dropped his stare back to the rippling refraction living in the bowl, only to make sure that it was empty of the Thin Man's intense watch. He continued to smack his lips, try and try, he wanted that vile sensation soothed away completely. He dunked his face back into the bowl, drinking a few more gulps. HIs hat bobbed across the back of his neck, before bubbling and descending onto his head.

“Not. No go,” he choked, when he came back up to yowl. His hair plastered fast to his face, but it felt a much better than the unpleasant sizzling in his skin. He pushed himself up to his feet and hurried after the distant but cutting tick-click of the shoes. "Wait," he rasped. "Psst. Hey. Am Mono. For food s'find."

To no one's surprise, the Thin Man's trek did not falter nor stall an ounce.

"For find. Get food." Not a sound departed the Thin Man, nothing but the steady drone buzzing and the constant ticking of his shoes. Always crisp and distinct. Mesmerized by the flashing heels, Mono watched as he jogged after the tall figure. "Am Mono. Thought hhn….” He scrubbed at some wateriness in his eyes. “N’left. Yuh'gone.”

“No.” The faulty light glistened in the edge of the eye glancing back over the Thin Man's shoulder. “I did not G̷o̷ ̴ F̷a̶r̵. As typical of your nature, Y̸o̶u̴ ̸ V̸a̵n̶i̶s̴h̶e̶d̸.̸ A bothersome habit.”

With a shrug, he picked up the pace. Of course, the Thin Man would leave him. Eventually. It’s what he did. “Blood.”

“Pardon?” The Thin Man looked aghast, or annoyed. It startled him too much, so he shut up. “I believed we had S̴e̵t̵t̸l̵e̵d̶ ̴ that M̸a̴t̷t̸e̸r̶.̸ What have you gotten into now? W̸h̵a̵t̴ ̶ B̸l̶o̶o̷d̴?̴”

Mono gnawed on his lip. “NotNot.” The Thin Man did pause to turn and give him his full attention once more. Mono skid to a halt on his heels and gawked up. The Thin Man looked so unpleased with that response. Mono tucked his arms into his coat and tried to be boring. "Nuh. Not. Am mighty Mono." At that insistence, the Thin Man gave the bored frown he knew to mean Mono was successful in untangling his focus.

With a scratchy hum, the Thin Man shook his head and turned away. “If you do not want me 'G̴o̶n̶e̷',̴ then do not W̸a̸n̶d̶e̷r̸. I care V̸e̸r̵y̵ ̴ L̸i̸t̸t̴l̴e̶ to where you disappear off to in your ̸L̶e̴i̷s̴u̷r̶e̴ T̴i̴m̵e̵. If it is your whim T̵o̶ ̵B̷e̶ ̸F̸a̷r̴-̶F̴A̸R̷ ̵ from me, S̵o̷ ̸B̷e̵ ̴ I̸t̵.̸ Recall, I no longer C̶h̶a̸s̴e̷ children, and make N̶o̸ ̷E̵x̶c̸e̶p̵t̷i̶o̴n̷s̶.̴”

Okay.

There was nothing arguing with that tone. The Thin Man always lied and he didn't like Mono. At the same time, he had appeared from out of the darkness and got Mono some much needed water. He did stuff like that, even before Mono was trying to share and be pack (or company) with the tall thin man. It could be the whole he thought Mono was funny in a mean way, but it still helped Mono when he was in need. He would keep working at it, because the Thin Man was still a puzzle and Mono was good at figuring out puzzles.

The Thin Man didn't stall for long in any one lane and was on the constant roam, all the time Mono padded after. Not that there was much to forage for, this place hadn't been worth the pain, and it seemed whatever else he might locate, would be sabotaged in some heinous way. Mon became more curious, as him and the man in the hat visited a few shelves in the twisting aisles. The Thin Man had to be examining the containers he was browsing over. On the boxes plucked up by the tall thin man, mark speeks covered the sides. Mono wondered how he could read speek marks on the containers, or how to start? The marks baffled him, they were chaotic and everywhere and small too. How did the Thin Man see them all?

Of course, most adults could work mark speek. The ones that weren’t complete monsters, he supposed. But it made him nervous, given that there was something highly specific the Thin Man was seeking, the way he scrawled those same marks and etches onto dozens of papers. It all meant something to the Thin Man, but Mono was barred from such knowing.

“Eat?” He tugged at a pant leg and backed up. The face and expression didn’t convey much but deep concentration. “Foods?” The Thin Man didn’t respond immediately. That made him more nervous.

“No. But I T̴a̶k̷e̴.̵ ̷Hush. Or M̵o̶n̷s̷t̸e̷r̵s will F̸i̸n̴d̵ ̶ Y̷o̴u̵,̶ ̷ B̴o̸y̷”

The tone was even less reassuring, but Mono didn’t question it further. He frowned. He was doing speek, out in the open. Not safe. Danger. Even if the Thin Man was not intimidated by the threats such as Viewers, it was stupid. He shook his head. Careless. Be mindful. Noisy children—

He turned around in time, to pluck out the waddling rebound of one of the strange scuttlers creeping across the musty floor of the cluttered aisle. The long floppy tassels of the grimy sweater flung through the air, slithering amongst and shoving aside the debris crammed against the floor. It slithered the last few feet and gained alarming speed, a soft gurgle rolling through the fibers --

Up until a glossy shoe pressed down on it, grinding the horrid thing into nonexistence. Mono was backpedaling when he spied it rushing him, but now he crashed to his backside and slapped his hands over his eyes, his own breath grating raw in his lungs. The static thrummed through the air, thick and malicious.

Why did that bother him? Those things skulked after him all while on his seek, they were creepy and they had sinister plans. Worst, he could only imagine what they might do if they coiled about his body. He knew if one caught him, it would be a terrible, slow end. Even he had been smashing them to bits all over the place. They were bad, unsightly, nasty bottom dwellers. And they fit very nicely beneath a shiny heel.

“Child?”

Without a sound he collected himself up and rose to his feet. Very slowly, his hands and knees nearly knocking together. He began walking, stumbling some as he picked up the pace. Not too fast, his hands stayed plastered over his eyes. He did part his fingers enough to see the path before him without stumbling on discarded junk, and to watch where the ticking-click of the Thin Man's languid stride. He winced a little, when the soft treble of those steps began retreating, but he chased. They way he always did, if albeit slower than usual. Did the man or his hat even notice he crushed that creeper? He couldn’t tell if that was deliberate or not, and that frightened him most of all. It was so easy. Without a thought.

Why were adults so effortlessly terrifying?

#little nightmares #lil nightmares #mono #feral mono #the thin man #thin dad #new creature dropped #scuttlers #they are horribull #the thin man out here wandering around #meanwhile mono having epic battles with bugs and stuff #spring break ends and i only got a few story things done ivi

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