《Witness》 A fragile thing In the oppressive black miasma, an orb reflected unrecognizable hues of otherworldly origin. My hand raised by primordial instinct. Begging for mercy from the unearthed terror that lay dormant within the alien globe. Although I saw nothing but barely comprehensible colors and engulfing smoke, the energy resonated through my chest like the deep vibration of war drums. The sphere glowed varying tones, formulating an answer to my plea. Yet before I could make words from colors, the ebony clouds invaded my senses and blurred my vision. The world around me turned black, then, from the nothingness, the material reemerged. My thin mattress became present as I awoke. My eyes opened, showing the scene of my dimly lit apartment. The early morning light failed to seep through my curtains in anything more meaningful than the slightest amount of illumination, leaving a dreary and grey picture. My vision slowly unveiled the spartan surroundings of my abode further as I hazily lifted my head from its feather-filled place of rest. The grandfather clock ticking with each swing of the pendulum. The oil lamp perched on my weathered oak nightstand. But only as I surveyed the arbitrary lining of my apartment with full cognizance, I was able to see the thing. An inhuman figure stood silhouetted from the sparse brightness escaping the crack in my door. The thing''s shoulders hung forward from its concave torso, its head tilted in curiosity. A long and beckoning hand slowly began to arise from beside its body. My heart skipped a beat. My mind instantly grew delirious clarity as my lungs clung in desperation to the oxygen within them, prohibiting me from inhaling. My arms flung from my covers and hastily opened the drawer to my nightstand. One hand blindly searched for the packet of matches lost in a clutter of benign objects as the other felt its way up the cold metal lamp. Finally gaining purchase of the firestarters, I forwent opening the metal hatch of the lantern and focused entirely on igniting any of the few remaining matches in the pack. My fingers shakily pulled the head of the wooden match across the textured wood of my nightstand, bringing the hissing flame to life. I veered my attention back to the thin being, but as I lost focus of the fire, it collided with the hand in which I held the packet of matchsticks. The light that I kindled with such vigor extinguished as I impulsively released it from my fingers and sent it rolling in the depths below my bunk. My heart beat to faster and faster rhythms as blood surged through my legs. The matches had become nothing but cumbersome and fruitless, causing me to drop them and pull the sheets off myself. My feet pounded against the cold wood as I kept my focus upon the looming figure in the corner of the room. In a moment my hands clutched the thick black drapes in front of my windows and pulled them apart, flooding my room with the grey and foggy light of outside and revealing the grime-covered streetside beyond my apartment. Finally, the oppressive shadow subsided and showed the creature to be nothing but my coat and hat sloppily thrown atop the tall stand next to the door. Instead of a raising hand as I was previously convinced, it was just the breeze invading my room through the imperfections of my front door, causing the arm of my jacket to waver as though it was making a struggled movement upward. My chest finally filled itself with new air as I stared contemplatively at the corner of my room. Looking back to the window, I saw the odd person glance disapprovingly at my immodest state of dress. It had to be extremely early in the morning as the sun had barely broken through the smokestacks on the horizon, yet I cared not to return to my slumber. Even with the judging looks of the infrequent pedestrians, I shamefully clothed myself on public display rather than being engulfed in darkness once more. I looked to the old grandfather clock the previous residents of the apartment graciously left behind for my use. The pendulum swung four ''o clock. My abdomen convulsed, bringing me to glance upon my emaciated body. I could not remember the last time I had eaten a fulfilling meal, and the bulging columns of my ribcage poking under skin showed that. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. The barren kitchen within my flat would be of no use, making my only option the butchery across the street. With that thought, I retrieved my clothing from their place scattered across the floor. Old brown trousers. Lightly stained white shirt. Loose suspenders. One of my few pairs of clothing being reused again. Apparel was expensive, and so was food. The year was eighteen-seventy-eight, and with the passing of each season the world became darker and full of more menace. As well as that, the price to live became higher and higher. No matter. I had found a few coins left in my pocket that would suffice for a trifle of food. With that in mind, I hastily unlatched my chamber door and released myself unto the cold February streets. Locking it, I turned and began crossing the shoddy cobblestone-laden road. Usually, the city fog would make it hard to see oncoming carriages, but at that time the air was crisp and lamplight shone brightly. Once I had finally made my way to the glass-paned door, I took hold of the brass handle and turned, letting a waft of old meats and stale cheeses burst through the entryway. The butcher recognized me as I entered at my usual hour. ¡°Mornin¡¯, Chatwood.¡± I nodded in reciprocation. ¡°Good morning, Payne.¡± ¡°The usual?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± With nothing more said, Payne ducked into his cabinet of bargain meats, digging through assorted flesh. Whilst he rummaged, my eyes wandered into the shady space behind his counter. The sun had yet to rise, leaving a single sick grey light shining through the window, so dim that it barely illuminated the end of the room. In the shadows, though, I witnessed a slaughtered pig, ribcage splayed open whilst it gently swung upside-down on a meat hook. For some reason, I could not look away after I laid eyes on the creature, and with enough time spent glaring I found why the beast seemed so queer. The swinging was not due to the breeze. Its dead body spasmed weakly, creating movement. The more I stared in horror, the more frantic the convulsions became. Back and forth, the swine tremored, until just beneath the surface of its cold flesh a separate movement began. Countless minute insects slowly crept from every pore on the hog. Eerily wriggling closer to the beast¡¯s face. They all culminated near the eyes and peeled open the eyelids of the creature. Soon those same eyes became a mass of writhing black. The pig wretched fits lashed against the metal chain harder. My stomach became grotesquely present as nausea took over. A shriek accumulated in the core of my sternum. I had to call out! But my terror was abruptly disturbed as Payne stood once more from behind the counter, causing the insects to retreat into the boar. His eyebrow raised. ¡°You¡¯re pale. Are you all right, Theodore?¡± Swallowing the screams inside, I weakly muttered. ¡°Y-Yes. I am fine¡­¡± Although the cold sweat gleaming over my face showed otherwise. Payne noticed my occasional glance to the pig and spoke. ¡°Do you want some of the fresh-cut?¡± ¡°No!¡± I shouted with a complete lack of forethought. There was a long and awkward pause between us, all the while I tried futilely to regain my composure. ¡°You know what. Don¡¯t pay today, Chatwood.¡± He said, combing his fingers through his salt and pepper beard with one hand whilst sitting a wooden board of meat and cheese on the counter with the other. His eyes wrinkled as concern took over his face. He was a large man, in equal parts due to fat and strength. His care still showed through his thick face, though, and I accepted his gift with gratitude. ¡°Thank you, Payne¡­¡± I said, grabbing the tray and smiling to the best of my ability. Before I turned to sit, Payne gave a parting question. ¡°Are you ok? When was your last appointment?¡± I continued to sit, needing the rest. ¡°A long while¡­ But we have rescheduled. They are now on Saturdays, starting today.¡± ¡°Good, good.¡± After that, I peered down at my sustenance. Moldy cheese and unnervingly moist meat. Prodding the flesh with the wooden fork provided with the meal produced pools of the meat¡¯s juices, allowing further inspection¡­ Although the meat was a pinkish grey, the liquid was pitch black. Moving the fluid in the light revealed a colorful sheen as if it was an oil of some sort. These colors were completely alien. Each hue within the spectrum of light was a nigh incomprehensible one. Violet sheens of supernal light. Shades with which I was familiar¡­ These unimaginable colors were those I had glimpsed upon in my dream, yet the message they made was dull and indecipherable. The liquid evoked harrowing disgust throughout my abdomen, but I could not sit back nor rid myself of the food. Through both the pressure of Payne watching me and my immense hunger, I simply closed my eyes and began eating. It was only a few minutes of agony before my stomach ceased letting me indulge on the flesh, instantly turning into a churning jumble of anguish. I frantically sat down my utensils and weakly nodded to Payne, leaving the butchery with haste. Immediately after the door closed, I hastened to the nearest alley and vomited all I had consumed, along with a copious amount of burning stomach acid. The pool of vomit was nothing but oily black¡­ Swirling ebony in a revolting mosaic of texture. In my lightheadedness, I simply stared at the concoction of ichor bile¡­ Eventually making out my reflection in the pitch black. Looking upon myself, I thought. Remember. The mind is a fragile thing¡­ Let it break and you end in the same state as mother¡­ I have to find a way to make it stop. I continued to gaze at myself, trying to comprehend my dire situation. I had not had my medicine in so long¡­ It was a dark rabbit hole to investigate, but my mind nonetheless pondered¡­ What were they attempting to say to me? It was then that my pursed and grimacing lips widened in the reflection. First to a smirk, then to a full and toothy grin¡­ Except¡­ My mouth was not smiling¡­ I shook my head and stood straight, hyperventilating on the cold winter air. I require my psychiatrist. Consultation for the crazed I tried to stay my hand as best I could while I wrote on the yellowish paper. The tension in my body made my handwriting nigh but illegible, but it would have to suffice. Name: Theodore S. Chatwood Sex: Male Years of age: Twenty-three Psychiatrist: Dr. Edward Prescott Affliction(s): Schizophrenia. Insomnia. Other, related Afterwards, I placed the paper within the collection box for the nurse to read when she so felt. It was correct procedure to wait until she directed me, but I had so frequently visited the institution that I did not care to wait before I opened the two swinging doors and revealed the waiting room beyond. The walls were a mute lavender, and the floors old hickory wood. Usually, my morning visits were quiet and somber, but not on that day. Beyond the rows of uncomfortable seating, there was a man curled into a ball on the floor. He sobbed to himself whilst rubbing his hands against his body, as if he were attempting to shoo something away. I had no time nor intent to help him, and simply stood there as he continued to shudder and caress. The man wore a large black coat, and dusty black trousers. I could not see much of his face or anything else as he was deep in the fetal position, other than his frayed and greying hair, pulled and disorderly. Between his sobs of anguish, I could hear the man whisper something in shallow breaths. His voice was rough and faint, as if he had been screaming or yelling prior to his current state. ¡°Touching me... Touching me¡­¡± In my single-minded state I was not aware of the door behind me creeping shut, but the insane man was acutely conscious of such a disturbance. Instantly he went from curled to entirely stiffened as the door clicked shut. He looked at me with wide eyes as he screamed. ¡°HANDS! WON¡¯T STOP!¡± I gazed in horror upon his revealed countenance. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was puffy, red, and hemorrhaging from deep scratches all about it. His long and unkempt fingernails absentmindedly traveled to his chin where he dug deeper into a gash. As we kept our eyes interlocked, the man crept closer on his knees. He slowly gained momentum, and after a certain point I became able to speak past the lump within my throat. ¡°S-Stay there¡­ You can stay there¡­¡± Yet he did not listen, and after a small bit of shuffling on his knees, the man began to stand on both his legs. I groped for the doors handle to escape, but I found it far too leisurely. The man was now mere inches from me, his hands still caressing his bleeding face. ¡°THEY TOUCH! THE HAN-¡° He did not get to finish his thought, though, as I instinctively raised my hand and grabbed his wrist. Once I made contact, he recoiled fiercely as if he was just kissed by scalding hot iron. With a shriek, he tore himself away and grabbed his arm in pain. Stumbling backward, the man collided with the many chairs in the room and fell to the ground, creating a great clatter as numerous seats descended with him. The man curled back into a ball as Dr. Prescott¡¯s office door was thrown open. With a shout, the distressed doctor surveyed us. ¡°What the hell is going on!?¡± I recognized how antagonistic I looked. Not a bruise upon my skin, but a scratched older man was collapsed on the ground with a multitude of chairs, looking as though he had just been shoved. With a stutter, I attempted to defend myself. ¡°I-I¡­ I did not do that. H-He came to me and just¡­ Fell¡­¡± My testament was completely unpersuasive, but it was all I was able to conjure with so much adrenaline coursing through my head. It did not seem to anger the doctor, though. In fact, his posture went from panicked back to his usual state of calm. ¡°I see¡­ Well, Theodore. Why don¡¯t we discuss this more inside my office. As for you, Mr. Hughes, please take more time to calm down.¡± I nodded and began to walk towards the office as Dr. Prescott gestured me inside. The doctor was a calm and dedicated man. His face showed the noble dignity it took to be such an awarded psychiatrist only in his early forties. His hair was neatly kept back with the help of pomade, and his face was always clean shaven. He wore a velvet purple vest with a black dress shirt underneath and matching velvet pants, his shoes were also freshly shined and black to compliment his shirt. We walked into his office to find a woman sitting in the patient¡¯s seat, looking quite curiously at us. Dr. Prescott reassured her as she stood. ¡°This has been a very good session, Ms. Moore, but I believe that we should end it here.¡± She nodded as she stood. Her black hair was tied back tightly, and she wore a common brown dress with what seemed to be self-embroidered flowers at the hem. She smiled as she politely began to walk away. She wore no make up nor jewelry, but her face was round and naturally pleasant. Her skin tone was also a darker and warmer shade than the pale visage of myself and many other people in the grey and foggy city we called home. Her entire composition seemed much healthier than the generally undernourished masses. After she closed the door and left, I sat down in my seat and Dr. Prescott relaxed himself in his, completely eschewing any conversation about the man outside, most likely due to such behavior being a common occurrence in his line of work. ¡°So, Theodore. How has your week been? It has been a long while since you have had an alteration in your prescription¡¯s schedule.¡± If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I sighed. My nerves finally began to release tension. ¡°Honestly, I have not fared well in the slightest. Once I became overdue, I barely slept and every time I did I would dream¡­¡± I pondered how to describe the unfathomable sights and bizarre creatures I had witnessed, but eventually settled on simply leaving the exact details out of my report. ¡°I would dream very unsettling dreams¡­¡± The doctor retrieved an ink pen and a leatherbound journal from his desk and began documenting. ¡°That is not unordinary for you, yet you are much more distressed than your usual visits. What is it you are neglecting to tell me, Theodore?¡± I took in a deep breath and contemplated. Never had I enjoyed describing the visions I had, both for the discomfort of evoking their memory and the embarrassment of revealing my weak grasp upon reality. Nevertheless, Dr. Prescott has declared time and time again that healing does not begin until one has come to terms with their state of health. ¡°There was¡­ A thing. An indescribable amalgamation of shapes that made no sense, with colors I had never seen flashing from it. These colors¡­ I felt as though it was using them as some sort of code to communicate with me.¡± He continued writing. ¡°Could you comprehend this code?¡± With a shake of my head, I continued. ¡°I did not understand it¡­ But I felt as though I could have if I had focused on the creature for longer. It was like seeing familiar letters out of order, rather than seeing something completely foreign¡­.¡± Dr. Prescott seemed absolutely fascinated, as he usually did when a new development was made. His curiosity may have been slightly morbid, but it indeed served well for his ability as a psychotherapist. ¡°Now Theodore. I know this may be difficult to put into action, but next time you feel this presence speaking to you, I would very much like it if you could figure out what it was saying. I believe it would be extremely useful for my understanding of your psyche, and it may even help you control those you see in your visions.¡± It was an undeniably daunting task to ponder over, but I did admit the thoughts I had previously in the morning. ¡°Earlier I did wonder myself what they were trying to say¡­¡± Dr. Prescott smiled as he rested his journal atop the piles of letters on his desk. ¡°That is a perfectly natural response. We are all drawn to mysterious things, horrifying as they may be sometimes. Embrace that, and you will find it is all much less scary than your mind has led you to believe.¡± My eyes drifted across the room as I contemplated his advice. I believed it was true that the psyche assumes the worst. Yet no matter how I envisioned it, there was no outcome of cutting through the dark fog around the beings I saw that benefited me¡­ My mind continued to wander nonetheless, ruminating over the creation I had seen in my dreams. Somehow magnificent and horrifying simultaneously. Alien yet entirely familiar¡­ The geometry of its eldritch mass so complicated I could barely recall seeing it rather than just feeling its presence¡­ But unlike its visage, its presence I remembered perfectly¡­ This feeling caused my hands to grasp the arms of the chair, rubbing across the design at the end. Searching for some sort of sensation to null the feeling of hot breath down my neck. Even when I tried to pull my mind away from the memory, it seemed as though something imprisoned me there. Trapped in hazy reminiscence¡­ What pulled me from my state was Dr. Prescott, standing from his chair. ¡°Theodore? Theodore Chatwood?¡± The shady murk all around me constructed itself back to the doctor¡¯s office. My eyes finally focused on the surroundings once more. Dazed, I responded. ¡°I am here¡­¡± He nodded as he reached into one of the drawers in his desk and retrieved both a vial and a syringe. ¡°That is certainly good. Remember, I do not want you to indulge in this, Theodore. I simply want you to learn what you can. If you fall into the pit, it would be near impossible to get you out.¡± I responded as the doctor grew nearer to me, preparing the needle for injection. ¡°I am aware¡­¡± What Dr. Prescott spoke about was a subject very familiar to me. My mother and her madness, it was all further down the path I was trapped to. All the same spiraling slope into uncurable psychosis. But my train of thought was put to rest as the doctor waved at me to extend my arm out. I was very anxious to take my medicine, and all thoughts drifted away as the needle struck through my awaiting limb. Simply waiting for the relief to take effect, I continued to survey the room as I was previously. Books. Assorted baubles and trinkets. His journal sitting open on his desk. His journal sitting open on his desk¡­ It was not the journal itself, but the contents of the pages. There were masses of overlapping inky runes. Hieroglyphs nearly covering the entire page in black. Uncanny characters and bizarre murals¡­ My vision was blurring. The drugs began to take their effect. It was crucial to study the paper with more haste¡­ These runes morphed together to make what seemed like a face. Not of a man, but the outline of something only vaguely humanoid¡­ Something¡­ Surreal¡­ Then the medication completely took hold of me, blurring my vision entirely. My eyes closed as I inhaled deeply, transitioning into a sudden but deep euphoria. Bliss. Once my eyes opened, I saw Dr. Prescott, putting away his belongings. With one hand he closed the drawer my medicine was withheld in, and in the other harbored his journal. Even though my state of being was now much calmer, I still remembered the disturbing image I saw previously. With hesitation, I questioned the doctor. ¡°Could¡­ Could I see your notebook?¡± With a modest amount of surprise, Dr. Prescott responded as he continued packing. ¡°And why is that? You know patients are not supposed to see the psychiatrist¡¯s notes.¡± With no other strategy to discourse, I merely begged. ¡°Just-¡­ Please.¡± With a sigh the doctor opened his journal and showed it to me. The page was filled with various cursive notes. All benign subjects such as my level of energy, a synopsis on my mental health, dependency on the medication. The ink still glistened in the light like it was freshly put on the page. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. After a good moment for inspection, Dr. Prescott spoke. ¡°May I put it back now?¡± I nodded as he closed the book and returned to his work. ¡°Sorry. I¡­ Thought I saw something.¡± ¡°Oh? What was it?¡± There was hesitation from me. On one hand, I wished to speak about what I had just saw. On the other hand, I wished for nothing more than to bask in the feeling of control I had recently reclaimed over my mind. ¡°Nothing¡­¡± Looking back at me, the doctor saw my confliction and dismay. ¡°Alright then. And do not be so apologetic. I want you to be as comfortable as you can. Let your mind rest, Theodore, and do try to get some sleep.¡± I simply nodded once more in response, letting Dr. Prescott continue. ¡°It is simply your mind not understanding when to cease its primalistic search for threats. Do not be threatened by such things, Theodore. It is all in your mind, you hear me? All in your mind¡­¡± A mothers madness My eyes slowly revealing the interior of my apartment. My overcoat and hat were strewn atop the stand next to the door. Light poured in beams throughout the air. Every asset of my chambers was sublimely normal, and I could not have been more overjoyed. I dressed myself and opened the windows. It was raining that day, but since it was much later in the morning a large amount of light seeped into my apartment. The grandfather clock ticked as the hands showed that it was seven forty in the morning, which meant that I had at least gotten six hours of sleep. Marvelous. Without fear, I put on my overcoat and hat whilst exiting my abode. Pedestrians shuffled back and forth across the street. Some entering Payne¡¯s butchery, while others moved farther down the street to the docks. I, however, delved deeper into the heart of the city. Once again, I would be visiting St. Dymphna¡¯s psychiatric hospital, only I would be a visitor rather than a patient. And I would not be entering the dreary and dust coated south wing, either, but the cramped eastern wing. The living quarters¡­ My walk through the foggy and wet circuit of streets and alleys was mostly uneventful. Through my time in that city, and my frequency in visiting the mental institution, I had deeply memorized every shortcut and crime ridden ghetto. Luckily, I did not have to worry much about the density of crime, since a single look at my unwashed and ragged attire made it well known that I am not worth the trouble of robbing, and I have not consciously slighted anyone deeply enough to worry about murder or baseless assault. It was as if had grown into the city. Merged with the cobblestone and become an unnoticed murmur in the cacophony of noise that emanated from every orifice of the surroundings. I was no more distinctive than a streetlamp. Such lack of attention was to my advantage though, as I greatly enjoyed watching the business of the city than being a part of it. Although nothing of interest took place on my walk that particular morning. That or I was simply too calmed by my medication to notice. Eventually I was in sight of the looming hospital and made my way into its courtyard. The rain kept anyone from venturing onto the grounds of the asylum, leaving nothing but masses of mud and sickly yellow grass to view as I moved further along the rock path. Even though the sun should have been out, the blackish grey clouds blotted out so much light that pale orange lights still emanated from inside the hospital. Opening the front doors released a barrage of moans and groans from patients slowly wandering about the lounge. Nurses tried to multitask corralling the mindless people and checking to see who had just entered private quarters. I was not scolded or confronted as many others would be, once more due to my frequency of visitation. I walked past the crowd of disheveled madmen and women. They were all completely resigned. Sedated. Until they looked at me, that was. In the moment they laid eyes on me, their lifeless demeanor suddenly sparked with a sort of realization. Perhaps they all forget what streetwear looked like, or even forgot where they were. In any case, my visage brought the memory of an outside world to the forefront of their minds. Some would point in curiosity. Some would mumble incoherently. Others would simply stare and reminisce. I was not surprised, though. I was recognized by the staff, but never the patients. Each time I would visit the same reaction would occur. My answer to this reaction was always to absentmindedly move quicker to my destination, hoping to minimize the intensity of the patients¡¯ awakening. Things quieted down once I exited the lounge and began counting the many numbered doors in the hallway. I passed nothing but a few wandering patients and a handful of nurses entering and exiting rooms. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Eventually I came upon room two-four-seven. My mother¡¯s. None of the patients¡¯ doors had locks, so I simply turned the handle and entered. The room was covered in a sickly yellow wallpaper with fraying images of flowers sprawled across it. There was a desk with a glass vase bearing a single rose in it, an old chair, and a hard bed in the room. Along with all of that, there was a single window that displayed nothing but the view of a brick wall. My mother sat on her one chair facing the window and brushing her long hair. Continuing her work, she called out. ¡°Who is it?¡± Closing the door behind me, I leaned against the desk next to the vase. ¡°It¡¯s Theo, mother.¡± She continued to brush her hair in silence. At that point in our relationship, I was aware that this silence had no ill underlining, my mother was just not one for idle conversation. Nonetheless, I continued to proceed through various niceties with each visit. ¡°How have you been treated recently? You look well.¡± ¡°My previous caretaker was caught hurting other patients and has been let go. The new hire is quiet, and she is mostly pleasant when speaking.¡± I nodded. ¡°I am very glad to hear that.¡± I worked when I was physically able to, but it barely covered housing and the payments made to care for my mother and to continue my appointments. It was fulfilling to see that the large sum of money I annually paid the psychiatric hospital was finally showing its benefits. She ceased brushing and sat the wooden comb on the windowsill, simply listening to water hit the windowpanes as it continued to downfall outside. ¡°With that, it is my turn to ask you. How have you been, Theodore?¡± I knew better than to speak in complete honesty. With truth, my life had gotten increasingly stressful with each new year. The amount of medication I took gradually increased along with the cost of living. No matter how hard I tried, my afflictions made any respectable job but impossible to upkeep. So instead of the grim reality, I said what I always did. ¡°I am fine.¡± She continued to sit in silence for a moment, thinking to herself. Then, mother spoke abruptly. ¡°No, you aren¡¯t.¡± In shock, I made the only recourse my mind could fathom at such short notice. ¡°I-W-Excuse me?¡± Her feet tapped against the ground impatiently. With intensity she repeated. ¡°No. You. Are. Not. Doing. Well.¡± Again, I protested, this time with more gusto. ¡°I am doing just fine!¡± She stood abruptly from her chair, sending it clattering against the ground. ¡°Do not lie to me!!¡± Such surprise caused me to jump forward from my perch on the desk, accidentally sending the glass vase beside me toppling to the floor, where it subsequently shattered into countless pieces. ¡°I.. I am not lying¡­¡± Finally, my mother turned to face me. It had been many visits since she had moved from her seat next to the window, and longer since I had viewed her face. She had a beautiful visage for her age, squandered by a single deep scar that ran from one eye socket, partially through her nose, and into the other, leaving nothing but sunken craters where her eyes once were. Even blinded, my mother glared straight into me. ¡°You¡¯ve seen them, the same as me! The flock just outside the window, looking not at myself, but at you!¡± I looked out of the window to see nothing but the grey and rainy outdoors¡­ ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t see anything¡­¡± Continuing to face directly at me, my mother stepped forward. Barefoot, she dodged the large shards of glass. The translucent blades, made entirely invisible by the spilled water, were alluded by her as if she could see them. My mother slowly and steadily proceeded until she was able to put both of her hands on the sides of my face. ¡°Whisps of shadow, now, my son¡­ Horrifyingly vulgar images later¡­ You¡¯ve but seen a glimpse when your focus was untampered¡­ Even now, I can tell the memory of them is at the forefront of your mind¡­¡± We stood in silence as my mother¡¯s fury turned to confusion. After a long pause for contemplation, she asked the question brewing in her mind. ¡°What about this makes you so happy?¡± The only answer I could give was ¡°What?¡± Her confusion only grew as she declared. ¡°You are smiling so widely, Theodore. Why?¡± Except¡­ My mouth was not smiling¡­ Pulling my mothers hands off me, I backed into the door. ¡°I need to go. I need to go.¡± I felt a cold sweat break across my forehead as I frantically pushed the door open. My mother seemed to make no attempt to stop me as I dashed into the hallway and retreated the way I came. I only had my medicine the day before. By all accounts, that day was the only plausible time I could have tried to act as though everything was normal, yet those things she said. My face in that pure black vomit the morning before that¡­ The smile¡­ It was gracious that I had gotten one night¡¯s sleep, because I feared I would not be granted another¡­ A blind eye and a broken liver I sat outside the old hospital and tried to regain my composure. The icy rain poured over me as I assured myself. ¡®All in your head. It is not real. All in your head.¡¯ ¡®How did she walk without cutting herself on the glass then? How did she know of that smile upon my face, when I did not even recall it to Dr. Prescott?¡¯ ¡®Stop it. All in your head. It is not real.¡¯ My mind continued to push and pull against itself. This was not the first time such conflict approached me. So many things I could not explain reared their disgusting appearance towards me, and every time I would devolve into nothing but senseless compromises with myself. ¡®Perhaps she heard the pieces clatter against the ground and avoided- No. What if- No... None of it makes sense! There is one explanation! WHAT ARE THEY?¡¯ ¡®No. It is all in your mind. Do not entertain such preposterous ideas. The explanation? Well of course there is an explanation. The explanation is simple¡­ It is¡­ It is¡­¡¯ I found myself staring at the hospital, my mouth open. I combed my fingers through my messy hair and turned to the courtyard¡¯s exit. I was quite parched, as my dry mouth would tell me. I had enough pocket change to get myself a drink, and why not? I worried too much, and a drink would do good to settle my nerves. It was really a shame I would tense myself so greatly over something made up. Silly mother. Silly me. My travel to the nearest pub was like clockwork. It was all too often I would visit after such encounters with my mother. All too often I turn a blind eye. Down the block. Through the alley. Across the street. All the steps needed to find myself at the shabby entrance to the cheapest alcohol serving establishment in town. The old door creaked open as I took refuge from the storm, although the wooden flooring throughout was soaked wet with both a mixture of rain shed from those seeking protection themselves and booze sloppily strewn about the room. I put my coat and hat on the stand beside me as I entered. Seeing as how it was not yet noon, there were few attendees at the bar. A disheveled man in the corner, crying into his pint. A woman eating the unappealing soup of the day. And with strange enough luck, a young man sleeping at the counter. Pacing up to him, I took a closer inspection. My only friend of many years, Herbert Bradley, mumbled to himself as he slept. He was another patient of Dr. Prescott¡¯s, and we had met quickly after he was taken in for appointments. He had stubble across his chin and short hair that was misshapen from his head rolling back and forth on the counter. In his hand was a half-drunken mug of an unknown liquid, and from my understanding of him I thought it safe to assume that he had stayed from the night before, and the bartender had just grown used to Bradley sleeping in his establishment. With a solid kick to his barstool, Bradley fumbled awake. I had a feeling he might be angry if his attention was not completely consumed by a flush of pain as he raised his head. After a moment to recollect himself, he looked to see who caused him to wake up. In an instant, confusion turned to a smile. ¡°Oh! Theodore! I didn¡¯t expect to see you around here.¡± Sitting next to him, I responded. ¡°It has been a long¡­ Morning.¡± Looking through the windows behind him, Bradley nodded. ¡°Morning¡­ Well let¡¯s have a drink then, eh?¡± I rummaged through my pockets, finding only the few pounds I had left when I tried to eat at Payne¡¯s butchery the morning before. ¡°Correct, only I will be drinking liquor and you will be drinking water. You are drunk enough as-is.¡± Bradley protested as I put my money on the counter. ¡°Aww. Theodore. Theo. Teddy. I¡¯m not that bad. What¡¯s the fun in drinking alone anywho?¡± I did not care to respond as the waiter approached, allowing me to order. ¡°I will have whatever is strong. He will have a water.¡± Then, I turned to Bradley. ¡°And the fact that you have just called me ¡®Teddy¡¯ makes it known that you are not nearly sober enough.¡± The waiter went to fetch drinks while Bradley simply recollected himself. I continued with idle conversation while waiting. ¡°Long night I assume?¡± Bradley answered. ¡°Indeed, it was, but I will have you know it was for business.¡± I gestured to the state of my friend in disbelief. ¡°That was for business?¡± With defiance, Bradley insisted. ¡°Yes! Yes, it was! You know how they rescheduled your appointments because the doctor got himself another patient? Well, I¡¯ve met him now that he¡¯s in your timeslot, and we actually got along pretty well.¡± Our drinks were delivered as I urged Bradley to limit his talkativeness. ¡°And how does this relate to business?¡± He took a long drink from his water and continued. ¡°Do you remember the crashed ship near the bay?¡± I nodded. ¡°Well, this fella is running a scrap crew, and needs divers to go grab what they can find from the ship. Now, the ship wasn¡¯t originally theirs, so it isn¡¯t entirely legal work, but its better than letting it sit there half sunken, eh?¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I suppose so.¡± ¡®Another patient of Dr. Prescott¡¯s?¡¯ I thought to myself. Dr. Prescott did not accept patients who only had mild conditions, and although at that moment Bradley did not seem it, the only reason he was not speaking in tongues or babbling incoherently was due to the same medicine that coursed through my own veins and kept myself at bay. If so, could a patient be so easily trusted to work for? These thoughts coursed through my mind as I drank. Due to my lack of eating, it did not take much for alcohol to affect me, and that it did. With only a small bit more time of pondering and sipping, I nodded to Bradley. ¡°We should do it. I need the money.¡± He nodded back. ¡°Pays well, too.¡± ¡°I do wish to know more about this individual, though. What is he like?¡± Herbert Bradley contemplated my words, then spoke. ¡°Strong build. Thirties, I¡¯d guess. Finnigan Price is his name. He seemed stern, but that¡¯s alright I think. We didn¡¯t talk about much¡­ The work we had planned out. The city. How we all live a lie. General chit chat.¡± Confused, I retorted. ¡°How we all live a what?¡± Why would he say such a thing? And in such a softer and more contemplative tone than his usual boisterous and quick way of speech. Tilting his head and raising his brow, Bradley reciprocated my confusion. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that?¡± An awkward moment passed before he spoke again. ¡°Probably just me rambling. You know those ticks of mine. Whatever it was, I didn¡¯t mean it.¡± I did not respond, only tipping back my cup of undisclosed alcohol and drinking. After the room was adequately off-axis, I moved our conversation back to our next potential line of work. ¡°What is it we would be expected to do with this salvage company?¡± ¡°Well¡­ We¡­ Uh¡­ Salvage¡­¡± Bradley thought for longer. ¡°I remember him telling me the business is lucrative enough for him to afford diving suits. Most likely we¡¯ll dive down, attach whatever looks expensive to a pulley, and swim back up.¡± ¡°That does not seem too difficult¡­¡± I said, but in truth the prospect of diving in the murky bay waters was not exactly enticing. My level of sobriety was not enough to argue against the only work I had seen in quite some time, and although not entirely legal, it was at least mildly respectful. After having finished my beverage, I ordered another with the last of my funds. The contents of but one glass made a lasting effect on me, yet I was not drunken enough to entirely forget the events of earlier that morning. I needed to forget like I always did, and that required at least one more. Bradley rambled on about menial, everyday matters, but my attention was quickly lessening to the extent that I could not keep pace with his conversation. Once finished with the drink, my head quickly began to feel weighted, and my face hot. With little resistance from my depreciating sense of dignity, I gently laid my head on the counter. It took no time for my eyes to close and my mind to grow abuzz and the ambient noise of the bar to turn into an indecipherable drone. Two drinks were all it took with my complete lack of diet. The only reason I did not drink myself to sleep more often was due to both a severe lack of funds and frequently unpleasant dreams while inebriated. I held the hope that due to how recently I had taken my medicine; it would make my dreams manageable. In a manner of ways, I was correct. My dreams were much less vivid and I was calmer, but I still experienced it with full awareness. I stood upon a large, perfectly spherical rock, in an endless ocean. Murky waters thrashed against the large stone with loud crashes. I tried not to pay attention to the water, as I had previously learned that seeing my own reflection was not desirable. The sky was a pallid grey, and the clouds seemingly swayed back and forth. Everything was obscured and smeared, like fresh paint that had slithered farther down a painting than it should have. I did not know what to think in such a situation. The scenery was not frightening, but eerily empty and unclear. It felt like my peripheral vision was blinded, and I was not seeing everything with the clarity I usually did. Upon closer inspection, though, I realized the clouds were not clouds at all, but a reflection of the waves below. Directly above me was the stony grey sphere I stood upon, but other than that it was simply a misty mirror of the angry tides below. At the edge of the skyline, the two sides of the world met. Slowly, the horizon became closer and closer, until I realized it hid more than met the naked eye. The ocean above and the ocean below merged into a great calamity, leaving nothing but an endless sea of black and grey. The flood grew increasingly closer as I simply stared. My heartbeat grew no faster. My legs felt no urge to move. I felt utterly sedated to the crashing tidal wave approaching me. Nearer and nearer the maw of clashing liquid came, and I continued to feel nothing. The wrathful tremor shook me as the noise grew near deafening. Cold water sprayed over me as the merging waves became only meters away. With a deep breath, I waited for the impact, and in lightning speed it came. That was when I awoke once more, to Herbert Bradley gently pouring a glass of chilled water on my head. I immediately straightened back to an upright position and brushed the water out of my hair. Bradley sat the cup down as he looked at me, sober. ¡°Getting nightfall, Chatwood. Don¡¯t wanna get caught in with the evening crowd, do we?¡± Still reclaiming my consciousness, I nodded. ¡®Nightfall?¡¯ I thought to myself. It did not seem like I had been staring at that scene for merely a minute, yet I had somehow slept through the entire afternoon¡­ Getting up with Bradley, I spoke to him as we traveled to the entrance. ¡°Thank you, Herbert.¡± Even though I needed all the sleep I could find, the populace of that bar during the night was not the kind I wanted to be unconscious in the presence of, and for that I was grateful. Opening the door to the still downpouring outdoors, Bradley nodded. ¡°No problem, Theo. Just do make sure you get some sleep in a bed next time, alright?¡± ¡°Yes¡­ Yes¡­ I will.¡± What I said was a lie, though. My dreams seemed to be tolerable, but I had enough knowledge of my body to know that trying to sleep again that night would be fruitless, which meant I had to prepare for another evening of roaming in the dark alleys of England. With a nod, Bradley proceeded back to his home, and I was alone at the streets once more. The blanket of night had fallen, leaving only me and the shadows to converse in whispers. Underdressed and underfed After retrieving my coat and hat, I traversed into the rainy night. Gaslight softly burned in the streetlamps, letting a warm orange pierce through the blue-blackness. I decided I would travel towards the docks, with no real intent in mind. Something about my previous dream gave me the urge to inspect those brackish waters, although at that point I was not sure it was wise to indulge in such desires. Nevertheless, my feet continued to move me eastward. The city was lively as it always was, if not more, in this time of the evening. Carriages went to and fro. People of respectable stature walked along the streets while those unsavory kept to the alleys. Bells rang and scalpers of all sorts shouted out in hopes anyone would give them a morsel of attention. As I continued down the path, I felt the presence of someone watching me. Of all my countless nights wandering the streets, why did I feel like something was spying on me then? I had not seemingly done anything out of the ordinary, yet I could still feel the presence of something viewing me from afar. Something hiding. Something waiting. The safest course of action was to not act suspiciously, and to keep on my course towards the docks, and that I did. Forcing myself to not constantly peer behind me, I simply followed through with my plans to visit the harbor. I could see the many freight ships moving throughout the river Thames, looking to finish their journey while the evening was still new. As Bradley described, the tip of a sunken cargo vessel could be seen piercing out of the dark waters farther offshore. Then, I waited. The area I was in was too bright and congested with pedestrians to rob or murder me, and I was content to wait there until the sun rose. The only two options for whoever this was that took interest in me was to either confront me in sight of the public or give up. Perhaps my paranoia and insomnia came in use for once. It was not long before something very unexpected occurred, though, as a horse neighed whilst coming to a gentle stop. A carriage had parked just next to me, and the passenger¡¯s door opened to reveal a posh velvety interior. Although hidden by the light of the lantern at his side, I could see a thin gentleman in a luxurious three-piece suit wave his hand. I hesitantly moved closer as he tried to speak above the rainstorm. ¡°I do say! I believe I recognize you! Theodore, was it?¡± I was an extremely cautious person. With all that I had seen, I had learned to notice when situations hid more beneath the surface than they seemed, and strangely enough I felt no such maliciousness with that man inside his coach. Of course, I continued to keep a safe distance from this person, but by him knowing my name and the lush interior of his carriage, I could tell he was not there to rob me of the lint in my pockets. ¡°Who are you?¡± The gentleman shuffled in his seat awkwardly, as if he did not care to answer the question. Despite his demeanor, though, he moved the lantern in the carriage to reveal his face. Even as I looked upon his visage, I found no resemblance to anyone in my memory. He was an older man, perhaps middle-aged. His greying hair was neatly combed over to one side, and his suit was a classical black, with an accompanying bowtie. With further inspection, my eyes began to recount details of his face¡­ Nigh invisible in the dim light, there were hundreds of thin scars over his face. These scars were so small that they could be easily mistaken as wrinkles by someone even closer than I, but my vision was keener than many. Such scars, I knew, must have been self-inflicted¡­ Like incessantly scratching at one¡¯s skin with their fingernails¡­ After seeing the recognition on my face, the man spoke with genuine remorse. ¡°Would you please come out of the rain? I mean you no harm.¡± I entered the coach, dumbfounded by the complete change in his composure from last I saw him. Even though I looked directly at his face, I would not have recognized that man if not for the scars. He went from a crazed man draped in an oversized coat, to a prim and proper gentleman of such that I had never conversed with in my life. I spoke, requiring further confirmation that the bizarre situation I found myself in was real. ¡°You are from¡­ Dr. Prescott¡¯s office?¡± He nodded solemnly. ¡°Yes, yes I am my dear boy. You see, I noticed you on the streets earlier, and I felt as though I must convey my regret towards our last meeting. I know I must have given you quite a frightful experience then, and I simply wished to apologize for how I portrayed myself¡­¡± I simply sat there in the motionless carriage, watching the man. ¡°Well, I hope that we may forget all about that and introduce ourselves properly. I am Alfred Hughes, benefactor of New Windsor properties.¡± He extended his hand, and upon finally recollecting myself, I shook it. ¡°Theodore Chatwood.¡± With a smile, he responded. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chatwood.¡± I nodded back. There was an awkward silence, leading me to grow closer to the carriage¡¯s door, but Hughes continued. ¡°You look positively pale. I was just about to go get dinner, what say you to letting me apologize by taking you out to eat?¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. With the talk of dinner, my stomach rumbled. I had not eaten in days, and I foolishly used all the funds I had on cheap alcohol. The answer was clear. ¡°That would be very kind of you.¡± With a smile, Hughes tapped the roof of his stagecoach, signaling his driver to proceed. ¡°Delightful. There is a new revenue that should be able to accommodate us on short notice. Hopefully, it will be satisfactory.¡± With my hunger now on the forefront of my mind, I absentmindedly answered. ¡°Anything is gracious enough.¡± We did not speak much on the rest of the journey. I spent most of my time watching the city effortlessly flow past me. I had only ridden in a carriage a select few times, which made the sight of the city I would so frequently take hours to explore whisking by me quite the novelty. Eventually we came upon a bright and tall building, bustling with patrons. Hughes exited the coach, as did I. His driver left to find a suitable resting place for the horse while we turned to the entrance. Hughes went to the host and spoke a bit with him. After a small amount of conversing, he turned to look at me, then turned back to the man. Once even further conversation was finished, Hughes gestured for me to enter alongside him. Within little time we were seated, and Hughes commented. ¡°Yes¡­ Not the classiest of establishments, but it will have to do¡­¡± Yet what he said seemed far from the truth to me. In every chair sat a man fully garbed in well-fitting tuxedos, and women in beautiful and undoubtedly expensive dresses. The room itself was white and lavish, with embroidered tablecloths and fine silverware. A stark contrast to the unwashed, unshaven, slightly hungover, ghetto dwelling commoner that was myself. Within mere moments, a waiter came to our table. He held his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. ¡°Good evening gentlemen. Firstly, could I interest you in one of our fine wines this evening.¡± Hughes had most likely smelled the alcohol on my breath in the carriage, leading him to politely decline. ¡°No thank you. What are tonight¡¯s entr¨¦es?¡± He nodded. ¡°Well sir, tonight we are serving a small array of dishes. We have b?uf ¨¤ la Bourguignonne, quiche Lorraine, bouch¨¦e ¨¤ la reine, and Ratatouille.¡± Hughes said. ¡°I¡¯ll have the bouch¨¦e ¨¤ la reine, thank you.¡± Next, the waiter turned expectantly to me. Every word that came out of the waiter¡¯s mouth was completely foreign, leaving me to resort on the only word I comprehended. ¡°I will¡­ Uh¡­ Have the beef one¡­¡± The waiter stared at me with a blank expression, simply trying to understand how I was even let in to such an establishment. Within a moment, though, his endless smile and cheery fa?ade was restored. ¡°Right away, sirs.¡± As we waited for our food, Hughes began making inane conversation. His property business. The up-and-coming enterprise of petroleum. His estate in the country. All conversation that was unimportant and concerned me little. My answers were left to thoughtless agreement and the nodding of my head, all waiting for the food to arrive. And once it did, I ate without restraint. Delicious food, and the first thing I had truly been able to stomach in days. Hughes continued to make conversation. I ignored him, that was, until he began to discuss topics more towards my interest. ¡°And, you know, I must again apologize for how we first met. I am just not myself without my medication¡­¡± He spoke. ¡°I am sure you understand, though. You are also a patient of Dr. Prescott¡¯s, are you not?¡± Between large mouthfuls, I replied. ¡°That I am.¡± ¡°Well, if you do not mind me asking¡­¡± He continued. ¡°How often do you have your appointments. And does the good doctor allow you to take your prescription home?¡± I looked up from my food and at Hughes. He had not even touched his meal, and his fingers tapped impatiently on the table. Unlike the unkempt and sharp nails that cut through his flesh days prior, there were no nails at all. Just flesh with a thin white membrane over it. Not one, but all his fingernails were missing this way, meaning it was no accident that ripped his nails from their sockets. ¡°Just once a week¡­ And I am only given my medicine by Dr. Prescott himself¡­ Why?¡± He went from tapping his fingers to anxiously scratching the back of his neck, eyes twitching all around the room. ¡°Oh¡­ It is simply because the amount of medication I have been receiving has been reduced recently. As well as that, I have not been allowed to take any back to my home¡­ I was hoping you might have had¡­ More¡­ Of it¡­¡± I went from hunched over my food to sitting with proper posture, sensing the change in the atmosphere from relaxed to highly tense. ¡°No. I am sorry. As far as I was aware Dr. Prescott was the only person qualified to handle the medication¡­¡± His hands traveled back to the table as his feet began anxiously tapping. His hands clenched to the tablecloth as he fidgeted, speaking quicker and with more emotion. ¡°Well, that was once not the case¡­ You know what I think? I think he¡¯s running out. I think he doesn¡¯t have enough medication for us¡­¡± Under his breath, in less than a whisper, Hughes spoke again. ¡°Perhaps if you were dead there would be more to go around¡­¡± In shock, I questioned. ¡°What did you say?¡± Again, he mumbled, his hands pulling the tablecloth into his fists as veins appeared across his forehead. ¡°Been using all my goddamn medicine¡­¡± In protest I sat straight and spoke loud. ¡°Excuse me!? I haven-¡° Slamming his fists against the table and roaring, Hughes released his pent-up rage. ¡°YOU¡¯VE BEEN USING UP ALL MY FUCKING MEDICINE!!!¡± The entire restaurant became quiet as the crazed lunatic I had met previously suddenly came back to life. Eyes surrounded us from every angle. Yet, after only a few seconds, the ambient chatter began anew, and all patrons continued with their night like nothing had happened. Small, I responded. ¡°I¡­ I did not even know you existed before that morning¡­¡± Hughes¡¯ entire body was shaking furiously. Once he noticed how violently he tremored, he took a deep breath and dropped his head low. ¡°Oh¡­ Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry¡­ It has been a very stressful week for me¡­ Changes in my medication schedule¡­¡± I cautiously stood from my seat. ¡°I¡­ Understand the feeling¡­ If you do not mind, I believe it is time for me to go home now¡­¡± He cupped his hands around his face, speaking through them after a brief pause. ¡°That is fine¡­ I am so sorry for embarrassing myself once more¡­ So sorry¡­¡± Without hesitation, I left the establishment. I did not care to ride back to my apartment. I believed I had had enough socialization for one evening¡­ The inside that counts I threw my hat and coat on the floor as I entered my chambers. It was dark, with nothing but the obstructed light of the streetlamps outside the window to illuminate my room. Rain had permeated down to my deepest layer of clothing, leaving me to strip off every garment I had. I put on the only pair of pants available to me; an old, black, formal set of trousers. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I watched the shadows of my chambers. My mind wandered back to days prior. My last, most vivid, dream¡­ That creature¡­ What did it wish to say to me? My thoughts continued as I stared deeper into the darkness of my room. My heartbeat quickened as I searched for form in the shadows. I had to know what it wanted¡­ I had to see it once more¡­ In the shadows, there came movement. Shining yellow eyes opened as the darkness shuffled. Something thin and frail pulled itself from the wall as if it were stuck, long strands of overly stretched flesh still connected. Its shape was mostly humanoid, and its face was still largely connected to the wall. Skin was stretched to produce a horrifyingly wide smile from its gummy mouth. It had no features other than the glossy yellow eyes and toothless maw. What looked like its arms were pulled back into the wall, and its legs were barely able to shuffle its sickly grey body closer to me. I wished to move, but I was adhered to my mattress, as was it to the wall. I could only lean back and turn my head as the smiling thing struggled closer. Skin continued to stretch thinner against its wiry figure. The smile continued to grow wider as it became close enough for me to feel the hot breath emanate from its maw. Flesh began to reach the point where it tore, revealing a moist, pink, underlayer. Bones cracked as it got so close that my vision was completely consumed by its visage. The snapping continued as its jaw slowly unhinged before me, revealing the squirming inside of its mouth, as if it were a thin sheet laid over wriggling larvae. Its head bobbed as its body shuddered. A rasping sound reverberated through its hollow torso like some form of laughter. At the back of its throat, a light shone. A ball of otherworldly color was regurgitated with each bellow of the creature. The colors spoke in primordial tongues of hue and light to me, saying only. ¡°One¡­ Two¡­ Three¡­ Four¡­ Five¡­¡± The perfect sphere was halted at the creature¡¯s gums, unable to pass through the grotesquely large opening. The light shown a different message as the hot, viscous, saliva of the creature dripped down onto my face. ¡°You¡­ Are¡­ Special¡­¡± The being struggled closer, but it had run out of excess skin. The orb continued. ¡°Do¡­ Not¡­ Hide¡­ From¡­ Yourself¡­¡± Not only was I stuck, but I was paralyzed with fear. The creature continued with its guttural chuckling as it slowly began to lean back towards the wall. The skin lapsed into folds as the torn stripe in the center bled an oozing pink mucus. The creature continued to stumble backwards; its shining yellow eyes still locked with mine. Eventually, it receded back into its skin. Back into my wall. Back to the shadows where it belonged. But not before the orb shone one final remark. ¡°I¡­ Am¡­ Inside¡­¡± Once my arms and legs felt as though they were able to move once more, I furiously wiped the sweat off my face, unable to find the boiling saliva I so vividly felt mere moment ago. I laid back on my mattress, staring at the ceiling. I did not know how long my seemingly brief interaction with that thing, nor how long I stared at my ceiling, but within time light began to peek through my curtains. The sun had begun to rise. Taking to my feet, I paced around the room. I thought on the creature¡¯s face. Its words. I had hoped for answers, yet I found nothing but more confusion. I continued to pace and contemplate for what felt like, or perhaps was, hours. What eventually interrupted me was an unexpected knock on my door, which brought me to realize I was still wearing nothing but a pair of black trousers. Quickly adorning my still slightly wet clothing from the night before, I opened my door. To my surprise, it was the woman I had briefly seen before my appointment with Dr. Prescott. She spoke politely. ¡°Hello. Theodore Chatwood, correct? Hopefully, I have not bothered you.¡± I looked back into my room, and saw the wet, messy state of it, and the single clean circle where I had trot for however many hours on end. ¡°No¡­ No, not at all. Why are you here?¡± She continued. ¡°I am from St. Dymphna¡¯s mental hospital, but you might have already known that. I was sent on Dr. Prescott¡¯s behalf to offer you an impromptu-counseling.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°I¡­ What? Why?¡± Not that it was not an entirely convenient proposition, and that I was glad to have it offered to me. But the timing of this spontaneous meeting was all too convenient. ¡°Well, I have the feeling it is less for counseling and more for some sort of announcement.¡± She said. ¡°He has invited all of his patients¡­ At the same time.¡± Confused, I simply nodded and stepped out of my chambers. Locking the door, we continued down the short walk to the hospital. The streets were busy but not overly crowded, and the rain had luckily subsided, leaving nothing but light grey clouds looming above the city. After a bit of time, I had become curious over the woman next to me. ¡°I believe I remember you. Ms. Moore, he called you? A patient of Dr. Prescott¡¯s? Yet you also work for him?¡± She smiled as we continued. ¡°The answer to all of those many questions is correct. Emilia Moore is my full name.¡± It made a small bit of sense for Emilia to both be a patient and worker simultaneously. The hospital needed caretakers, due to how many quit after certain periods of exposure to the patients. As well as that, Dr. Prescott was not cheap. ¡°It is nice to meet you, Ms. Moore.¡± ¡°Oh, please. You can address me as Emilia. Is it alright if I speak to you by your first name as well?¡± I nodded, which brought her to take a different topic. ¡°Speaking of last names¡­ I have been undertaking the care of a woman who is also named Chatwood, I do not suppose you have any relation?¡± As far as my knowledge went, there was only one Chatwood institutionalized there. Was she not only a patient of my psychiatrist¡¯s, but mother¡¯s new caretaker as well? In any case, after mother and I¡¯s last visit, I was not enthusiastic to answer that question. ¡°Um¡­¡± My mind searched for some topic to segue into, or some way to avoid such conversation, but my consciousness was empty. Instead, we simply fell into a long and awkward silence, one that lasted until we reached the hospital itself. Emilia looked confused for a second, then caught on that I was purposely avoiding the question, in which case she also let the awkward silence permeate. We came to the door and entered. The nurse who usually checked us in was absent, leaving only an open door to the waiting room. The door to Dr. Prescott¡¯s office was open as well, with a strong heat and the crackle of burning timber resonating from within. In the office were many chairs brought in from the waiting room, each of which sitting a different individual. My friend Herbert Bradley sat in one, an empty seat next to him waiting for me. Alfred Hughes sat in the corner next to the roaring fireplace, concealing his identity in a large overcoat and hat. The man Bradley had described to me, Finnigan Price, our new supervisor, was sitting close to the desk. He was a muscular and gruff man, somewhere about his forties, with short red hair and a bushy mustache. Behind the desk was Dr. Prescott himself with a focused look, waiting for Emilia and me to sit. We took our respective seats, Emilia closing the door behind us. Dr. Prescott then spoke with a stern gaze to all of us. ¡°Some of you already know this, many of you do not.¡± He then looked to Hughes. ¡°Some of you have even vocalized worries on such matters, and it is with great displeasure that I confirm these theories.¡± Hughes grimaced as everyone looked curiously, except for Price. I had a horrible feeling growing in my gut, but I tried to ignore the inevitability of what the doctor was about to say. No matter how much I tried to ignore it, though, he continued. ¡°For complicated afflictions such as all of yours, only the highest quality of treatments are suitable¡­ Unfortunately, the herb we derive the medication from is of very low abundance, and only grows in remote parts of eastern India.¡± Now everyone was grimacing, waiting for the next sentence. ¡°The andha flower is going extinct, and shipments are becoming less and less frequent.¡± Everyone shifted in their seats uncomfortably. Bradley spoke out in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± Price spoke back to him, bringing poor Bradley past his rejection. ¡°He¡¯s not...¡± Dr. Prescott nodded. ¡°It gets worse¡­ You are all aware of the sunken ship in the river Thames, I am sure¡­ We only receive shipments once every two months¡­ That ship has the next two sunken with it¡­¡± We all depressed into our seats as Hughes pulled at his hair. He rocked back and forth anxiously. ¡°No. No. No. Nonononono¡­¡± He whispered to himself. The doctor held his hand to Hughes. ¡°Do not panic yet! There is still hope!¡± He gestured to Price. ¡°Luckily, we have someone with the tools to get into that ship. I have already spoken with Finnigan about this, and he has already approached some of you with offers to work for him. I would like to contract not just Price, nor Bradley, nor Theodore, but all of you to retrieve those flowers.¡± Emilia questioned. ¡°Then what am I to do. And him?¡± She pointed to Hughes. Dr Prescott responded. ¡°You are all very talented individuals in your own ways, that I know for sure. This work is far from legal, and with how many other scalpers there are looking for ways to get into the ship, the operation will need a keen listener like Emilia to make sure you are not followed.¡± He then turned to Hughes. ¡°And a man with your outreach is always useful, are they not?¡± Emilia nodded as Hughes calmed slightly. Dr. Prescott continued. ¡°We are doing everything we can here. And although we cannot offer you money, if you all succeed in retrieving that medicine the next two months of treatment will be completely free of charge.¡± Everyone, except Hughes, went from concern to shock. With such less expense, a world of opportunity would open before me, and I assumed almost everyone else. ¡°Until then, though¡­¡± Dr. Prescott looked at his desk, frowning. ¡°There will not be enough medication for all of you¡­¡± Toes in the water Icy February waters clashed against Price¡¯s steam tug. The cold mist collided with my face as I leaned over the railing, leaving me reeling backward. The river Thames was furious and near frozen that evening, but we had to make our move under the cover of nightfall. Wiping my face, I moved towards the center of the boat and sat on a bench, regaling the events of earlier that evening¡­ Everyone had stood from their seats after Price had gone through a long explanation on the intricacies of diving, yet I continued to sit. Perhaps it was the skeptic in me, but I had a singular question reoccur throughout my thoughts during that whole conversation, and to Dr. Prescott I would finally ask it. ¡°Why? Why fund this salvage?¡± Dr. Prescott along with everyone else looked at me confusedly, not knowing why I would question such generosity. Nonetheless, the doctor answered immediately. ¡°Well, Theodore. That medicine is extremely expensive, and it does not go to just you five. We have hundreds of patients dependent on that medication in some form, and we simply cannot wait until another shipment arrives. Not only would you all be lacking your medicine, but an entire mental ward would be as well.¡± I contemplated those words, but before I could formulate more questions, Dr. Prescott answered, knowing my way of thinking. ¡°The hospital committee all agreed we had to retrieve that medicine one way or another. Such delicate work had to be done by people that we had the utmost trust in. A group of people that relied on us and wouldn¡¯t try to sell this behind closed doors for profit. We have investigated other ways of procuring this flower, but there is truly no alternative¡­¡± With a nod, my response was made. ¡°¡­ I see¡­¡± After that, we promptly made our way to a shoddy dock and got on the same vessel I was sitting aboard at that moment. Bringing myself back to the present, I stood once more and peered over the side of the ship. The cargo boat¡¯s tip was piercing out of the river, much larger than I had thought it would be. I had not been aware of how large the boat really was from so far away, but that close I could realize how monolithic the ship really was. There was a whistle from inside the cabin, leading everyone to gather inside. Price stood by the wheel, waiting for us. ¡°We¡¯ve arrived.¡± He said, looking out to the waters. ¡°Luckily cargo ships keep their pharmaceuticals near the top deck, so it won¡¯t be a deep plunge¡­¡± He looked to Bradley. ¡°Go down a few meters, open up the hatch near the back of the ship, then continue down the corridor all the way to the end. Open the door to your right, grab the andha flowers, and get back out. Simple as that.¡± Bradley nodded. We had not really spoken about who had the responsibility of diving¡­ But it was no contest of who was more physically capable. I was far too frail and too thin compared to Bradley to even be considered. Bradley spoke, looking back to the small closet behind Price. ¡°Time to get suited up then, eh?¡± Price set anchor, then walked to the closet and retrieved the diving suit. The body was a thick brown canvas, and the helmet was a large orb with several reinforced windows on both the front and sides of it. Price unlatched the helmet with ease, unzipped the back, and helped Bradley step into it. Once Bradley was suited, we moved out of the cabin and onto the deck. There, Price walked over to a large two-person crank. From the crank, he pulled out the nozzle of a hose, unraveled the hose from the spinning cylinder in the center of the crank, and attached it to the back of Bradley¡¯s helmet. They began their final tests as Hughes watched beside me, speaking. ¡°It all seems so fast, does it not? But I suppose that is what happens when you lack time, such as us¡­ The only thing you cannot buy with money¡­¡± Once everything was assuredly in order, Price shouted out. ¡°Chatwood! Get over here.¡± I listened, sitting on one of the two integrated seats of the crank. I understood what was needed well enough for no further instruction as I sat my hands on the handle, waiting for Bradley to submerge. Price nodded to Bradley and sat on his side of the crank, leaving Bradley to finally lean off the boat and become consumed by the brackish depths. We began to spin, and air started to flow throughout the long rubber hose. More unraveled as Bradley went deeper and deeper. Other than the hose, though, we had no indication of success. We simply had to hope things went according to the plan. Cranking the air pump was mostly trivial. I was not strong, but at the very least my constant walking about the city gave me enough stamina to not worry over such things. Emilia gazed over the edge, attempting to search the muddy river. She spoke, responding to a sentence never uttered. ¡°Yes, you are most certainly right.¡± Confused, I said to her. ¡°What?¡± She looked at me, similarly confused. ¡°I said you were right?¡± ¡°I¡­ Didn¡¯t say anything.¡± Her confusion became disappointment in herself as she listened to me say that. ¡°Oh¡­ Right.¡± She stepped closer to Price and me, explaining. ¡°I hear things, sometimes. That time I thought I had heard you, Theodore.¡± Price spoke up. ¡°Happens. We¡¯re all a bit off the rails, it¡¯s why we¡¯re here. Only gonna get worse unless we do our jobs right.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Very true.¡± I said, thinking on those words. No one here could stand to be without those flowers, both physically and psychologically. Next, I spoke another question that had floated to the top of my mind. ¡°Emilia?¡± I said. She looked at me expectantly, awaiting the rest. ¡°To satiate my curiosity, what did you think I said anyways?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± She replied. ¡°I thought I had heard you say that the water seemed endless, and I agreed with you. With how black and murky it is, you could never hope to see the bottom until your feet touch it.¡± I nodded. That statement was indeed very true, and just earlier I had been thinking about that brackish liquid below us. When Bradley jumped in, he disappeared so quickly it seemed more like he had vanished than dived. A few minutes of nothingness passed, just the cranking of the air pump and waves crashing against the boat. That was, until Emilia spoke up once more, now anxious. ¡°I hear something.¡± Not knowing what to expect, I pried for more. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°A boat¡­¡± She said, full confidence on her face. ¡°And this one is real, I know it.¡± Price swore beneath his breath as Hughes stood from his seat away from us and began to walk over. ¡°A boat? What kind of boat? Coming towards us?¡± Emilia looked at the now panicked Hughes and gave the simplest answer to each question. ¡°Yes. Small. And definitely coming towards us.¡± Price spoke up. ¡°Christ, we don¡¯t need this¡­ Chatwood, I can pump. Go with them to see whose boat is out there.¡± I nodded and stood, following Emilia to the other side of the tug. Sure enough, a small steam powered boat erred closer to us, a man garbed in blue standing at the hull. Eventually the police officer drew close enough to speak in his especially thick Englander accent. ¡°Good evenin¡¯.¡± His boat came to a stop when it was precisely next to ours. We all reciprocated his greeting. ¡°Good evening¡­¡± Hughes, though, did not. He simply stood there and jittered. The policeman took notice of this and turned his attention to the shaking older man. ¡°Mighty chilly night to be out and about, in¡¯t it?¡± Hughes anxiety-ridden shivers could not possibly be accredited to the cold. The officer only wanted to see his reaction, and that he got. Louder than he should have spoken, Alfred Hughes put on an unconvincing smile. ¡°Yes! Yes. Quite chilly. Indeed.¡± From a polite and friendly demeanor to a now very serious glare, the policeman turned to me. ¡°Can I come aboard?¡± I did not come from a nice place in the city. I knew that when the officer was asking, he did not have the intention of letting me honestly answer. ¡°Why¡­ Yes, of course officer¡­¡± He stepped aboard. Emilia understood why I answered with a yes, but Hughes seemed completely dumbfounded and even more stressed. He surveyed the tug, and it did not take long for him to find Price, still cranking the air pump. With a prideful smirk, the policeman spoke. ¡°Oh ho, what do we have ¡®ere? Mind telling me why you¡¯re divin¡¯ right next to private property?¡± I grimaced. There was nothing we could do. Eventually Bradley would come up from the water, and the flowers would be confiscated. If that was the case, I knew we would never see them again. Silence befell upon us as the officer waited, still smiling in self-love for his find of the night. Surprisingly, Hughes was the one to speak up. ¡°We are, uh, from new Windsor properties. I am Alfred Hughes, one of the top benefactors of said company¡­ We have come in agreement with the owners of this vessel to reclaim our highly valuable Italian marble shipment¡­ Is there a problem with that?¡± The officers smile faded. ¡°No¡­ But I¡¯m gonna have to see your papers sayin¡¯ you got the right to do that.¡± Hughes was basically shaking. His bluff was not convincing in the slightest. Nevertheless, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a dauntingly sized bundle of bills as if it were candy. He held out the hundreds of pounds to the officer, stuttering in anxiety as he spoke. ¡°T-the¡­ The papers¡­¡± The policeman stared at the money for a long while, muttering to himself. ¡°Papers¡­¡± The man cautiously accepted the bribe and stowed the bills in his cobalt jacket. He glanced to everyone, then spoke. ¡°Welp¡­ Guess everythin¡¯ checks out. Sorry to interrupt you kind folk¡­¡± We walked to the other side of the tug with him, where he jumped to his own boat whilst waving to his partner, sending it slowly reeling back. He smiled while he waved. ¡°Have a good evenin!¡± I shyly waved back as Hughes shook and Emilia stared. With enough time, the officer was out of sight. Hughes immediately sat on the deck, breathing heavily. Emilia and I left him as we returned to Price. I quickly went back to cranking as I spoke. ¡°I do not doubt he will not just return with higher expectations¡­¡± Price shook his head. ¡°Nah. He wasn¡¯t lying¡­ I have a good sense for sniffing out liars, and while he was definitely a bastard, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s the type to stifle a bribe.¡± Emilia spoke up. ¡°I can hear the boat. It is getting farther away. I believe Price is right.¡± I sighed. ¡°That is fortunate then¡­¡± We mostly stayed quiet and anxiously cranked for several more minutes, then bubbles began to appear at the surface of the water. The suited Bradley emerged and climbed on deck. As he first stepped on, we were ecstatic, but the joy in all of us rapidly faded as he stood empty-handed¡­ Price released Bradley from the diving suit, after which he immediately spoke. ¡°I went down the corridor. I found the room with it in there¡­ But the door is collapsed¡­ Too narrow for me to squeeze through.¡± Everyone muttered to themselves and paced in panic. Hughes had turned the corner from the other side of the ship, only to see Bradley without the flowers and return to his place of solitude. Price stroked his orange mustache as he tapped his foot, thinking. Yet after a moment, he stopped, asking Bradley a question. ¡°How narrow?¡± Bradley simply outstretched his hands, showing an estimation of how tight the gap was. Price pondered for another moment. ¡°Hmmm¡­ Far too narrow for you, but someone with less broad shoulders might¡­¡± After saying that, he turned to look at me, bringing Emilia to turn, and then Bradley. We all knew what Price was implying. I understood it might have been the only way, but that black water¡­ That suffocating suit¡­ ¡°W-What about the helmet?¡± I said in defense. ¡°It simply could not fit¡­¡± Bradley spoke with hesitation, both reluctant to argue against me but unable to let our only hope escape. ¡°There¡¯s a space near the top of the collapsed arch¡­ You could probably fit the helmet through.¡± Price spoke sternly. ¡°And if your head can get in, then the rest of you just might be thin enough to squeeze past the narrow part¡­¡± Water clashed with metal as the tide clawed its way towards me, the same black as my dream back in the bar with Bradley¡­ I did not respond, knowing what had to happen. Seeing the acceptance on my face, Price gave a cruel smile. ¡°Better get you suited up, then, Chatwood. You¡¯re going for a swim¡­¡± Deep dive The oversized canvas suit and heavy helmet where fashioned upon me, leaving me with nothing but three small peepholes to look out of. Price spoke different instructions to me one last time, but I could barely hear a faint murmur beyond the airtight suit, especially with my heavy breaths of anxiety. They began to crank the air pump as I forced myself to walk towards the edge of the boat. Too late to back out. I thought to myself. This is what must happen. Closing my eyes, I winced and shifted my weight backwards. In a mere moment, I felt a crash and heard water rumble as I began to sink. Opening my eyes once more, I could see the brackish water invade my surroundings. Although I was falling quite quickly with the weighted boots, it felt like forever that I drifted downward. If not for the hum of the tube behind my head, I would question if they were even pumping air into my suit. My breath fogged the front vizor, and it left me feeling trapped, choked, and claustrophobic. My chest constricted in fear. Out of all the terrifying things I had seen, not many compared to the surreal horror of having your head wrapped in a fishbowl at the bottom of the great River Thames. Nothing but an inch of glass between me and an endless supply of water. Finally, my feet hit the river floor. All around me was murky nothingness, save for the foggy outline of giant piece of metal in front of me. It was crumpled under the weight of itself, but luckily a single hatch to a long and winding corridor was still intact. It was open from when Bradley had entered, meaning all I had to do was cautiously continue. If I felt claustrophobic in the water, then I felt crippled in the hallway. It was narrow, winding, and all too difficult to turn backwards in my cumbersome suit. There was no turning back, anyways. Failure was not an option. What little moonlight shone through the brown waters was all but secluded from the depths of the corridor. It seemed endless in the sprawling dark. I shut my eyes and gave a few forcibly deep breaths, hoping to calm down. After enough time had been spent trying to adjust my vision to the dark, I opened. Yet¡­ It was just as black. ¡°No matter¡­¡± I said to myself, trying to talk my way out of anxiety. ¡°I simply have to walk to the end and turn right¡­¡± And that I began to do. Groping blindly about the corridor, I moved forwards. Every now and then, a different door would be open, and I would instead simply have to hope that I made it to where the walls reappeared. I felt like I was walking forever. Each step was heavier than the last. My breathing became heavier as hot breath filled the helmet and fogged the glass. My eyes strained, trying to make out any sort of form in the darkness, but I found nothing. The further I went, the farther any light behind me became. ¡°Surely the boat can¡¯t be too much longer¡­¡± I said to myself, taking another blind step forwards. Soon I came upon another open doorway, which meant I had to move without guidance once more. Carefully removing my hands from the walls, I slid slightly forward. While the previous times I had at least enough light to have a subconscious sense of direction, the weightlessness of water and the absolute black left me merely hoping I continued in the right direction. Another step forward. Another step. Then, as I lifted my leg, something large and swimming rammed into me. I plummeted to the metal floor with a thud, feeling nothing but the now furious water current. After regaining my composure, I realized the predicament I had been put in¡­ I was laying on my side with no sense of direction¡­ In the middle of four different entryways¡­ My breathing fluttered and I spun around aimlessly, trying to regain my sense of north. Yet no matter how hard I tried; I only became more lost. ¡°What hit me?¡± I pondered, still looking wildly about. It felt¡­ Strong. It had to at least be the size of a man. Something was in the water, and not a little thing, either. It could not feasibly been a man. No. It swam far too quickly. It was fresh water, so it could not have been a shark, or an octopus, or any manner of violent creature... The only option was something... Unnatural. In an attempt to calm myself down, I replied to my earlier question. ¡°I-It was surely just a fish that had gotten too fat on the sunken food¡­ It''s fine. Get a hold of yourself¡­¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I closed my eyes once more and focused on my breathing, feeling the water around me finally begin to calm. Once I had my wits about me, I produced a solution. Reaching back, I grabbed the air hose connected to my helmet. Very carefully, I followed it until I was back in the correct corridor. Relief washed over me as I felt the walls once more. I was far too panicked. The water around me felt like it was squeezing me, and the anxiety kept me from thinking clearly. ¡°One more time¡­ That is all.¡± I said to myself, now more assured that I would not lose my way. With haste, I continued past the intersection and found myself on the other side of the hall. Continuing farther into the darkness, I noticed a small light in the distance. Murky brown water was visible once more as it looked as though a window was placed on the end of the hallway. With light finally visible, I had something to run to, and that I did. Faster and faster, I made my way towards the end of the corridor. Eventually I reached my destination with no setbacks like mere moments ago. It was a round glass window, riddled with cracks from the weight put down on it. Now that I had vision once more, I could notice how the ship had started to cave in on itself where I was. The ceiling was much lower, and the walls were warped into a crooked bow. No matter. I was almost there. Turning to my right, I saw the entryway that Bradley had described. The doorframe had been crushed nearly closed, even tighter than he had shown. It was questionable if I could even fit, but there was no other option than to try. I spent a long while simply staring at the door, procrastinating what had to come next. There was an opening at the top just barely big enough for the helmet. My weighted boots would not allow me to attempt to swim entirely through that hole, so I simply had to squeeze my body through the lower opening. I stood on the tips of my toes and began to slowly adjust the angle of my head to fit within the crevice. Once a satisfactory amount of both aiming took place, I began to push forward. First my head, then the rest. The small cages around the glass windows in my helmet became caught on the metal, but the weak upper portion of the entryway was able to be bent just enough to let them pass. My head was through. ¡°Now the rest¡­¡± I told myself. I lifted one leg as high as possible and it passed through, along with one of my arms. All that was left was my chest. Once I applied more pressure, I noticed how forcibly my back was pressed against the broken metal. It caused the canvas suit to dig deep, but I had to simply ignore the discomfort. I was so close. I continued to push, and the metal continued to dig deeper. No progress was made by applying constant pressure. I had to give a single push with all the strength I could conjure. ¡°One.¡± I said to myself. ¡°Two¡­¡± ¡°THREE!¡± I pushed with all the strength I had, immediately falling to the other side and collapsing to my hands and knees. Although I had made it, I felt a sharp, fiery, pain in my rightmost shoulder blade. Along with that, a freezing cold began to wash over the right side of my body. Oh no. My hand jumped backward to the spot in which the pain was inflicted¡­ The tear was enormous, along with the cut across my back. In less than a second, the suit began to fill. The air hose fought off the water just long enough for me to take one deep breath before my entire body was submerged in the murky brown liquid. I had to think quickly¡­ Very quickly! The gash in the suit was too large to be fixed. First, I had to take it off. I was weak, but the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins was enough to let me take the helmet by the metal cages on the side and violently twist it off the suit. I struggled to rip the tear in the suit further, just barely letting me shimmy out of the canvas. Then, it was just me and the water. I was fast, but it was still precious seconds wasted on simply escaping my own suit. My chest already felt like it was caving in on itself, hurting for more air. The hose! Perhaps I could undo the hose from the helmet and use it to breath! I thought to myself. Putting my fingers on the back of the helmet, I tried to pry the hose from its socket. Unlike the helmet though, there was nothing to grasp, and the airtight seal was too tight to budge with my regular grip strength. My heart beat like a drum through the water. It was too far to try to swim to the surface, and I could not undo the air hose¡­ Fuck. Going back was suffocating. Staying there was suffocating. My throat was already clamping shut like a vice. My only hope was to swim deeper into the blackness and hope there was some shorter way to the surface¡­ No¡­ Who was I kidding? My abdomen already began to convulse. My eyelids felt heavy and my head dizzy. I had little time left to even think. I felt like I was being crushed. Like I wanted to scream but I could not. Splotches of blue began to appear in what little vision I had in the dark room. Then, a brighter splotch of blue appeared¡­ No. Not my vision fading. It was real. Luminescent turquoise shone brighter as what it was connected to started to appear. A tendril like an angler fish¡¯s rode to the top of a creature¡¯s head. It had large, black eyes. Pale, sickly green, flesh. And its mouth was covered in countless smaller tendrils, all starting to glow blue on the tips as well. Its back was covered in humps and barnacles. Its belly was slick and scaled. It tilted its head, watching me spasm and choke. It simply observed for a second, sensing my desperation. Deep inside me, I felt as though it was asking a question¡­ A question that had only one answer. It slowly lifted a tentacled hand towards me¡­ Fighting against my seizing muscles, I pushed my own hand forth and grasped its¡­ I started to lose sight of the creature as the splotches of blue became bigger and bigger. I could feel the tentacles grow longer and longer, grasping not only my hand, but the entirety of my arm. It pulled me into the darkness fiercely, causing my convulsing chest to finally leave me sputtering air out of my lungs. Once I started, I could not stop until there was no more air left to keep. The darkness and blue fully mixed as my vision was taken away from me. The sensation of water streaming around my body faded¡­ Everything faded¡­ The world went black. Breathing room Wake up. In a flash I went from laying on my back to my side. I hadn¡¯t even a clue where I was or what was happening, only that my lungs were full of water and that needed to change. Very, very, quickly. My sternum shook as my lungs squeezed themselves tightly. Brown river water pooled beside me, spreading out and getting on the side of my face. I had no energy to raise my head as I coughed more foul liquid out. After my lungs were adequately empty, I took a deep breath in. My vision returned, along with my sense of self. I could barely believe it, but I had lived. Painstakingly rolling onto my hands and knees, I threw up a concoction of river water and bile. The floor was a dark metal, and my surroundings were extremely dark, but that was all I could make out while focusing on the state I was in. My cranium spiked with pain, like a harpoon had been shot through my skull. My lungs, of course, felt like they were about to explode. Surprisingly, one of the most striking pains was a pulsating discomfort coursing down my arm. That discomfort soon became an intense pain as I regained my senses further. Once my vision fully came back, I could see my arm. Deep acid burns ran in spiraling patterns from my shoulder to my hand. They somehow seemed natural and ritualistic at the same time. Like I¡¯d seen the symbols before but could never know where. I was reminded of the creature I saw just moments ago. It¡¯s tight grip¡­ The hand that it grasped felt broken, but it was better than drowning¡­ Probably¡­ I would have to push the headache and the many, many, questions I had towards the back of my mind, though. There was air, but I still had no clue where I was. Looking around, I found myself in a dimly lit metal chamber. At me feet was water, and all around me were cramped walls and cleaning utensils, as if I were in a closet that had been warped and twisted sideways. I did not know where I was, but I could at least tell that I was still within the ship, and it seemed that air had culminated in pockets here and there. Whatever was left in this room was running out, though, as I noticed that each deep breath I took became less and less invigorating. Once fully conscious again, I felt the bleeding gash on my back. It was extremely painful, and while I would most likely suffocate before I bled out, I most certainly did not want to spend my time in that water with an open wound. Taking off my shirt and tying it tightly around my chest, I had closed the wound as best I could. Next, I had to think of a strategy. I had¡­ somehow¡­ ended up in the utility closet. What I had to do was retrieve the flowers and simply hope that there were similar pockets of air further within the ship so I could escape. I began to slide my feet into the water, then my legs. I had as much air as I could get from that compartment, meaning any more resting would only hurt me in the long run. A few deep breaths and I was submerged once more. As soon as I dunked my head into the water, my heart began to beat quickly, and a great panic came over me. I had to pull myself back into the closet to get another breath. Who would have known that almost drowning would make one unenthusiastic towards diving? There was no other option, though. So, I simply took another, very deep breath. Submerging once more, my mind was focused heavily on keeping my composure. First, I had to get the flowers, then I would have to try and escape. I was back in the dark room I had so feverishly tried to gain entry to before, eyeing a large pile of crates towards the opposite corner of the room. I went to the stack and pulled them all loose. There were a variety of small boxes, but only a few had a large green print on them, meaning there was flora inside. It was three boxes with the print, and by the second box I saw the large ¡°Andha flower¡± labeled on the side. I took the crate and swam back into the safety of the closet. I would not be able to swim easily by holding the crate, but I had a rather brutish solution. My shirt was being used to close my wounds, but my suspenders merely hung at my hips. By stretching them to their farthest length, I could secure the small crate on my back. That I did, and I was finally able to focus my attention on escaping the ship. One more deep breath, and I was underwater once again. I swam as calmly as I could to the warped doorway. This time, I was able to swim upward and squeeze myself through the same opening I pushed my helmet past. It was even large enough to accommodate the crate. After that, I had to think quickly. There was no way I could make the swim all the way to the end of the corridor. I had to find another air pocket. On the other side of the hallway was a closed door. Perhaps it had locked in some air? I swam over and pulled at the door, and it gave way with little resistance. A ginormous engine room was what I found, flooded with water. I had to keep my chin up, though. There was a likely chance air got caught somewhere in that room. Continuing onward, I found a large metal contraption. I was never much of an engineer, and had no clue how steam engines worked, but I did know that it was unlikely there was any air to be found in the machine itself. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Swimming forward, I found nothing but nondescript metal walls surrounding the engine. After about fifteen seconds of looking around, I knew I had a decision to make. My breath was running out, and I could feel my chest constrict once more. I most likely had just enough left to return to the safety of the maintenance closet¡­ No. That maintenance closet was nearly out of air already. If I went back, I¡¯d have to make the same journey with even less time. I had to move forward. I swam down the length of the wall with my hand gliding across it, hoping to find some sort of door or entryway. Seven more seconds and I found a closed door. The sign beside it said it was a closet as well. In hope, I unlatched the door. I had already been swimming for about a minute, which meant I likely had less than a minute left before my vision started to fade once more. Opening the hatch, I found nothing but water and various tools. Shit. No turning back. I had to keep going. Farther down the room, I felt nothing. Fifteen more seconds passed as I swam all the way to the farthest wall. My headache was becoming acutely more painful as I started to feel my extremities tense up. If the sense I received from my body was correct, I only had about thirty more seconds of searching left. I continued down the far wall, hoping to find something. Anything. Yet I found nothing. It was a shorter wall, but my time was still running out. Ten seconds more. Twenty seconds left. Panic growing, I followed the last wall. Ten seconds passed before I found one final door, already partially open. Because of the way the ship was bent and warped, I would have to push to slip through. The space between the wall and the engine was slim enough that I was able to place my feet on the engine and hands on the door. There had to be something on the other side of that door or else I was lost in the water once more¡­ One push. Didn¡¯t budge. Seven seconds left. Second push. Slight movement. Five seconds left. I braced myself, closed my eyes and heaved, pushing for a final, third time. The door swung open as I used the last of my strength. I barely had enough focus to look around, but as I did, I found luck to be on my side. The door led to the sleeping quarters for two engineers. There was a bunk bed, making the room taller than the air vents that would have flooded the room. I quickly pushed myself off the floor and into the air. I took deep breaths as I paddled towards the top bunk. As I breathed in, though, the sickening smell of iron, rot, and human feces invaded my senses. I grimaced, but I could not physically keep myself from breathing. Eventually, the smell started to lose its intensity to my senses, and I was able to fully take in my surroundings. The source of the smell was an engineer. He sat on his bunk, behind him a red splash of grey matter on the walls. His body was covered in a mix of dried blood, vomit, and defecation. In his hand was a revolver. One shot out of six used. I hated to get closer, by my arms burned intensely. I had to take a rest. For a long while I simply caught my breath and looked over the dead man on the other side of the bunk. He was disheveled, of about average height and average build. Not much of his face could be made out after he¡­ Well, I could tell that he did not starve, and he most certainly did not die of suffocation. Perhaps he wanted to save himself the suffering of choking, or perhaps his missing bunkmate had something to do with it¡­ In any case, there was not much for me there once I had my respite other than one thing¡­ I reached towards the corpse and put my hand on his, attempting to pry the revolver from his grasp. His hand was tight on the gun, and his shriveled finger was still wrapped around the trigger. I tried with one hand to retrieve the pistol, but it was fruitless. I had to lean on the bunk and use both hands to finally release his dying grip from the revolver. I finally had it, and I had a hard time deciding whether I took it for the creatures I saw before¡­ Or myself¡­ Regardless, I had not lost will just yet. I began breathing longer and deeper breaths, preparing myself for another dive. I was one step forward, with many more to go. Continuing my breathing, I lodged the revolver in my trousers and took a final inhalation. Once I had all the air I could get, I submerged myself back under the brackish and bloody water. Utilizing my memory of entering and the doorway being wide open, I escaped the engine room quite easily. I had to find a way further up without going down the corridor. I relied on what little light was coming through the window. If I were to go into the pitch black, I would have no way to navigate, which necessitated me staying close to the window. Even by going one door farther down, though, I was already engulfing myself in the mostly black waters. But I had to go through with it. I could not risk hesitation. Into the partial darkness, I found the closest open door and entered. Little light entered the room, leading me to know nothing other than how large it was, and its size was indeed bigger than any other room. There were many more things in the water, as well. They simply collided with me and were lost to the river, making me unable to tell exactly what they were. They ranged from soft to hard to anything in between. When swimming farther down the room, though, something quite larger hit my hand. I recoiled, thinking it was something I had seen earlier, but I felt no difference in the current and saw no blue lights. It was deathly still, leading me to prod at it again. I only had about a minute and a half left in me, so I made it quick. It only took about three seconds of inspection to realize that I had come across yet another drowned sailor. With nothing to do, I simply ignored the body and continued further, finding more and more bloated corpses the longer I swam. Finally, my leg hit something hard and secured to the ground. Needing to know where I was, I swam down and felt it. This object was a little more difficult to figure, but eventually I realized that it was a metal table. A suspicion grew, and by swimming slightly further to the side my suspicion was indeed confirmed. Another table. I was in the mess hall. And if I were in the mess hall, that most likely meant there were stairs to the higher levels¡­ With haste I continued down the room, quickening myself by continually grabbing hold of the many tables and pushing against them. In but a very short moment I had found myself at the end of the room. After a bit of groping for the wall in the dark, I realized that the entirety of that side of the room was a large set of stairs, meaning all I needed to do was continue upwards. Doing so left me in another air pocket, except this one was the entire corridor. The air was fresh and abundant, leaving me to rest halfway in the water and breath a sigh of relief through my pants for air. Finally, I had means to travel without swimming or nearly suffocating, at least for a little while¡­ The only problem left was navigating the nearly black as pitch labyrinth¡­ ¡°Only a little bit further, I¡¯m sure¡­¡± Crypt crawler After catching my breath, I was ready to continue onward. There were almost no windows in this corridor, leaving everything near pitch black. It seemed logical to assume each room would have an emergency light source of some kind, so I decided my current objective would be finding a lantern. To start, I crawled on my hands and knees towards the wall at my left, and then began to shuffle forward until I hit a doorway. I had no clue what the room I was entering was filled with, but I simply had to hope there was light to be found. I blindly groped the walls, hoping for some sort of cabinet or closet to reveal itself. Eventually, I came upon a bag hung on the wall. Reaching inside, I felt a variety of objects, many of which I could not make out. What I did realize upon grasping, though, was a packet of matches. Taking it out, I felt three matchsticks inside. I could not rely solely on the light they gave in the long run, but I could certainly use one for the time being just to see my surroundings. The matches were slightly wet, but with a few shakes it was most likely dry enough to ignite. I placed the head against the textured part of the package and ripped, and in a moment the surroundings were illuminated by a faint orange light. Immediately, I was taken aback. The wetness on the matches and the entire wall was not river water as I had assumed, but blood. The entire wall was coated in smearing red handprints. The bag I found glistened red with fresh blood. Whoever left the room in that state was still around. I could barely collect myself before the match sputtered out. Without much thought, I took out the second of the three and lit it. I had little time, so efficiency was my top priority. With a hasty inspection, I saw that the bag had little objects of use inside. Even when I was trying to keep the match still, the flame began to wear out. I had to be quicker. I looked about the room. It seemed to be private quarters¡­ A bed. A chair. A desk¡­ And a candle turned on its side atop said desk. The light went out, but I memorized where it was well enough to make my way to the desk, and then to the large candle. I sent the final match alight, and then the candle. Dropping the package to the ground, I held the candle in my left hand and retrieved the revolver with my right. It was finally time to find my way out of the steel crypt, and I was lucky enough to bring myself protection from the maniac roaming the halls. Going back to the corridor, I still saw very little. The candle I had only allowed me to see a few meters ahead of me, and it made me quite visible to whoever crawled in the dark. It was better than being blind, I decided. I was the one with the pistol and I had to be able to aim it. I continued through the uphill hallway cautiously. For a few minutes, it was deathly quiet, then a piercing scream echoed through the metal chambers. Instinctively, my finger tightened on the trigger. If I was any more tense, I would have let off a round into the dark. Luckily, I was able to control myself, and my presence was still largely unknown. As much as I hated to approach the area where the scream emanated, there was no other choice than to go up if I wanted to escape. The gun rattled and shook as I nervously aimed into the shadowy corridor in front of me. My arms were already tired from the frantic swimming only minutes earlier, as was my mind wandering and dizzy. I had to keep as much focus as possible. With how I felt, I was more likely to shoot my own foot than anything in front of me. The bloody stains on the walls became fresher and fresher. There were prints on the floor from both someone¡¯s hands and bare feet, meaning whoever was with me was traversing with on all fours like an animal¡­ The ship had sunk over a month from when I arrived, and there were no other crews to try and gain entrance to the insides, meaning that whoever this was had to have been a crewmate¡­ I could only imagine what would happen to the psyche of someone forced to drink from the river and crawl in endless darkness for so long. Of course, from the scream, I could tell there had to be others. The mess hall was completely flooded, though, meaning any food left was gone. You either starved or became¡­ Something not entirely human, at least in spirit and mind. But I had to keep my mind on the task at hand. Much caution had to be put in my walking. With how wet my shoes were, I was likely to either slip or squeak against the slick metal. In either case, I would instantly lose the upper hand when it came to the maniac hiding before me. Take it slowly, I told myself. If I was going up, I was making progress. As I approached the area the scream resonated from, I could hear the faint sound of bare feet and hands slapping against metal. It was growing louder. He was coming towards me. I covered the candle and ducked into the nearest room. As quietly as I could, I closed the door and turned the latch to lock it, although it seemed it was broken. There were many chairs and pieces of furniture that looked like they were used to barricade the door, but all of them were thrown aside and most likely useless at that point. I had to settle for the door being shut, but not locked. Looking around the bed chambers, I heard a groan. On the floor was a man covered in blood, painfully raising his head to look at me. He breathed rasped breaths as his body was illuminated in the candlelight. Blood slowly gushed from large bitemarks scattered across him. Human bites. Long strands of flesh were ripped from his arms and legs, leaving him completely crippled. Part of his throat was bitten out, but he still managed to speak in a gargled whisper. ¡°Kill¡­ me¡­¡± The maneater outside didn¡¯t just cannibalize the other survivors¡­ He kept his food living¡­ Fresh until they had no more meat to give¡­ Again, the sailor spoke, barely raising his finger to point at the revolver in my hand. ¡°Please¡­ kill¡­ me¡­¡± I looked at my revolver, then back to him. It was right to end his suffering¡­ but¡­ If I used my pistol, the cannibal would know exactly where I was¡­ With painful guilt, I slowly shook my head. ¡°I-I can¡¯t¡­¡± I whispered back. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The man started to spasm in sadness and pain. Tears formulated in his eyes as he whispered through a choked windpipe. ¡°Please¡­¡± My throat clamped up with emotion. My body shook even harder than before as I was at a crossroads over what to do¡­ If I shoot him, I¡¯ll end up in the exact same state¡­ I thought. I couldn¡¯t use the revolver, or else I was dead. That meant I either left him there, or¡­ Noticing that I was in private quarters once more, I placed my candle on the standard desk and stuffed the revolver down the back of my trousers. Raising my hands up, I asked the sailor a silent question. He swallowed anxiously, giving a timid nod. Slowly, I approached him. Getting on my knees, I wrapped my hands around his bleeding throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± I whispered, and he merely stared into my eyes with a resigned gaze. I sat there for a long while, hesitating. The crewmate noticed, urging me with a struggled nod and a weak grunt. Finally, I closed my eyes and began to squeeze. He exhaled deeply as his body tensed. What little movement he had left in his mostly eaten arms and legs were used as they weakly squirmed. More blood began to rush out of his neck and onto my hands, soaking each digit with the hot, sanguine, liquid. I couldn¡¯t bear to look him in the eyes as I did it, and instead closed mine as the next few seconds were spent clamping down on him. Tears ran down my face as I counted the seconds in my head, trying to distract myself. Two minutes, eleven seconds¡­ By the time it was finished, both my hands, wrists, and knees were soaked with blood. It became difficult to stand afterwards, both from how sick I felt and how slippery everything had become. I noticed there was a bed at the far side of the room, letting me dry my hands on the sheets as best I could. Returning to the desk where I sat the candle, I saw a picture sitting on the wood. It was the same man on the floor, with a wife and an infant child happily smiling. Beside it was a piece of paper with a pencil beside it. It looked as though he had tried to write a note, but since there was no source of light in the room, everything scribbled on it was completely illegible. Hope drove him to write, but reality kept the words from coming out. I picked up the portrait and placed it in his lifeless hand before I began to leave. I had seen death before, but never have I had to do such a thing¡­ Getting to the door, I retrieved the revolver from my pants. My offhand reached for the handle, but it shook so greatly that I could not grab hold. Every time I came across trauma, I tried to ignore it and pretend it never happened¡­ But there my hand was, soaked in blood¡­ I gently placed my forehead on the door and tried to breathe. I had to fight off the urge to sob at what I had done, and instead stood there for a long time forcing myself to take deep breaths. I was not that sort of person. I only wanted to live normally¡­ Yet I was destined to bathe in suffering, as it seemed. Time went by quickly. I would have never known I was standing there for any significant amount of time if hot candlewax didn¡¯t spill onto my hand. I still had plenty of light left, but that shock was enough to make me realize I was wasting time, and eventually the maneater would come back for seconds¡­ Finally snapped out of it, I reached for the door once more. My hand was not much better than before, but it was enough to grab hold and turn. Once back into the corridor, I took no time to begin walking up the hall with haste. If I had to guess, the cannibal was returning to where I emerged for water, which meant he would likely be behind me when he came back to his victim. Keeping an eye and the revolver behind me, I continued. A few minutes of silence passed as I gained more and more altitude. Eventually, though, the sound of wet flesh galloping on hard steel became audible once more. Someone had tampered with his food, and he was looking for revenge. I had less than a moment to decide whether I should hide, run, or hold my ground. He knew I was around there, and he had the means to wait me out. Hiding was not an option. I could run, but my shoes were slippery on the metal and he was acclimated to his hunting grounds. My best bet was to drop the candle at my feet, place both hands on the revolver, and pray that his teeth would not hit before my bullet did. The candle slowly began to roll down the corridor as my heartbeat quickened. The galloping got closer and closer as I tried to steady my aim. Nerves got the best of me as I accidently pulled the trigger and let off the first shot. Keeping subconscious count, I knew there had to be four shots left. After the deafening pop of the gun rang throughout the metal corridor, the maneater stopped for a second. Instead of galloping, I began to hear a shrill chuckle reverberate from below. The crypt crawler found humor in my fear. The galloping started again, this time with much more confidence. The rolling candle still showed nothing, though, leaving me to only guess how far he was. I let off another shot, hoping I had estimated where the cannibal was. Another miss. Three shots left. The movement became faster as he grew closer. Finally the candle had rolled far enough for me to get a glimpse at the maneater. He was covered in matted, wet, hair. His extremities were frail and thin like he was starving, but he had a bulging abdomen like he had gorged himself. Finally granted vision, I tried to shoot again, and again it merely bounced on the metal floor. Two shots. I began backing up as he got even closer. My time was running out, and every shot was immensely far from its mark. Then, something surged up my right arm. The burning, acidic pain all down my limb surged with agony in the exact patterns of the eldritch symbols. In pain, my arm shifted and twitched, taking my aim to a drastically different position than it was. My hand cramped as my finger pulled. I saw the naked maneater¡¯s blood-soaked face and flesh-ridden teeth in the muzzle flash as he lunged towards me. The revolver shot went straight between his eyes, leaving nothing but a corpse to ram into my body. The pain in my arm soothed as I took deep breaths while pushing the grotesque man off me. I was covered in even more blood, but I could not care less. He was dead, and I needed to push onward. The candle was long gone, and I had no intention to retrieve it. I had to be close. Just keep going. You can¡¯t stop now. My thoughts said in encouragement. I clambered as quickly as possible up the corridor, now without fear. The hallway became steeper and steeper, eventually making it more of a climb than it was a walk. In any case, I continued, and within a few minutes I reached the end. Light seeped from cracks in the warped metal wall. I continued to follow the brightness, eventually finding a small round window like the corridor that was underwater. It was closed and far too small to escape from, but it granted me view of the outside. The cloudy night sky was hard to see, but it still filled me with hope. I was so close. Bloody hands were stained on the glass of the window, and all around it. It appeared that the maneater also found the opening but, like me, was too large to escape through it. I still had hope as I began to search the rooms near the window. There were a few crates of food, all opened and eaten. A few eaten rations all about. The one thing of use I did find was a variety of wrenches and hammers, covered in blood and scattered across the floor. I had one last hope as an idea formed in my psyche. Picking up a large hammer, I went back to the window. It was covered in blood, hair, and grey matter. It seemed to be the cannibal¡¯s weapon of choice before he realized his teeth could do. I tried to smash the window open, but with what little strength I had, it barely made a crack. With determination, I kept going, and eventually that crack turned into a growing spiderweb of breaks. After what felt like an eternity, I sent a final strike to the window and burst a sizable hole out. Finally, I cleared the opening of stray shards of glass and pushed my arm through, point the revolver towards the sky, I pulled the trigger and let loose the last shot, sending an echoing blast of noise throughout the river. All I had left to do was wait and hope the others heard me. It was a nightmare, but I had both the flowers and my life. Things could possibly even go back to normal¡­ Although¡­ I knew that not to be true. Recipe for disaster It took a long while of extremely anxious waiting, but the small tug eventually chugged towards my vicinity. As it was his career, Price was efficient in blowing a large portion of the hull open. I eagerly awaited for assistance on to the boat, which was given by Bradley¡¯s enthusiastic hand, that hand being accidentally smeared with blood after I was pulled onto the ship. Everyone aboard looked at me with a mix of confusion and fear as I simply took in the wide-open space of outside. I realized what I had to have looked like. I was shirtless and pruned from the water. As well as that, my hands, legs, and face were either covered or splattered from the blood of the maneater and his victims. ¡°I-I¡­ It was¡­ There was a¡­¡± I stammered, unable to think of any convincing excuse for my horrifying state. Eventually I simply swallowed the lump in my throat and fruitlessly tried to push on. ¡°I have the flowers¡­ There was, uh, a quite violent individual and¡­ I am ok¡­¡± I slowly took the empty revolver from the back of my trousers and dropped it on the ground as a sign of peace. I did not expect any violence from them towards me, but I could sense the great amount of worry they had when viewing me. Once my display was shown, their uncertain demeanor became more relaxed. Bradley was the first to speak, soft and meek. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re safe, mate¡­¡± With a nod, I retrieved the crate from my back and sat it on the deck. Immediately, attention was turned from me to the box. Hughes, of course, was the first to say what was on our minds. ¡°We should open it¡­ just to make sure¡­¡± Price countered with a hint of hesitance. ¡°It would probably be better to bring it back to the hospital first¡­¡± He continued to look at the crate in silence, then finally uttered the end to his sentence in a low voice. ¡°But it probably wouldn¡¯t hurt to take a look¡­¡± Eyes turned to me once more, this time in waiting. It seemed no one wanted to take the box the man covered in blood risked his life to obtain, so it ended with Bradley speaking. ¡°So, Chatwood¡­ You want to open it up, yeah?¡± I nodded and began to lean downward. My attempt to ease onto my knees ended with me more so collapsing than lowering by my own strength. When my fingers grasped the crate, I felt the smoldering fire in my muscles from the swimming and tension. With a single strained pull, I realized that I was not the one to open the crate. Trusting me, Bradley was the first to approach. He kneeled next to me and inspected the crate but did not attempt to open it. Even for someone with moderate strength, a tool was needed. One which Price had ready. Pulling a sheathed knife from his boot, he began to walk forward. Price noticed that my eyes were on the knife as he sat down next to me. Tapping the tug¡¯s deck, he spoke. ¡°Not as needed on this thing, but back in my sailing days I realized quickly you want one of these with you at all times.¡± I nodded, leading the orange haired Irishman to wedge his knife between the planks in the box. Hughes jumped forward, ferociously waiting for a glimpse at the flowers. Emilia also curiously strut closer, finishing the group circle we had formed around the crate. Even Price struggled to unhinge the soaked wood and rusted screws, but with enough effort the box burst open. Water gushed onto the deck as we all gasped and looked about. Withered and water bloated flowers spilled across the metal floor. What I once imagined to be bright purple was a deep blackish color. Green stems were now rotted brown. Filthy river water permeated through each flower there was. I began to pant in panic, my face becoming cold and palms clammy. Bradley muttered curses to himself. Price¡¯s face became a bright shade of red in frustration. Emilia shivered, and Hughes clutched to his forehead. Emilia then became unsteady in standing and slowly lowered herself to sit and contemplate. Hughes ran to the railing of the tug and began to puke. Price slammed his knife so hard into the boat¡¯s metal deck that it produced a several millimeter deep dent. He would have pierced the floor if it had not blunted the knife first. Bradley began to scream in anguish as I continued to stare at the wilted flowers. The world felt foggy and far away like I was separated from my body. The vertigo and pulsating headache from earlier came back and at full force. The residual water still left in my lungs felt like it was slipping into my throat. The last hope held in all of us was extinguished¡­ ¡°Nonononono¡­¡± Bradley muttered, finally speaking at an audible volume. ¡°We can fix this. There¡¯s got to be another way to get those flowers, right? Right?¡± Price replied, defeated. ¡°We have to go back and tell the Doctor. What happens next is figured out from there.¡± I concurred. ¡°He is right. First and foremost, we need to take this information to Dr. Prescott. Maybe he can still do something with these flowers¡­¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. My optimism was in vain, and very easily seen through as a simple bluff to lessen the stress. Bradley gathered the flowers as best he could while Price brought us back to shore. Whilst he did that, I was finally able to procure real first aid equipment and hastily bandage my torso, allowing me to wear my shirt again. It did not take long for the tug to push itself back to the wooden docks. Leaving the boat, I alerted them that I would be just a moment as I washed up. I went towards the edge of the docks to a place where the water was shallow enough to stand in. The great river Thames was polluted and dirty, but I decided I¡¯d much rather be filthy than covered in blood. Jumping off the docks and into the water, I began cleansing as best I could. The gore on my face from when I shot the maneater came off quite easily, but the red up to my forearms were tough to relinquish myself from. No matter how hard I scrubbed, it barely made a difference. As more blood was scrubbed from my arms, I noticed the acidic burns on my right once more. The pain had all but ceased, and the scars were becoming less pronounced. Where they were once risen and flushed with red, it had turned a pale white. The blood also seemed to be denser when it was over the pattern, as if it were almost magnetized. With enough time, though, even it was scrubbed clean. Nothing but specks of red under my fingernails and the memory of what I had done remained. Before I could pull myself from the water, though, a voice rang out. The gruff and deep tone accompanied with his peculiar accent let me know it was Price. ¡°You done yet?¡± He said rhetorically. I nodded as he came over and held a hand outward, offering his assistance back onto the dock. I raised my hand, almost grasping his own before I saw the scars once more. It made me realize that no one had even as much as glanced at the horrifying eldritch glyphs burnt on me. Instead, I raised the same arm towards Price for inspection, saying. ¡°Do you see anything?¡± He took a cursory inspection, then shrugged. ¡°No blood. You¡¯re clean.¡± That was not what I meant for him to search for, but if he had not noticed it, that meant my question was answered. Never had I had a vision so persistent¡­ or so painful¡­ Finally grabbing hold of him, I was pulled back onto the wooden and slightly dilapidated dock. As I began to regroup with the others, Price grabbed hold of my shirt. I turned to look as he reached behind his back, producing the pistol I had dropped on his ship earlier. A spark of confusion and instinctual terror coursed through me for a moment, eventually yielding as he held it out. ¡°It¡¯s a tough world, Chatwood. You¡¯re gonna need this moving forward. Same calibre as the one I got, so I filled you back up.¡± I nodded and accepted the pistol, concealing it in the band of my trousers and under my baggy shirt. ¡°Thank you¡­¡± Price and I were both people who understood the more dangerous side of the city. I had learned to keep myself out of trouble through discretion, since I could not hope to fend for myself in a physical confrontation. Price, on the other hand, seemed like a much more brash person; one who could grit his teeth and fend for himself when needed. Now that we worked together, I suppose he thought it best I had some manner of defense. It had proved to save my life before, after all, and Price could most likely tell from my mannerisms that I hadn¡¯t gotten covered in blood for the fun of it. With thanks, we continued back to everyone else. In the depression of our new reality, nothing was spoken. A simple, silent, walk to the hospital. At the very least, it was only dark, cold, and overcast, but not raining. That fact made me happy. I had gotten enough water for a lifetime, and highly doubted I would ever go swimming again. Once we were in view of St. Dymphna¡¯s mental hospital, I saw that all the lights had been turned off, except for a single glowing window. We came through the same entryway as before, and as before Dr. Prescott¡¯s office door was open and waiting for us. The fireplace still roared as a much more tired looking Doctor sat in his leatherbound desk chair. He perked up as we all entered the room. As soon as he saw us, though, his mood dampened. His optimistic smile became even further into a frown as Bradley walked closer and produced the wilted flowers from a handkerchief in his pocket. Dr. Prescott simply stared at the flowers for a bit, sighed, and took off his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair. It was a very long moment before he finally leaned forward again and spoke. ¡°Well. That is certainly not ideal¡­¡± Hughes piped up. Once I turned to look at him, I noticed he had begun to pick at his face once more, renewing the bleeding. ¡°We can fix this, right? We can get more?¡± Dr. Prescott thought for a moment. ¡°Sadly, no. Without the Andha flower we will not be able to produce any more of the authentic medication¡­¡± Everyone began to shift and murmur in distress, that was, until Dr. Prescott rose his hand. ¡°There is one last option¡­ We have been working on a recipe for a potential synthetic version. It most definitely will not work as well, if at all¡­ But it is the best we can do with our options now.¡± Immediately jumping on the opportunity of hope, Hughes replied. ¡°And what do we do? Funding? I can provide funding.¡± The doctor nodded. ¡°While funding would certainly be appreciated, once again I must ask for assistance. The compounds we would need for this to work is very¡­ tricky¡­ to acquire. It is also very time consumptive; The kind of time we simply do not have.¡± Price took a breath. ¡°So, it¡¯s up to us again.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± Dr. Prescott answered. ¡°Although, I will recommend you all try to get some rest. Many of you, some more than others, look like you need it¡­¡± He reached into his desk and produced a small case with five syringes inside. ¡°But before you leave, let me administer this. The dosage in all these combined would make maybe one of your usual dosages, but this is all that is left¡­¡± One by one, we all took our medicine. The potency was extremely diminished from what I usually received, but it was better than nothing. The scars on my arms slowly faded, yet they did not disappear. After that, Dr. Prescott sent us to get our well-deserved rest. Yet before we could shuffle uneasily out of the door, he said one last thing. ¡°Theodore, would you please stay a moment?¡± Eyes peeled The fire roared beside us as Dr. Prescott adjusted his glasses. ¡°Take a seat, Theodore.¡± And that I did. As I placed myself atop the leatherbound chair, Dr. Prescott continued. ¡°You do not look so well. I assume you were the one to go in and retrieve the flowers?¡± ¡°Bradley went down first, but I ended up being the only one to fit in the storage room.¡± Dr. Prescott looked me up and down. I was still slightly wet, with blood stained into the knees of my trousers. ¡°It was a very brave endeavor. I can see in your eyes that you¡¯ve changed quite a bit.¡± I did not have much of a response in my exhaustion. Primarily, my thoughts were consumed by the tranquility of sitting in a comfortable chair next to a warm fire. ¡°I simply did what I had to.¡± ¡°Exactly!¡± The doctor said in a falsely excited manner, trying to get my attention more than anything. ¡°That is why I have something very important to ask of you¡­¡± The attempt to secure my focus was successful, and I sat tentatively whilst Dr. Prescott finished his thought. ¡°You went through so much hardship to get those flowers and you were still happy to evenly share the profit with the rest." "Well... I..." I stammered. It was not like I really had the opportunity to betray the others if I wanted to, but I also never even thought of such a thing, so I decided to simply let the doctor continue. After a moment of waiting on me, Dr. Prescott went forward with his thought. "You have always had a great amount of my trust, but this proves to me you are able to push through adversity when it is needed. Everyone has a specific job they need to do for this plan to work, but I need someone to undertake the grueling job of supervising the process. We must be sure everything goes according to plan.¡± I could understand the necessity for someone to overview the plan, but I did not quite understand why Dr. Prescott would choose me. I was trustworthy, but so were many others. ¡°Why not Price or Bradley? What about Emilia?¡± The only name I did not mention was Hughes. God knows Hughes was not reliable in those circumstances. ¡°Price has too much work ahead of him. His time will already be spread too thin. Bradley, well, you know he has a certain reputation amongst certain parts of town. As for Emilia, it was a hard decision between you and her. As far as things go, though, I know you are used to sleepless nights and are very familiar with every corner of London. Emilia, on the other hand, is simply not as familiar with the underbelly of this city.¡± That was understandable enough logic, I supposed. I had spent many nights simply wandering the depths of the city. I might have even known more than Price, although he had an actual presence whilst I was simply a fly on the wall. ¡°Alright then. What am I to do first?¡± Dr. Prescott took a pen sitting on his desk and tapped the broadside of it a few times against his notebook. ¡°First, we need to be absolutely sure that our reserves are truly depleted. We ran out faster than expected, which could have simply been an error on our part, or someone could have stolen some for themselves. Tomorrow morning, I would like if you and Emilia search the hospital quarters for any stolen prescription.¡± With a nod, I replied. ¡°I can do that.¡± ¡°Good. Hopefully by the time you get done the others will have gotten in touch with their contacts.¡± Dr. Prescott stood from his chair, prompting me to do so as well. ¡°Now, come. You need a change of clothes, I think.¡± It was difficult to stand with my exhaustion, but the promise of warm, fresh, clothing was more than enough to bring me to walk. He brought me down a small corridor to a washroom. There was a wooden bench with a pair of white clothing the caretakers would wear. Along with that, there was a pump and a bucket to wash yourself with. Dr. Prescott ushered me in. ¡°I¡¯ll get them to wash your current wear and give it back to you tomorrow. For now, get dressed in that. You will need it to fit in tomorrow anyways.¡± I nodded and closed the door. While unclothing myself, I noticed a large amount of bruises over my body, especially my shoulder. With the adrenaline and fast pace of everything, I had completely forgotten that I had minorly dislocated it. I had seen the treatment for such an injury before, and knew it was quite simple. All I had to do was get on my knees, place my hand of the ground, put my weight down on the shoulder¡­ and¡­ push. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A sickening pop echoed throughout the small room as my shoulder lodged itself back into place. A shock of pain surged down my arm, then I felt relief. All I had left to do was wash the grime and blood off myself and get dressed, yet I hesitated as the bucket filled. I had scrubbed a bit of blood off my face in the river, but I hadn¡¯t submerged my head since the dive¡­ The mere thought of turning over the bucket on my head made my heart beat faster. The more I noticed my anxiety, the worse it became. Once the pail was full, my hands were visibly shaking. It was difficult to grasp the bucket, but once I did, I had enough willpower to douse myself in a fluid motion. The water was cold and shocking, sending me to breathe deeply as it ran down my body. Afterwards, the shaking began to stop. My breathing was still shallow and quick, but the stress became bearable. After a bit more cleaning, I dried myself and got into my new attire. It was gaudy and bright white, but at least I was warm once more. I sat my bloody garb on the bench and exited. Dr. Prescott looked at me funnily as he saw me, as if he had in part heard some of what had gone on in that room. Yet I did not admit to anything. Even though I told Dr. Prescott everything, I was reluctant to tell him about my injuries and my run in with that tentacled thing¡­ No one could see the acidic burns of its part-jellyfish-part-octopus tentacles, what if the rest of my injuries were just in my mind? Even worse, what if they weren¡¯t¡­ In any case, I had no desire to search for answers at that moment in time. After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Prescott spoke. ¡°Well, I suppose we should both try and get some rest.¡± I nodded, barely remembering the last time I slept. The night prior, I had spent my time staring into the shadows of my apartment, summoning that smiling creature. Yet even when I was not trying to look, it was so easy to find the figures in the dark. If only there were a way to help them blend into their surroundings without medication. If I could not exterminate them, I wished there was but a way to keep them from my focus¡­ That is when a thought occurred. ¡°Dr. Prescott?¡± I said as we began to walk back to his office. ¡°Mr. Chatwood?¡± He mimicked. ¡°I was wondering if I could borrow something of yours.¡± He looked back at me. ¡°And what would that be?¡± ¡°Well, I was hoping you perhaps had an extra pair of glasses¡­¡± At that he stopped, fully turning to look at me. ¡°You have perfect vision, Theodore. Why in the world would you want my glasses?¡± ¡°That is exactly why.¡± I explained. ¡°All of my visions occur when my eyes wander to somewhere for too long. If I can no longer make out such fine details, perhaps the visions would be less common?¡± With a sigh, Dr. Prescott nodded. ¡°I suppose that makes sense. Normally, I would urge you not to rely on such things like partially blinding yourself. You know how that worked out for your mother.¡± He let me sit on those words for a moment, then continued. ¡°But we do have a very important job to do in these next few days¡­ If we can agree this is solely a temporary crutch in your treatment, then I will allow it.¡± I nodded. ¡°That is perfectly acceptable.¡± With that understanding, we walked back to the office. Dr. Prescott moved to his desk and retrieved a pair of large round glasses, the left lens with a notable crack running across it. Walking back to me, he held them out. Putting them on, the room became blurry and distant. Where I could once read each title scrawled upon the spine of the books behind Dr. Prescott¡¯s desk, I could now only make out a general smudge where the words once were. There was only a small chance this strategy even would work, but I was more than happy to try. After a bit of pleasantries, I left the office, and then the hospital grounds. The glasses did not impede my ability to get home, as I would bet I could have made the walk blindfolded at that point. Just beyond the crest of the horizon, I could see the sun begin to rise. I had spent all night in that damned boat. Hopefully I still had a few hours of rest before the next day truly began. Once I got to my apartment, I noticed the butchery. Upon seeing it, I realized I had not eaten for quite some time, yet I had no money. Even after everything that had happened, I had not made a single shilling. I was used to sleeping with an empty stomach, though, so I simply walked to my door, unlocked it, and went inside. It was dark, dusty, and depressing as usual, but I had little care to complain at that moment. The shadows seemed less frightening when they were blended with everything else. As for if this strategy could stop the vivid visions, I would either never know or I would see it fail. In either case, I did not care to ponder on it. I would take my sliver of comfort where I found it, especially with how I felt at that moment. Even though it was a half dose, my head still swam in the exhaustion of that night and the medication I had just taken. Laying down on top of my bed, I did not even bother to pull the covers over myself. Blindly sitting my new glasses on the bedside table next to me, I took a deep breath and sprawled out. Focusing on clearing my mind of worries. After a few minutes I could feel sleep take hold of me. With what was ahead, I would need the rest. Behind closed doors For the first time in a very long time, I slept quite soundly. However, my deep sleep was cut short by a knock on the door. I sat up and immediately put on my glasses. It was a slightly uncomfortable and certainly unfamiliar thing to wear them, but they were important enough for them to be the first thing on my mind upon awakening. The door was knocked on again, urging me to step out of bed. I had to assume Emilia had again come to wake me up, which was fine. At that point it simply felt bizarre to oversleep. This time I was presentable, so I immediately went to the door and opened it. Emilia was garbed in the same white uniform as me as she waited. She stood closely to the door in order to be shielded from the rain. I gave her a nod and closed the door behind me, swiftly locking it and turning to the street. She seemed reluctant to get back in the rain, but I had no umbrellas in my abode, meaning there was no alternative other than simply becoming drenched. I began walking towards the hospital with Emilia begrudgingly behind me. When I looked back and gave her a concerned look, she spoke. ¡°It seems like it¡¯s a downpour all the time here, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Slowing down to match her pace more, I replied with a stifled chuckle. ¡°You must not be from around here if you think this is a downpour.¡± Although her thoughts on the rain was a sure indicator, I had been wondering where Emilia came from since the moment I first saw her. She wore simple clothing and seemed much more vitality than almost anyone who had lived in the smokey slums of London. She did not have any sort of accent, but she most certainly was not a native. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± She said. ¡°I used to live in the country up north growing up. Can¡¯t say I ever got used to the big buildings and harsh rain.¡± I nodded as we continued to walk. ¡°I would have liked to visit the country. I cannot say I can imagine a place that doesn¡¯t rain every day.¡± She smiled. ¡°Well, perhaps I can show you around the countryside after we fix all of this. I have to warn you, though, it¡¯s quite boring after a while.¡± With a sigh, I replied. ¡°Boring sounds nice at this point¡­¡± To think that only a few days ago my life was the same as it always was... In any case, I enjoyed a brief walk filled with regularity. It did not feel often that I had a seemingly normal conversation. After a bit more strolling, I continued the conversation. ¡°So, what did you do in the country?¡± ¡°My parents were farmers.¡± She said. ¡°It was quite tough work, but I liked it well enough.¡± ¡®Parents were farmers?¡¯ I thought to myself. I had no right to ask such questions, and knew hardship was common in our time, but it nevertheless made my mind wander as to what could have happened. Why she would ever come to London I also pondered, although the obvious answer of seeking treatment was enough to satisfy that curiosity. ¡°Sounds interesting...¡± I said, my focus somewhat taken by the many questions I had brewed. ¡°What about you?¡± Emilia said, grabbing my attention. ¡°What about your family?¡± There was a long pause whilst I thought about what to say. I had never known my father, and very early on my mother had symptoms so debilitating that she could barely work. ¡°Well, my mother worked as a maid for a little while, but for the most part I worked for the two of us. Just different work here and there. Same as now, really.¡± She nodded. ¡°It¡¯s very nice how you care for your mother.¡± Her saying that reminded me that she knew my mother. I had forgotten that Emilia legitimately worked as a caretaker for the hospital, and not only that but as my mother¡¯s overseer specifically. ¡°Oh. Yes. Thank you.¡± My mother was not one to talk to people, and especially not one to like people, but she seemed to be at the very least comfortable with Emilia. I did not know how much she knew of my childhood, but I felt fine keeping my mouth shut for the most part. My mother had symptoms the same as me, only she did not find treatment like myself. I could barely remember her beautiful blue eyes from a time before she destroyed them¡­ It was at that time things took a turn for the worse. She was crippled, and I began being tormented by the same curse as her. Emilia noticed that she had stirred up bad memories, so she brought up a different subject. ¡°It¡¯s quite a large hospital. A lot of ground to cover.¡± ¡°It will be fine.¡± I assured. ¡°I doubt we will have to check every room. We should search the least disciplined patient¡¯s chambers first, then the caretaker¡¯s quarters, then move on from there.¡± Emilia nodded as we drew closer to the hospital. Within a few more minutes, we had reached the front gate. We followed the wall to the eastward entrance, going in through the door to Dr. Prescott¡¯s office. He was not in on that day, and neither was his receptionist, but Emilia luckily had a key to the door. From there, we could sneak in unannounced with all the other caretakers. Emilia they would not care about, but it was best that I did not have to introduce myself or conjure some lie about being a new hire. We moved through the hall with the receptionist¡¯s desk, then past the waiting room and Dr. Prescott¡¯s office door. After that, we were in a long white hallway. Letting Emilia move ahead a small bit, I checked the first door on my left. There was the bathroom I had changed in, and as promised my freshly cleaned clothes were folded on the bench. Closing the door, I quickened my pace and caught up with Emilia. We went to the end of the hallway before she turned to a door at the side. Opening it, she revealed the kitchen. It was empty and quiet, seeing as we were somewhere far between breakfast and lunch. Continuing farther, we exited the kitchen and found ourselves in the lounge. It was crowded with patients being shuffled along by their caretakers. Emilia leaned over to me and whispered. ¡°They¡¯re going to the bathhouse. We should have a good hour or so with almost every room empty.¡± I nodded and continued to wait with her. The crowd started to thin as those who needed more assistance were being taken out. One of them was my mother, being ushered by a random nurse. I stood still as she continued to walk by, only to randomly stop just after she passed me. I had been quiet... There was no way she would have known it was me she just passed¡­ If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Her head turned from side to side, as if she was inspecting the room somehow, then stopped. It seemed as though my wild suspicions were not true on that morning as she shook her head and continued with her caretaker. With a sigh, we began to move towards the sleeping quarters. There were many well-kept and tidy rooms that were very unlikely to have something hidden, but the farther back in the hall we went, the grimier each room became. The first room we searched was only slightly filthy. The bed was unmade. The desk was cluttered. There was dirt tracked on the floor. Aside from that, nothing was out of place or hidden. The next chamber was in a much worse state. The bed was turned upside down, and the desk had all its drawers pulled out and destroyed. Although extremely messy, there were no secrets to be found in that room either. Emilia closed the previous rooms door as I opened the next. It was surprisingly tidy, compared to the others. Dust gathered greatly, but the desk was clean, the chair was in place, the bed was¡­ Someone was still in bed. I shut the door, too struck with surprise to do it quietly. Emilia ran over when she heard the commotion and questioned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°They¡¯re still in there.¡± I said in a whisper. Confused, Emilia looked to the room number by the door. She searched her memory for a few moments, then spoke. ¡°I think I know who this is.¡± And that was all the clues she gave before she swung the door open. She strode into the room and went immediately towards the bed. As I followed her and was granted a better view at the person, I saw that they were perfectly awake. It was a thin and disheveled old man, with many scars on his face. He looked at the two of us silently and with a completely blank expression. I continued to glare back as I spoke. ¡°Why is he just staring?¡± It seemed as though the man was an inanimate object. His expression never changed, nor did his hand move. His empty eyes simply followed us around the room. ¡°He used to be violent.¡± Emilia said. ¡°But he was part of some new treatment. I¡¯ve heard them call it a psychosurgery. Lobotomy?¡± Such words had never been spoken around me, but I did not need an in-depth explanation to understand. There was a scar on the man¡¯s face, from his eyebrow, through his eyelid, and into the side of his nose. It was precise and surgical, like someone had cut into him to gain access to his brain. Whatever they did to him, he no longer seemed like much of a person than an organism, like a plant. Living, but only in technical sense. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here. Quickly.¡± Emilia nodded and began to search. ¡°He was an evil person, but I can¡¯t say I like whatever they did to him.¡± I decided to ask a few questions whilst I searched through his unused desk drawers. ¡°What did they do to him?¡± ¡°From what I heard, they learned that you could tamper with certain parts of the brain to change a man. There was some long story about a worker getting impaled with a railroad spike, but in the end what it all meant was that by snipping and removing certain parts of the brain you could make a violent and insane man into¡­ that.¡± She finished, gesturing to the man still paralyzed in his bed. I shook my head as I approached the door. ¡°Well, I am most certainly not a fan.¡± Emilia checked under the bed before she followed. We were both on our guard when getting within arm¡¯s reach of the patient, yet nothing happened. It was as if he were not really in his own body. She finished looking beneath the bed and stood, but once she turned her back to the man she jumped in surprise. Emilia clung against the wall as she stared at the patient in fear. After taking a moment to calm, she spoke to me. ¡°Did you hear him?¡± I tilted my head in curiosity. Due to my caution, I had kept an eye on the man the entire time we were there, and even though my vision was blurred due to my glasses I could tell that he had not parted his lips even once. Hell, I doubted he was even capable of speech after what had happened to him. ¡°What do you mean? He never spoke?¡± She swallowed her fears and crossed the man¡¯s bed to leave the room, speaking as she went. ¡°I-I thought I heard something. I hear things¡­ sometimes.¡± Closing the door, I asked no more. We were all patients of Dr. Prescott¡¯s, and we all had our own problems. I did not need help comprehending mental issues. Looking down the corridor, I saw one last room. It was at the end of the hall and unlike the other wooden doors, this one was steel. Once I reached the metal door, I saw it was held by a large brass handle with a lock. ¡°We¡¯ll need a key to enter.¡± I said. Emilia went up to the door and inspected it. ¡°This used to be the room of the patient before his surgery¡­ I think I know how to get in¡­¡± She squeezed the handle the opposite direction it was supposed to be turned and simultaneously tried to pull the door open. Nothing happened on her first pull, so she gestured for me to help. Grabbed the handle with one hand and my own wrist with the other due to a lack of room. We pulled shoulder to shoulder for a moment, and suddenly wood started to crack. Finally, the doorframe and rusty screws keeping it there bent as the deadlock simply forced its way out. With all the effort we had put into pulling the door open, we flew backward as soon as it gave way. Emilia landed with the majority of her weight landing on my chest, inadvertently knocking the wind out of me. By the time she had rolled off and I had regained my breath, I noticed my glasses had slid across the wood floor. I crawled over to them, checked for more cracks, and put them back on. When I turned around, Emilia was sitting on her knees and staring into the room, paralyzed. I moved over to her and looked through the doorway as well. With my mostly blurred vision, I could not make out the exact details, but what I did see was a copious amount of red. Slowly my fingers clutched to the rim of my glasses. If Emilia saw it, it meant it was certainly real. My protection would be of no use. Once I saw the full picture, I truly witnessed what we had come upon. The floor, walls, and ceiling of the unfurnished room were covered in blood. The gore was not in splatters, but intricately woven in cryptic symbols by the man¡¯s sanguine-soaked fingers. There were other symbols scribed in fecal matter, along with the carcasses of many rats and a scattering of human teeth about the floor¡­ The man never did open his mouth¡­ The symbols were strangely¡­ familiar¡­ The spiraling patterns of crimson looked like something all too reminiscent, and that was when it began to rush back¡­ I slowly lifted my right arm and pulled my sleeve up. The faded white scars I had gotten in the shipwreck were nearly invisible, but I could tell¡­ they were of the same nature. They did not match exactly, but the symbols were created in such a way that it was as if they were the same language. One I had never seen before¡­ One no man should ever see. The jagged hieroglyphs glowed in the cloudy luminescence of the foggy windows. I took a shaky step forward and closed the door, pulling my sleeve down afterward. Whoever created that was most certainly not taking medication. I closed my eyes and tried to forget what I had just seen, but it was imprinted on my mind. The longer I kept my eyelids shut, the more the faint blue orbs of color in the blackness started to twist into shapes now familiar. Immediately as they did, I opened my eyes and put the glasses back on. Things were tolerable, but my heart still beat deep in my chest. I had but one question on my mind. ¡°H-H-How did you know to open that door?¡± I stuttered. Emilia replied, saying. ¡°The man in his room¡­ When I heard him speak¡­ He told me how¡­¡± And to think I believed I could run from the things haunting me, even for a little while. Earlier that morning I thought that things felt somewhat normal, even¡­ It reminded me of the words spoken by the horrid, smiling, creature attached to the shadows in my bedroom wall. The spoken colors of the glowing orb regurgitated from its gullet. The very simple fact it had conveyed to me¡­ You cannot run from what¡¯s inside. Fine wine and hard drugs A deep breath in. A deep breath out. I sat on the edge of a cobblestone wall, looking upon a crowd of passersby. From my seat, I could see the suffocating funnels of large buildings and tight alleys surrounding me. I imagined grassy plains. Open waters. Anything different from the claustrophobic rat maze that I lived in. Yet, no matter how deeply I wished, I remained where I was. The rain had reduced itself to a light mist as the sun lowered deep into the burning orange horizon. Once Emilia and I were done with our work, I went out to breathe, and for hours I sat in the same spot. It was about to turn to nightfall, which meant whatever next that was in store for me was soon to occur. From my perch I could see my apartment door, so I was unbothered over the chance at missing whoever needed me next. Eventually, the sun plummeted deep into the horizon, and the gas streetlamps began to burn. In the distance I saw a familiar carriage turn from the main road and stop at my front door. It seemed as though Hughes was next. I stood from my seat and jogged to the carriage. The driver nodded as I went to the door. Opening it brought me face to face with Hughes, as expected. He wore a fine tuxedo, accompanied with a monocle and golden pocket watch. Whatever hair he hadn¡¯t tore out in his fits of lunacy was slicked back with pomade, and his thin mustache was neatly kept. In his hands he held a large, thin, rectangle shroud in paper wrappings. Climbing into the vehicle, I questioned the old man. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Hughes dug into a bag sitting on the floor as he answered. ¡°We¡¯re meeting an old¡­ well, used to be¡­ friend of mine. He has access to one of the key ingredients.¡± After a bit of rummaging, Hughes found what he had been searching for, a fine bristle brush. ¡°He is a man of very refined taste. Comb that rat¡¯s nest of yours.¡± I obliged, only to have the brush cling to the many knots in my messy hair immediately. I was not one for pampering, and as such my chin-length hair usually stayed as a messy brown tangle. With some effort and a considerable amount of pulled hair, though, the brush began to move. I spoke as I continued with my painstaking work. "Go on." Hughes explained the situation further. ¡°His name is Ren¨¦ Paquet, although he is most recently known as Le Rongeur by his buyers. I lived within France in my youth to study the arts, and Paquet was a fellow student in the university I attended. We had great ambitions together, and I promised him we would start a business as artists once I moved back to London.¡± Continuing to brush, I asked him. ¡°And what happened?¡± Hughes moved his hand idly to his other, beginning to scratch and pick at his nails. ¡°The symptoms came¡­ I could not hold a brush, nor a thought. I abandoned my ambition, along with my friend, and inherited the claim I had in my father¡¯s business¡­¡± He swallowed, thinking about what he had said. ¡°But why am I telling you this? The important thing to remember is that he is a very influential narcotics dealer now, one of the only people who might be able to help us procure the compound we need.¡± I simply nodded and continued to brush my hair. We were already nearing the north side of the city, where most men of higher stature resided. My hair was as presentable as I could hope it to be by the time the carriage came to a halt. From his eyes, I could tell Hughes wished I would take off my broken glasses, but he seemed to sense that was not a request that would be accepted. Hughes clutched to his paper-wrapped rectangle and got out of the carriage, with me following soon after. As I rounded the transport, I beheld a manor of magnificent proportions. It had a courtyard, dozens of rooms, and an expertly tended garden, all in the very center of London. I could barely fathom the amount of money it would cost to upkeep the entire property, let alone buy it. Hughes urged me to come with him, and so I did. We crossed the courtyard on our way to the front door, viewing the many perfectly sheered shrubberies. Passing two large columns, we came to the enormous front door. It opened without the need for us to so much as knock. A butler in a grey suit closed the doors behind us, silently leading us up a large set of stairs and towards an oval room. In this room were two large, cushioned chairs, a large ebony desk, and a very overweight gentleman sitting at said ebony desk. Le Rongeur spoke, and for a man of his immense size, I was completely unprepared to hear him speak in an artificially high-pitched tone. ¡°Monsieur Hughes¡­ and¡­ ehhh¡­¡± He said, looking upon me. ¡°Chatwood.¡± I mumbled out, biting my lip to keep a smile from forming. If I had to guess, due to an overuse of drugs that passed through the throat, he had gained some sort of disease or disfunction that damaged his vocal cords. In any case, the symptoms of his drug use were near-comical in nature. Hughes and I sat in our chairs as Le Rongeur waved away his butler. ¡°Apportez-nous la marchandise de haute qualit¨¦.¡± The fat criminal looked over both of us for a long while. I had resorted to resting part of my face on my hand to shroud my mouth. The overtly pompous and intimidating atmosphere of this man¡¯s estate was bar to none. His renown as a city-feared narcotics distributer shadowed over us both¡­ until¡­ he was simply a fat man with a child¡¯s voice and an overbearing accent. He then spoke in a mix of frustration and expectation, adding more humor to his persona. ¡°Alfred, why is that waif so pale?¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Similarly frustrated, Hughes responded. ¡°He is¡­ always like that¡­ he is of poor health¡­¡± I realized that although the moments where I found humor were few, I would have to swallow the chuckle I stifled. Le Rongeur may have been a comedic man, but our situation was more serious than ever. Hughes used his explanation as a segue. ¡°We are both of poor health. Worse than you know¡­¡± Le Rongeur shifted in his seat with pursed lips. ¡°And why should I care? You have been ¡®of poor health¡¯ for a very long time. The only reason I accepted your company was because you wanted to make a purchase, and I was promised a significant purchase at that.¡± ¡°I know¡­ I know¡­¡± Hughes said as he moved the rectangular object from his hands to beside his seat. ¡°And it will be a worthwhile trade, on my honor¡­ It is just¡­¡± Le Rongeur leaned in. ¡°What?¡± As Hughes uncomfortably began to speak, the butler reemerged, a saucer in hand. On the silver plate was a bizarre smoking pipe filled with a steamy liquid. It looked as if it were a glass vase with a rubber hose connected to it, along with an ornate brass mouthpiece to breath in from. The butler offered it first to Hughes, who hesitantly took the mouthpiece and inhaled what I guessed to be opium. After he had his fill, the butler turned to me, but I simply held my hand out. Before my mother was institutionalized and I began treatment with Dr. Prescott, I had tried to stay the visions with every manner of drug I could acquire. Yet every single time I took such things, my visions would become immensely worse. Ever since I moved past that dark age in my teens, I had kept myself to alcohol and nicotine, aside from the cocktail of ingredients Dr. Prescott manufactured. The butler moved from me to Le Rongeur, who gladly accepted the drugs. After that, as would be expected of any fabulously wealthy host, came another butler with another saucer, this time with three glasses of deep red wine. Hughes accepted his, I accepted mine, and Le Rongeur accepted his. A few sips of the undoubtedly expensive drink and the formalities were over. Hughes could finally continue with his plea. ¡°As for earlier¡­¡± Hughes began, scratching at his wrist. ¡°I have a very fair trade in store¡­ it is just¡­ we are not looking to purchase a product, but rather a compound¡­ Papaver somniferum.¡± Le Rongeur shifted in his seat. ¡°That is a very potent thing you ask for mon ami¡­¡± ¡°I know¡­ I know¡­¡± Hughes started, yet he took a brief pause to sit his wine on the floor, completely consuming his hands within themselves. Scratching. Tearing. I could see in his bloodshot eyes and fidgeting legs that the drugs he took had done him no favors. I was surprised he could even string together a sentence with how bloody his hands were quickly becoming. ¡°I just¡­ We¡­ Trust me¡­¡± Standing in fury, Le Rongeur shouted. He spoke in a loud and dramatic voice, as if he had planned his words long before he spoke them. ¡°Trust you!? I left my home because of your promises of opportunity in London. Yet once I get here, you disappear. You take your inheritance and leave me with no wealth nor way home for decades, enfoir¨¦¡­¡± He then waved his hands across the room. ¡°I made this. I built it from nothing! No thanks to you!¡± Hughes had completely regressed. He had broken out in a sweat, and his hand was clutching the other. ¡°T-Trust me¡­¡± He pleaded again as his hand drifted to the other¡¯s fingernails. He began to pick at the sides and pull at them as Le Rongeur shouted out. ¡°Trust you!? You have broken my trust once, and do not think I will be fooled again! All I must do to have you killed is scream, do you understand!¡± As he said that, I felt multiple sets of footsteps begin to clamber up the stairs behind us. Things were beginning to hit a boiling point. I looked to Hughes to say something, anything, but instead he pulled more. I could see his long and yellowish fingernail slowly begin to rip from the flesh. Blood soon began to spout as skin tore and the nail was bent completely backward. Once it was ripped backward, Hughes did not stop. In his stress he twisted the nail, causing it to revoltingly release from the matrix of skin beneath. Hughes was of no help. If we wanted to live, I had to take hold of the situation. ¡°Look!¡± I said, gaining the fat man¡¯s attention. ¡°If we do not have that ingredient, we shall all die! Before you do anything, at least see what we have brought to offer you!¡± The footsteps behind us were getting closer, causing me to rush towards the paper-wrapped rectangle. I tore the brown covering from the object and revealed what Hughes had brought as payment. It was a painting, one with a gold encrusted frame. The painting was of a person, or at least I believed it was. It was not a horrifying portrait, but one made in complete and utter distaste. It looked as though it was misshapen old woman, covered in wrinkles and warts, veiled in a gaudy dress with a terrifying abundance of cleavage. It was like some sort of horrible homunculus made from a man and an orangutan ape. It burnt the eyes to merely behold. ¡®We¡¯re dead¡¯ I thought to myself. Surprisingly, Le Rongeur staired in amazement at the disgusting painting. Quietly, he whispered. ¡°la duchesse laide¡­¡± The guards arrived at the door, only for Le Rongeur to scream unintelligibly at them whilst shooing them. Le Rongeur did not like the painting¡­ For some God forsaken reason, he loved it. ¡°I will provide you with what you want¡­ just¡­ bring her here¡­¡± I cautiously moved forward and sat the painting on his desk. He looked upon it, inspecting every brushstroke. Taking a few strides backward, I began to finalize the deal. ¡°Take the ingredient to St. Dymphna¡¯s mental hospital. The back entrance. Bring as much as you can bear without getting caught¡­¡± The obese art collector nodded, leaving me to turn to Hughes. He was in a bad state, needing my assistance to so much as stand. Le Rongeur spoke as we began to leave. ¡°Alfred¡­¡± Hughes looked up at him as he continued. ¡°Never show your face here again.¡± Hughes could barely sputter out an ¡°O-Ok¡­¡± as we began to rush out the doors. Mere inches away from being shot in the back of the head, but for some reason we had made it out in the end. There was never a time where I was more grateful not to be a rich man, nor deal with them on a regular basis. Though done by unsure, unwise, and completely unsteady footing, we had gotten one step closer to our goal. Old friends and new hardships The rain had subsided, leaving nothing but an eerie fog consuming the city. My hands grasped the slick metal bars of the shoddy ladder as Bradley and I continued upward. ¡°Not much longer.¡± He spoke. Once I finally reached the top, I took in the surroundings. We had placed ourselves at the roof of a bank, as it was one of the few buildings in town that had a flat cover with places to keep ourselves concealed. In the distance, lights pierced through the fog. A shipyard was barely visible, with dock workers moving crates and securing vessels. There were rumors that the harbor men kept themselves a portion of whatever was being moved from the river to the warehouses. It was Bradley and I¡¯s directive to find out if that rumor were true. If it was, then they would have all the missing ingredients we needed. Drugs were moved about the city so frequently that it would take far too long to try and procure the compounds we needed from every seller, not to mention the fact that buying ingredients and not the finished product was a difficult thing to do. Our greatest hope relied on acquiring the precursors at the beginning of their journey. We settled in, preparing for a long night. I was somewhat glad to be tasked with watching the warehouses. I would not have been able to sleep anyways, and having company kept my mind from wandering to the growing shadows in the corner of my vision. Keeping my distance from the multiple puddles that had formed on the roof, I found a place to sit. There was no way I could stand for the entirety of our time watching the warehouses, but I did intend to keep my clothes relatively clean. It was not often they were properly washed. I took off my glasses and kept focus on the shipyard. I had become somewhat used to the monocles; Taking them off reminded me of how little I really saw with them on. ¡°Looks like they have yet to finish with their regular work.¡± Bradley moved beside me and laid on the ground, looking up at the cloudy sky as he dug in his pockets. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it, mate. We¡¯ve got a long while before they do anything interesting, I¡¯d bet.¡± Sitting my elbow on the low brick wall on the edge of the roof, I shifted my weight until I was comfortable. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. It feels like it should be later than it is.¡± Finally finding the pack of cigarettes in his dusty coat pocket, Bradley opened the cardboard box. The container already had multiple cigarettes smoked, and in their places Bradley had stuffed a few matches. ¡°You¡¯ve had a longer day than me, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Beginning to light his cig, he continued. ¡°How did that deal with Hughes go anyhow? I was talking to Price about all the things we needed to get, and he mentioned something about you two already covering some of it.¡± ¡°It went about as well as one would expect. I thought I had problems, but Hughes is within a different class of his own.¡± Bradley shook the cigarette package, to which I nodded, prompting him to retrieve another. ¡°I feel bad for him, yet I cannot tolerate the grotesque torture he puts himself through. Especially when it nearly kills the both of us.¡± Lighting my cigarette with the red bud of his own, Bradley handed it over and responded. ¡°He¡¯s got problems, that¡¯s for sure¡­ At least his money¡¯s been helpful.¡± I took a deep breath in, then spoke as I breathed out. ¡°Very true. We would not have been able to succeed without his high society connections, either...¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Bradley said, smoking and staring at the grey clouds above us. We continued in silence for a long while. The workers still did nothing but anchor ships and move obviously benign cargo back and forth. Hughes was a difficult person, but at the very least his troublesomeness was at the forefront of his image. We all had things wrong with us, and the most taxing question on my mind is what brought the others to the help of Dr. Prescott. Hughes was simple enough to read from the cover. I had known Bradley for years. Emilia seemed good intentioned, and Price seemed reliable, but both had to have something beneath the surface I just couldn¡¯t see. What happened to Emilia¡¯s parents? Is ¡®salvage¡¯ the only illegitimate business Price has a hand in? I spoke my mind to Bradley. ¡°We have a strange team formulated, and I don¡¯t know if I think anyone is fully sane. I still believe I see us for who we are though, which in the end is good people, don¡¯t you think?¡± My words may have seemingly come from nowhere, but that sentiment had been on my mind for a long while. The things we did¡­ it did not feel good. I had killed two men in the past two days. I had nearly died more than that¡­ But what could I do? It was not like I chose to be burdened with my visions. ¡°I think you¡¯re right¡­¡± Bradley said. Then, in little more than a whisper, Bradley spoke again. ¡°Of course, you see them for who they really are. You¡¯re the witness, after all.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the¡­ what?¡± Unaware of the words he said, Bradley questioned me back. ¡°What? I said I think you¡¯re right.¡± I shook my head and sighed. ¡°Nothing¡­ You were just saying things again.¡± ¡°Oh. Sorry¡­¡± Although sometimes confusing, I wished I had whatever condition plagued Bradley. He spoke without thinking, and it was always falsely cryptic. He had lost relationships, jobs, and his place at a university for it, but it was better than seeing things in the shadows. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I had no intention of delving deeper into the sentiments spoken by him, though. After all that had happened with Hughes, I wanted my brief respite. A long moment passed before Bradley started a different subject. ¡°You know¡­ I¡¯m sorry about the boat.¡± I did not expect, nor want, to talk about the boat, but Bradley apologizing was enough to make me curious. ¡°Hmm?¡± Bradley sat up, eyes in the distance. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I feel like if I had tried to find another way to get in you wouldn¡¯t have had to go through all that.¡± Stoically, I shook my head. ¡°There was nothing you could do. There was no entrance other than that one, and the metal couldn¡¯t be bent.¡± I felt the bandaged wound on my back. It was a deep gash, one that would stay with me for a while. It¡¯s scar even longer. The longest lasting scar, though, was what I saw and did in that place¡­ Yet I knew not to delve into such things. If my mind began the spiral of thought that was the maddening appearance of those abominations, it would consume all focus from me. I had already slightly begun to lapse into my disassociated state of mind when Bradley spoke. ¡°Well, thanks.¡± He slowly lowered himself to laying down once more. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine having to swim in that choking black water.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather not discuss it.¡± And with that statement, we fell into silence. A few minutes of smoking would pass before we began to talk again, but it was only about trivial matters, such as stores closing and new ones opening. Which fish were finer quality to buy that week. Things that made me miss having a semi-normal existence. About thirty minutes and six cigarettes later, most of the workers had finally begun to disperse. All that remained was a suspicious few, all circling around a single warehouse. I raised my head and called for Bradley, who groaned to his knees and looked with me. The workers unchained the large doors from one another and began pulling them open, revealing numerous wooden crates. All of them looked the same, but I was sure there had to be some way of telling them apart from one another. The only way to tell, though, was to get closer. ¡°We have to go down¡­¡± I said. Bradley flicked the cigarette between his fingers into a puddle whilst I extinguished it against the brick wall, then we both hurried down the ladder and quickened towards the shipyard. After ducking through a short alley, we came across the large wooden fence that separated the streets from the warehouses. The main gate was chained and locked, but there was a side door. The door itself was also locked, but only from the inside, leading Bradley to clasp his hands together and squat. ¡°C¡¯mon then. No way you¡¯re lifting me.¡± I placed my foot in his hands and began to reach for the top of the fence. With Bradley¡¯s help, I was easily able to grasp the wooden boards. Whether I was able to pull myself up was a completely different story, though. I had a tight grip, but there was no upper body strength available to lift me to the other side. Bradley had to grab the bottom of my dangling shoes and push, and with his help by bringing me I was barely able to straddle the wooden boards. Getting to my feet on the other side was much easier, and in a moment I had pulled the wooden hatch and opened the door for Bradley. Bradley spoke as we began to move quietly forward. ¡°Price should have his boat somewhere close by¡­ All we need is a chance to get a good look at the things and just wait for them to leave.¡± We continued through the courtyard and by several warehouses until we reached the one in question. Slowly approaching from the back, we could hear the dock workers talk. They went on with ambient ramblings about their homelife and interests. Nothing that would hint to the crates they kept secret. Eventually a different sound rang out through the chatter. A bell, that of a ship. I highly doubted Price would make such a foolish noise and let our presence be known, which meant that there had to be another boat. The shipyard was closed, though, leading to only one thing¡­ ¡°Damn boxes are too heavy.¡± Said one worker. ¡°Yeah, but we either move it or lose it. We¡¯re gettin¡¯ too well known, and I¡¯d rather move everything than have hoodlums take it.¡± Shit. Soon it would not matter if we knew which boxes were which. We had visited the cartel on their moving day. I looked back to Bradley, who looked panicked and out of ideas. We slowly moved to the back of the warehouse and began going through the alley between it and the fence. Carefully creeping closer to the docks, I could see the boat they planned to use. The ship was even smaller than Price¡¯s, but it was large enough to be steam powered. Such speed meant there was no way Bradley or I could keep up with it from shore. ¡°What do we do?¡± Bradley said, looking about wildly. I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­ We cannot just take a crate and run. We have to know what¡¯s inside¡­¡± The workers appeared in the light, causing us to retreat farther behind the warehouse wall we had been using as cover. Past the fog, I could see them pushing a large cluster of boxes in a wagon. They moved that cart on to their little boat and immediately retreated to the warehouse. I could hear the large doors being closed and locked tight once more. All the crates had been successfully moved in a single trip... I looked to Bradley, and we shared a similar expression. We knew there was but only one option left¡­ We waited for the men to get back on the boat and secure the ramp they had used for moving the wagon on board. The secluded themselves in the cabin as the ship began to chug forward. After a brief moment of heavy breathing and preparations, we both broke into a sprint. Before the ship had gotten far from the dock, we jumped to the wooden ledge. The two of us hadn¡¯t enough speed to fully clear the ridge, and instead we were both left dangling on the side of the boat. Bradley was high enough to simply shift his weight, but I was completely extended. I looked down at the brackish water below, fear brewing deep in my gut as my heart fluttered. My phobia of the water was still as potent as ever. The deeply rooted desire of not wanting to touch the water was enough to bring me more strength. My wet shoes squeaked on the wooden boat as I clambered higher with all the effort I could muster. The adrenaline I had conjured at the sight of the water was enough to bring me over the railing of the boat and on to the deck. Just as I began to catch my breath, the door to the cabin creaked open, leading me to jump for cover behind the wagon. I heard the men deliberating over what the noise of us jumping on board could have been, but ultimately deciding it was simply a crate that had toppled to one side and not to worry about it. Bradley shuffled out from his hiding place under the wagon to beside me. We had successfully boarded the ship as stowaways, but there was just a single problem that rang out in the forefront of my mind¡­ What now? Impromptu piracy Bradley and I caught our breath behind the cover of the carriage. The cheap ship rocked back and forth with every wave that crashed against its hull. From the voices and my memory, I made out three different sailors. Two handlers, and one navigator. We were being hastily propelled further down the river Thames, the only ship in an empty port. It had to be obvious to Price that this ship was harboring the drugs, and if he had any sense about him I would bet that he had already begun to follow us. The only problem was how we transported the crates. Waiting until we get to wherever the sailors have chosen to drop off the goods was a bad idea. We would have many more people to deal with. Yet, we couldn''t easily move a wagon full of drugs from one boat to another without someone noticing. The only other option was to dump the crates in the water and hoped they floated, but we had already seen was the murky river did to precious cargo. In any case, there was no clear route for Bradley and I to take other than waiting. Bradley sighed. ¡°Well. This certainly could have gone better.¡± ¡°Indeed, it could have¡­¡± I said, peering past the side of the wagon to view the sailors. They were talking and jeering with one another. I had confidence that they would not hear any amount of talking if we kept ourselves adequately quiet. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest¡­¡± Bradley spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any way to get what we need. Better to just find a place to hide and get off when we can.¡± I could see that Bradley had concerns, with good reason. We could not move the cargo, and we could not commandeer the ship. Begging would be of no use, either. If these men knew that we had caught them, we were as good as dead to keep their secret safe. With a nod, I began to look around for places to hide. The ship was small and barren, with nothing but the cabin and the wagon. There was a steam engine taking up what had to be the entirety of below the deck. It seemed fruitless, but we had no other option than to look. I was certainly not going to swim back. As I surveyed the ship, something began to emerge from the fog. The mist above the river was so thick that no one had noticed Price¡¯s ship speeding forwards with its lights off. It was on a clear collision course, and something told me it was not an accident. Bradley and I jumped to one side of the ship as the two crashed into one another. The casual conversation between the sailors turned to cursing and shouting in an instant. The wood cracked as steel bent. The engine of our boat was quickly shut off as the anchor was hastily dropped. Without hesitation, Price emerged from the cabin of his boat and jumped to the other ship, pistol in hand. Two of the three sailors ran to the deck, not noticing Bradley or I. They charged at Price, the first immediately falling to the ground as a shot fired from Price¡¯s pistol. The second slammed into Price before he had a chance to fire again. Price was kept pinned against the railing of the ship as the sailor wrestled for his pistol. Bradley was mumbling to himself anxiously as I watched, paralyzed with the shock of all that had suddenly happened. The pistol fired again, the missed shot piercing through the fog in the distance. With enough struggle, the firearm was relinquished and dropped overboard. Seeing that he was now unarmed, the sailor let go of Price and quickly jumped backward. In the time it took Price to get his footing, the sailor had drawn a small knife from his pocket. It may have been unimpressive, but any weapon was a significant advantage in their alteration. Price reached down to his boot, trying to gain purchase of the knife he also kept. He was interrupted by the sailor, who already had a head start. The man may not have been as strong as Price, but he had an advantage in height and a solid padding of fat. He was not overweight enough to be substantially slow, only enough to let his weight contest with Prices when they struggled to keep their footing. The sailor charged Price with the blade, leaving Price no choice but to forgo drawing his weapon and to instead brace for impact. They collided, and in a moment they were both on the ground. My heart beat faster and faster, yet my legs would not move. Bradley, however, had regained control of himself and began sprinting towards the fight. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Price¡¯s forearms were bleeding strongly as he held the knife between his hands. The sailor struggled to get on top of him, all the while shifting the knife and cutting at his wrists. There was no other option for him, though. If Price were to let go, he would be dead. Bradley immediately kicked the man as he arrived, sending the plump sailor tumbling a few paces away. Price took his opportunity to reach into his boot and retrieve his knife while Bradley kept the sailor preoccupied. I decided I had to help. The violence was a lot to view, but at that point, it was either them or us. Trying to stand was shaky and troublesome. Not only was I still completely caught off guard, but the ship was still thrusting back and forth from the impact Price had made. As soon as I gained my footing, though, I was brought straight back to the ground. Something very heavy and metal had just hit the side of my head¡­ That was when I remembered the third sailor¡­ I looked up to see the sweaty and grizzled man, clutching to a broken pipe. His eyes were wild and red, and he frothed at the mouth like an animal. I hadn¡¯t noticed anything from the other sailors due to my glasses, but now that they had been knocked off it was evident they had been partaking in the drugs they smuggled before Price¡¯s assault. I scurried backward as the sailor stomped forward. His boot landed on my glasses, shattering them beyond reasonable repair, although that was the least of my concerns as he reeled back the metal pipe. He brought the pipe down, and although exceedingly strong in his inebriated rage, he was wildly inaccurate. The bar clashed against the metal deck as I tried to gain as much distance between us as possible. With a great bit of reluctance, I turned away from the sailor to get on my feet. He was able to respond quicker than I could stand, though, and in a moment I felt a sharp pain in my back and a force that brought me prone. I purposely waited a fraction of a moment before I flipped over, hoping that I would throw off his aim. That I did, but he still made contact. My shoulder was still much more preferred than my head. My hands had the urge to reach for the revolver at the small of my back, but I knew that if I did not use all the energy I had at evading, my skull would be split open like a hen¡¯s egg. The pain in the back of my head was already catching up to me, and I could see a trail of black liquid glistening against the ship¡¯s lights. I was lightheaded, but I had no option but to save the injury inspection for a later date. The sailor looked furious as he loomed over me, his body convulsing in rage. He dropped his pipe and unexpectedly pounced me. He was right on top of me, and I had no strength to keep him away. His hands moved to my throat, and mine instinctively moved to his. My windpipe clamped shut as the familiar sense of suffocation flowed through me. I realized my strength was nothing compared to his, and there was no way I could feasibly move his hands. Instead, I began to claw at his face. My thumbs moved to his eyes, looking to dig in, although I found nothing as his grip grew continually tighter. It was like being stuck underwater all over again, except instead of a slow, creeping, deprivation, it was being actively squeezed out of me. My hands were not inflicting any significant pain to him, especially with how consumed by the drugs he was. A very unfortunate side effect to our timing. Defending myself was hopeless, I decided. The only thing I could do at that point was squirm and make as many sounds as possible in hopes of catching Bradley or Price¡¯s attention. My vision began to fade as the drunken sailor let out a frothy smile, letting his overabundance of drool drip down in strings. My face was hot with stagnating blood as I began to lose control of my appendages. A deep marching beat drummed out in my chest as my heart fluttered. It felt like I was weightless as I heard a different thumping rhythm than my own heart. Price stomped against the deck as he charged at the sailor, tackling him and relinquishing me from his chokehold. Bradley ran to me as Price furiously and repeatedly stabbed the sailor with the same knife that almost killed him. Whatever happened in their fight with the second sailor, it seemed to be a success. I caught my breath while Price dealt with the drugged man. He did not hesitate to throw the corpse off the side of the boat. Once I regained my sense of thought, a surge of emotions ran through me. Disgust at the things we had done. Shame at how uselessly I defended myself. And guilt at not assisting the others. Bradley was going on some long tangent on whether I was all right, but I did not have the energy to respond. Price looked through the wagon, taking count of the crates. I could not decide if his decisions were idiotic or our only choice, but in the end, it had worked. I felt dizzy, and my hair felt wet with blood. Price and Bradley worked on getting the ships to shore while I focused on staying awake. They raised the anchors and tried pushing them apart. My eyes became heavy at the time they finally separated the two ships. Price ushered me onto his since it was the least damaged. The other ship was surely sinking, but not at a rate that would keep it from getting to land first. I went inside the cabin and sat next to the boiler, which kept me safe from the February cold. My eyes became even heavier, and the world became distant¡­ Surely resting them for just a moment would not hurt¡­ Besides, we succeeded. We had gotten everything we needed. Things can finally go back to normal¡­ I thought to myself as I drifted to sleep... Wakey wakey Wakey wakey. The time to act is now. What first came back was the sound of rain tapping against glass. Then, the feeling of a soft mattress came to my senses as my nervous system sparked alight. I was alive, awake, and not in my own bed. My eyes burnt as I opened them, revealing the room surrounding me. I was in a bedroom in St. Dymphna¡¯s hospital. The same layout as the patients were in. Did I really hit my head that badly? I thought to myself. Pushing myself up, I noticed that I felt¡­ Good. Excellent, even. Whereas I would have expected to be in pain from my injuries and weak from exhaustion, I felt well fed and healthy. Rather than how badly I hit my head, I wondered how long have I been here? What happened? I grasped the covers to get out of bed to notice I had gained weight. So much so that I could tell by simply viewing my fingers, which were no longer pale white and skeleton-esque, but somewhat flushed with color and more regular in size. Continuing out of bed and towards my window, I viewed my own reflection. I was ghastly thin, still, but I was no longer starving, at the very least. Although that was a blessing, I also noticed the dark shadows under my eyes were deeper than ever. Outside the window was the courtyard of the hospital. Rain poured down harshly, and the black clouds blotted the sun so greatly that I could barely see. My self-collection was brought to an abrupt stop as my door began to creak open. Quickly swiveling on my heels, I saw a caretaker walk in. He carried a single glass cup with a clear liquid in it. ¡°Good morning, Chatwood.¡± He said, nonchalantly. He walked towards me, extending the glass. I looked at him confusedly, which made him respond. ¡°Come on. Take your medicine.¡± Part of me wanted to ask countless questions. Clarify where I was. Figure out what had happened¡­ But my instincts spoke to the contrary. I wondered if I had cracked. If I had truly lost it and been taken in... Whatever the answer was, I felt the need to figure it out with subtlety. Quietly, I took the glass. The clear liquid smelled like the most potent alcohol I had ever come upon, with a distinct alkalotic scent hidden underneath. I swung the cup back and filled my mouth with the foul liquid. The caretaker continued to watch me, making sure I swallowed. He raised his brow afterward, leading me to open my mouth and show that I had consumed his vile concoction. The caretaker nodded, took the cup, and left. I immediately felt disoriented and lightheaded, but I tried my best to keep my wits about me. Once I believed the coast to be clear, I threw open the window and released the stormy weather into my room. Rain instantly drenched me as I leaned over the railing and jabbed my fingers to the back of my throat. The need to regurgitate rose, and I gladly coerced it further by rocking forward. In a moment, I had spewed the viscous, frothy, vomit in the shrubberies below. Whatever that liquid was, it was not my usual medication¡­ As for my usual medication¡­ I could feel the engulfing blackness crawling further into my peripheral vision¡­ From that I knew I was sober. My body had no medication circulating through it. Nothing between me and them. A bell was ringing in the distance, along with incoherent yelling. My guess was that it was breakfast. I had to keep from giving myself away, which meant going to eat with all the other patients. How I would excuse the state of myself, dripping wet with rainwater, was more difficult. The only thing I had the time to do was quickly dry myself with the frayed bedsheets I had bundled at the foot of the bed when I awoke. After that, I made my way to the lounge. There was a long line of patients, all shuffling toward a single server at a window to the kitchen. I picked a tray and got in the line. I noticed I was not wearing my usual clothing, but a plain white shirt and trousers. Not a button up shirt and fitted pants like the caretakers, but something akin to being draped in a burlap sack. The food came, and it was a grotesquely over-aged assortment of oats, fruits, and a single sliver of dried meat. I had to keep my strength, so I consumed the meal in its entirety. As I did, I watched the sunken faces of those around me. Every single time I had seen the patients before, they seemed somewhat unsettling, but for the most part calm. Now that I saw clearly and without alteration, I noticed them weep and fidget and pick and gnaw upon themselves in anxiety. The hospital had changed, and for the worse. After my meal was finished, I continued to watch the mumbling, anguished, patients. In the crowd, I made out a familiar face. Bradley wandered with the group, his eyes wide and twitching from place to place as if he were lost. I got up and made my way to him, shoving past the waves of zombified ill. Once he was within distance, I whispered to him. ¡°Bradley? Bradley?¡± He did not look at me, instead continuing to wander. He was mumbling as he walked, but I had not the ability to hear what he said. Getting closer and putting my hand on his shoulder, he finally raised his voice enough for me to make out the incomprehensible jargon he recited. ¡°Ul¡¯roth N¡¯tho C¡¯thelo¡­¡± he continued speaking in the unknown language as my hand fell from his shoulder and he continued on his way. I had no familiarity of the words themselves, but the cadence of his speech was eerily nostalgic¡­ That was no matter at the moment, though. The important knowledge I had garnered was that Bradley was incapacitated, and my guess was whatever medicine they tried to give me would do the same. Instead of following Bradley, I made my way to where I remembered the exit to be. A deep feeling of dread brewed in my stomach along with the rotten flesh and stale oats. I continued to push past the patients, forcing my way closer. With each person I had to move, I grew more rushed to escape. I had no idea what locks or security awaited me, but I knew I could find a way around them. It took only a moment after that to get near the door. Yet before I could release myself from the depressing crowd of lunatics, I came across another familiar face. Emilia sat in one of the old armchairs, her head leaned back as she stared into space. I knew it had to have been fruitless, but nevertheless I had to try getting her attention. Walking up to her, I kneeled to eye-level. Surprisingly, Emilia lowered her gaze to meet mine, keeping our gazes interlocked with some sense of intelligence behind it. In a hushed voice, I spoke. ¡°Emilia? It¡¯s Chatwood. Theodore. Do you remember me?¡± In a startlingly loud voice, Emilia responded. ¡°WHAT?¡± I nearly jumped from my skin as faces turned to look at us both. Footsteps approached rapidly. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. With no other option, I jumped to my feet and tried to merge with the crowd. It was mostly successful by the time two caretakers pushed through the mindless patients. One of the workers, lurching and thin, spoke to her in an impatient tone. ¡°What is it now???¡± Emilia calmly followed everyone else¡¯s gaze to the workers, in which she responded at the same ear-piercing volume. ¡°WHAT? I CAN¡¯T HEAR YOU PAST THE SCREAMING.¡± The two workers shifted in their posture upon hearing such things, as did I. They timidly backed into the crowd to return to their stations as they decided nothing was wrong, and I walked deeper into the mob. Finally, I got to the exit. I could hear rain crashing against the cobblestone path as I found the door to be¡­ open¡­. Not only that, but the gate outside was also open. There was no security or precautions set in place whatsoever. If one wanted to brave the rain and exit, they could easily do so. My feet began to move forward, yet as I came upon the doorway I paused. My friends were in there, completely helpless. I still knew nothing about how I even got there. I had not even seen Hughes or Price, and I knew that the police would not assist and escaped insane asylum patient¡­ I could not leave. Not without the others. Reluctantly, I retreated from the exit. I had to figure out exactly what had happened since I hit my head, and there was but one person I thought could provide some information¡­ Shuffling through the crowd, I went to the back of the lounge, and eventually broke off into the hall that led to our rooms. There was a caretaker roaming the hall, making sure each respective patient went to their own chambers. He allowed me to walk back to my own, as many other people did after breakfast, except I needed to go even farther. I waited for a good half hour so my face would not be fresh on his mind, then I creaked open my door. The black stormclouds blotted out almost all light, making the caretaker, or guard, pace the halls with a candle. He was easy to spot, which made me confident I could time myself well. First, I waited for him to traverse past my room towards the lounge, then I would be able to make some distance between us. When he left and I fully emerged into the hallway, I felt a sense of dread looking in the shadows. It became so dark that I could not fully see the end, and it reminded me of the depths of the sunken ship. Nevertheless, I continued. After a few seconds of moving down the hall, I began to feel as if I was not making any progress whatsoever. The candlelight behind me crept ever closer, yet I had no ability to move forward. For each step I took, the hall only became longer. The infinite depths of the corridor continued to grow as I broke out into a sprint, hoping to overcome my position locked in space. The speed helped nothing as the hallway continued. The light behind me grew closer. I was going to get caught if I did not move more hastily. Exerting all the energy I could into my legs, I sped further down the infinity-loop. Doors of countless numbers and exactly similar features flew by as I began to pant in exhaustion. Dozens upon dozens passed until no more doors appeared from the blackness. I tried to slow my descent into the abyss, but I had dedicated too much momentum. In a moment, I was engulfed in the blackness. When I looked back, the doors were no longer present. I could sense nothing of my surroundings but an enormous sense of space. Never before had my entire surroundings changed. Never before had I become trapped in a vision all around me¡­ I decided to run back to the direction I thought I had came, although it was more a guess than anything. I ran, and ran, and ran, never finding the end. At that point, I wished I had been found by the guard and his candlelight. It was so dark, yet not the kind of blackness that kept myself from seeing my own hands. I wished I had some light to pierce the darkness, although in my gut I knew such things would not help with the type of shadow I was in. No time to sit and wish. I had to keep running. I sprint forth, and without warning I rammed into a metal structure. The back of my head spiked in pain as the front made collision with the large metal door. The knock brought my wits about me, and the real world materialized once more. My collision was with a thick, locked, metal door at the very end of the hall. All the other doors were metal and kept shut, lock and key. When I was in the blackness, I had not even heard the screaming. From each door was a different wail of anguish, but this one, at the very end, rang out with a familiar voice. Hughes bellowed in a rasped tone, his voice lost from countless hours of screaming no doubt. I grasped the door and immediately tried to open it, yet it was to no avail. I had no means to undo the lock. The only action I could take was to open the small slit near the top of the door to view him, although when I witnessed him, I had wished I hadn¡¯t. The walls were made of canvas draped over a plush material. On them were numerous smears of dried blood. In the corner, going through a mix of weeping and screaming, was Hughes. His scalp was bloody and bald, having torn all his hair out. His torso was tightly wrapped in a straitjacket, keeping him prone. He was facing away from me, forcing me to call out in order to see him better. ¡°H-H-Hughes?¡± I choked out. His head snapped to the door, showing me his full countenance. His eyes were bloodshot and red. Ten deep fingernail gashes went from his forehead to his jaw, cutting through skin to the muscle beneath. His nose had been torn off, leaving nothing but two open nostrils coated blackish red with blood. He drooled at the mouth, the majority of his teeth missing. What was left in his gummy maw were rotted, yellow and partially broken. The man was near irecognizable from the Hughes I once knew. Yet even though he looked akin to some combination of a corpse and a leper, the tears in his eyes showed the same humanity as before. I stepped away, barely able to stomach seeing him. As I did, he went from screaming in pain to moaning in desperation. He could not verbalize any words, but he cooed in such a way that I knew he was calling for me to return to his sight. ¡°I-I¡¯ll come back¡­ Just hold on a little longer¡­ I¡¯ll be back¡­¡± I said, continuing down the corridor. He went from moaning to crying. My heart told me to go back, but I knew there was nothing for me to do. If I wanted to help him, I could not stay. I had to use my time well. I had to figure out what had happened. I had to find my mother. Before I could get to her room, the candlelight in the hall shone once more. There was nowhere for me to hide, and I refused to return to the darkness at the end of the hall. The guard found me right away and gasped. Soon his surprise went to anger, though. ¡°What are you doing!?¡± He asked. Before I could conjure a lie, he commanded. ¡°Come with me.¡± I hesitantly followed him, seeing my mother¡¯s door as we continued back. I would have to find another opportunity to see her. Then, she could tell me what happened. I hoped she would be coherent, as my mother was the only chance I had at gaining traction towards figuring out what had occurred since I hit my head. The guard brought me to my room and opened the door, shoving me inside. The door slammed shut as I was made to think about my mistakes¡­ The horrors I had just seen brought unto my companion¡­ In less than a moment, another caretaker barged into my room. The same man from earlier in the morning. The same as last time, he held a glass of clear liquid in his hand. ¡°Theodore! You¡¯re wandering off again!?¡± He said. Again? I thought. He placed the glass on my desk and walked to the window. I held my tongue as he took a key and locked it shut. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to quarantine you once more. You can have the privilege to open your window and leave your room at dinner.¡± Afterwards, he took the glass and handed it to me. It was a full minute before I could force myself to drink it, knowing there was no way out of becoming mindless. I gave it back and the caretaker hastily left the room and locked the door. There was no longer anywhere to rid myself of the vicious drink. I was doomed for the rest of the day, and I doubted that I would even remember the things I had saw if I did not leave a sign for myself. My legs already ceased to listen as I stumbled towards the desk. I threw open the drawers, finding nothing but a bent ink pen. I fell to my knees upon taking the pen, trying to fight the drugs as precious seconds passed by. I crawled back to the bed. There was no time to write anything for myself, so my best option was to simply write a tally mark of the days passed on the bedframe. Surely I would rummage through my room and see the mark, and then I could begin tracking my days in the asylum. With all my strength and coordination, I lifted the mattress. I readied the pen, knowing I would have to use its sharp edge to cut a notch into the wood. Then, I saw it. Right where I had intended to place my mark. There were already dozens of notches¡­ The time to act is now Wakey wakey. The time to act is now. The first thing to come back was¡­ an eerie sense of familiarity. The room around me was a bleak patient¡¯s dormitory in St. Dymphna¡¯s hospital. It was pouring rain outside, with an occasional outburst of thunderous crackling to shake the whole room. Did I really hit my head that badly? I thought to myself as I looked around. Yet before I could thoroughly inspect my surroundings, a caretaker came through the door, a clear glass of medicine in his hand. The next, although seemingly new to me, was the actions of the exact same cycle that I had been ensnared in for weeks. I forced myself to vomit the concoction. I ate breakfast. I met Bradley. I attempted to escape. I made the same decisions, again and again. Yet one small change would release me from my prison. A single difference that broke the infinity loop. It started as I began running from Hughes¡¯ room, him moaning and crying behind me. I had just barely escaped the black eternity that consumed my surroundings, and then I stood in the cold dark hallway, candlelight just ahead of me. There was nowhere to hide, and there was no reality in which I returned to the black depths behind me. I was about to be caught, and there was nothing I could do about it. Resigning myself to my fate, I waited for the guard to see me. That he did, but something seemed wrong¡­ The guard was an ugly, snarling, and large man. Something about him was simply off. Whilst everything in the hospital felt eerily familiar to me, this man was foreign. Out of place. In a moment, he had run down the corridor and grabbed me by my collar. The entire situation was new and shocking. I almost felt safe in the strangely nostalgic actions I took, but this was completely different. With little resistance given, I was drug back to my room and thrown on the old wooden floor. Pushing myself up, I spoke. ¡°No need to be rough¡­ I won¡¯t do it again.¡± At that moment, there was a singular sentence that would break the spell. One string of words to fracture the sequence. The large and gruff man scoffed, saying. ¡°Right. Tell that to the bloke you got fired.¡± I stopped as I got on my knees, taken aback by his response. After a brief pause, I questioned. ¡°Wait¡­ Was this not the first time?¡± The guard glared at me as if I were an imbecile. Only stating. ¡°No¡­ but it better be the last, or else.¡± Without another word, the guard slammed the door shut, leaving me to contemplate the enormity of what I had just learned. If that was not the first time I had been caught in the hallway, then why could I not remember it? What wiped all recollection of these endeavors? It was at that moment I realized that more medicine had to be on its way, and by whatever means, I would be forced to keep it ingested. With quick thinking, I decided I had to leave a message for myself. First I searched the shoddy desk at the far side of the room and found nothing but a bent ink pen. Taking it, I thought the best option was to leave tally marks for myself to find later. Raising my mattress up, I saw the cruel fate of my previous selves. The dozens of notches already inscribed in the wood¡­ Then, I heard the creaky door begin to open. Frantically throwing my mattress back into place, I awaited the caretaker. As expected, he came in with a frustrated expression and a new glass of medication. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I tried to act as natural as possible and waited for him to hand me the cup. He did, and I drank as there was no other option. I felt sick, and my frame continually pushed against itself, wishing that I could vomit the vile mixture. The caretaker took that option out of the running as he locked the window. After that, he snatched the cup from my hand and strode out the door, locking it as well. I was trapped, and I could already feel the medicine taking hold. Whatever had happened before, I knew that the tally marks did not work. I had to devise a new strategy, and quickly. It was troublesome standing, as my balance had already been completely stripped by the effects of the drug. Nevertheless, I successfully endeavored to the window. Looking at it, I saw that there was no way I could open it without breaking it, and if the caretaker saw that I had broken the window, I would be in an even more dire situation. There was nothing I could do to rid myself of the mind-altering prescription. The only option left was to leave myself a message¡­ One I knew I could not ignore¡­ Moving from the window itself to my blurry reflection in the glass pane, I grasped tightly to the ink pen in my hand. There was but a final hope¡­ Wakey wakey. The time to act is now. What first came back was¡­ a searing pain in my abdomen. I weakly rose from the bed. It was softly raining out, and the sun had yet to rise. The room around me was familiar. A patient¡¯s dormitory in St. Dymphna¡¯s hospital. Did I really hit my head that badly? I thought to myself. Yet, as that sentiment passed through my mind, I dismissed it. My head did not hurt, yet my stomach did. Raising my shirt, I saw an array of brutish lacerations; ones which I did not recall receiving on the boat. My head spun as the thoughts inside danced with the woozy aftertaste of whatever drugs I had been put on for my recovery. With how hazy my vision was, I could not very easily inspect the cuts, especially not in the dark. What I could tell was that the gashes weren¡¯t deep, leading me to believe that they were not made to inflict pain. There was no other logical explanation for it, though, as it was simply a nonsensical jumble of marks. Unsteadily getting to my feet, I surveyed the room. Since the sun had yet to rise, the dormitory was overcome with shadow, which made the most important task finding a candle. I hobbled to the desk at the far side of the room. Groping the top, I found nothing. In each of the drawers, there was yet again nothing. I was not yet satisfied with my search, though, as I eased onto my knees and checked underneath. What I found was a bent ink pen. It had rolled to the wall, and upon picking it up I had noticed a strange crust on the tip. Upon further inspection, I finally realized it was dried blood. I looked back down to my abdomen. Those cuts were not made by just anyone. I made them. Why could I not recall hurting myself? Why did I inflict those wounds in the first place? I stood, continually trying to make meaning from the nonsensical marks. My eyes frantically searched the room, finding no further clues¡­ that was, until I witnessed my own reflection in the dark windowpane. The cuts made no sense when viewing them myself, but in the mirrored image of the glass, it spelled a single, simple, word. B E D That was enough to send me straight to the sunken mattress I had awoken in just minutes earlier. I looked beneath the bed, to no avail. Behind the headboard, to find nothing. I stripped every sheet and cover from the mattress, only to find pristine white. Finally, I raised the mattress and checked the frame below, and at last I saw what I was meant to. Dozens of tally marks, all helping me piece together a singular puzzle. I had been in that hospital for longer than expected, and I was certainly not friends with the personnel. The only person I could hope to shed a light on what had happened would be my mother, although I knew that I had most likely come to that conclusion before. If I did the first thing that came to mind with no alterations, I would surely wind up exactly where I had started¡­ I had to think of something I knew I would not have tried before¡­ I was never a fan of the dark, especially not after my entrapment under the murky river floor. With that amount of self-awareness, I guessed I had not tried to navigate the floors under the cover of nightfall. Whatever had erased my memory most likely came from the caretakers that roamed the halls, and there were far fewer of them making the rounds at night. The dark may have worsened the watchful eyes in the shadows, but at the very least it staved away the roaming guards. Taking a deep breath, I moved my attention to the door of my room. As expected, it was locked from the outside. I was lucky, though. Although I did not remember what had happened since I was imprisoned in the hospital, I did remember the events that took place before it. Emilia and I broke into the one patient¡¯s room when we were searching for stolen narcotics, and with that, she had showed me how to break the lock. Same as before, I twisted the handle the opposite direction and pushed as forcefully as I could. It took a great deal of effort, but same as before, the wooden mechanisms inside the door began to splinter and crack. After a loud pop, the door came free. Only me, an endless black abyss, and answers. Horrors and hallways The sprawling black hallway seemed to stretch out endlessly. Unlike my room, dimly lit by the moonlight, the hall had no windows. No way to see at all¡­ If I wanted to find my mother¡¯s room, I would need to find a source of light first and foremost. I had already investigated every crevice of my room, finding no way to illuminate my path. The only option was to turn left, towards the lounge. It was an easy journey, and one that would certainly lead me to candles and matches. I took a moment to collect myself, then stepped out of the doorway. Stumbling to the other end, I waited until I hit a wall to turn to the left. There were plenty of open windows in the lounge if memory of my visits long ago served, which meant I would only be momentarily engulfed in the blackness of the hall. It was simple, really. All I had to do was follow the wall until I reached the open room. The chance for failure was miniscule. I went a good way down the corridor, taking one careful step after the next. As long as I kept my hands on the wall, I had a good sense of direction and could tell my progress. If I took things slowly and precisely, my task would be easy. At least that was what I thought, before I heard a sound behind me. I immediately froze upon making out the sound. A reverberating trot from deep within the darkest corners of the hall. At first I would have thought it a caregiver or a guard, but this was not the simple rhythm of two feet. This was dozens of appendages skittering across the floor. Flesh thumping on creaky wooden planks. Whatever that was, it was not human. Its pace was slow and cumbersome, leading me to keep a steady, quiet, stride. It was most certainly coming closer, but it was wisest not to panic as long as I knew it hadn¡¯t noticed me. A much more easily said than done action. Making sure to take deep breaths, I continued down the corridor, my hand tracing the wall as I went. The creature continued dragging its way down the hall, lumbering and slow. I did not only hear movement on the ground, but doorframes creaking and handles shaking as whatever was behind me grasped onto its surroundings to push forward. Its movement sounded so struggled and stiff, as if it were pulling away from something. I quickened myself, but the floors were loud and unstable. I hadn¡¯t enough time to be both quiet and faster than the creature behind me. At the rate we went, it would outpace me before we reached the lounge. Part of me remembered the words Dr. Prescott spoke. They were simply in my mind¡­ They couldn¡¯t hurt me¡­ Yet, as my right arm dragged against the cheap walls, I felt the pulsating pain in the scars wrapping up and down the appendage. If the jellyfish-esque burns from the tentacled creature in the boat could hurt me, I was not willing to find out if what was behind me could as well. My heart began to race as I forcefully kept myself from running, even though I was continually becoming more confident that running was becoming my only option. Nevertheless, I was not much of a gambler, especially when it involved the state of my life. I could not deny, though, that some change of plan needed to take place. The creature was gaining speed, and we would surely collide before I could duck into the safety of the lounge. I decided that I had to take my hand off the wall. It was risky, traversing in the dark with no balance, but the floor was unstable near the doors. If I wanted to move quicker without the creaking floorboards giving me away, I would have to move towards the center of the corridor. Tentatively, I withdrew my hand and moved to the middle of the hall. It was risky, but if I had continued with my caution I would have no hope at all. Moving onward, I began to gather speed. Just enough to outpace the creature without being audible. Yet, as I gained a lead, the creature also began to increase its momentum. The faster I went, the louder I became, and the faster it started moving. I had gone from a creep to a jog, and so had the creature. Even so, if my memory served, I was getting close to the safety of the lounge. As I kept becoming faster, and continued to keep my sound to a minimum, my gait became awkward and imbalanced. Sprinting and tiptoeing was not a synergistic pair. Whilst trying to continue accelerating, my clumsy footing got the best of me, and the tip of my foot caught on the floor. I came tumbling to the ground just as I saw moonlight through the windows ahead. The creature was just behind me, but I was within arm¡¯s reach of the lounge. Not the time to give up hope just yet. I frantically crawled forward with all the haste I could find. At that point, I had fully given up on being covert, instead clambering in panic as fast as I could. The creature was almost upon me as I passed the threshold to the lounge. On my way, I toppled a small side table and a vase. Glass shattered and water spilled behind me, letting whatever creature that followed tread on the invisible knives and howl in pain. I had delayed it enough to crawl further into the lounge, but the pain had also enraged it. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. While it was silent other than the sounds of its locomotion, the creature now mumbled and chattered. It sounded like an amalgamation of many voices; old, young, man, woman. All groaning in pain. I ducked behind a bundle of chairs and began to catch my breath. In the commotion, it seemed the creature had lost sight of me. After collecting itself, it began to search the surrounding area, still intent on finding me. I was in the lounge, but I was not yet safe from the thing. In the dim moonlight, I could just barely make out a hulking figure. There was not much discernable in its mangled silhouette, but I could see an amalgamation of limbs and flesh writhing to move, along with dozens of watery eyes glistening in the light. While each individual part of the thing looked human, the whole was anything but. It continued to search for me, shuffling to the center of the room and looking about. I did not want to run, as I knew what happened if it decided to give chase. I needed a distraction to keep it preoccupied, but before that, I needed what I came to the lounge for in the first place. I crept to the nearest windowsill, finding a candle there. Next, I made my way to one of the larger couches. Beside it was a table, one that I hoped held a match. Nothing. As the creature continued to survey the room, I slipped to the other end of the couch, and searched an identical side table. On the table I found a box of matches, and even another candle. I had no use for two candles¡­ but I did have another idea. I pocketed the matches and held the candle, slowly making my way closer to the hall. The creature was still looking, and I knew that if I stood tall enough to get over the broken glass, it would see me. Grasping my extra candle tightly, I took a deep breath and prayed it was dumb enough for my makeshift plan to work. I threw the candle to the far side of the room, letting hit a window and tap loud enough to grab the creature¡¯s attention. It furiously struggled to the window, slapping its hands unintelligently against the glass. While it was facing the opposite direction, I stood up. There were entrails dragging on the ground from the creature. I supposed that was the force that made the creature struggle at first to move about. Whatever it was connected to, I did not want to know. Being careful to step over the gore and glass, I made it back into the hallway whilst the thing continued to claw at the window. After a good while of quietly continuing down the hall, I took a breath. I felt like it had lost me, and finally, I would be able to ignite a match and light my candle. With light, I had a good view of each door and their number. Without wasting any time, I began to make my way to my mother¡¯s room. I found it relatively quick, and since I was from the outside, all I needed to do was turn the lock and open the door. There I found her, serenely sitting in her chair, staring out a window that showed nothing but a brick wall. As I entered, she turned to face me. Her hollow eye sockets peered at me as I closed the door. She spoke softly. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you.¡± Although always cryptic, that sentence worried me. Ensuring my efforts weren¡¯t for nothing, I questioned. ¡°Is this not the first time I have been here?¡± ¡°Oh, no.¡± She said. ¡°You have not come to see me since you arrived¡­ but I knew you would eventually.¡± I took a deep sigh of relief. I had at the very least succeeded in breaking the endless loop. Next, I needed to see if she had answers. ¡°Since I arrived¡­¡± I muttered, contemplating her words. ¡°Do you know what happened?¡± At that, she held her head low. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you came, but I do know how.¡± Then, she shifted in her seat, ready to recall what she knew. ¡°You were the first to come. They brought you in a stretcher, as I¡¯ve been told. I had not sensed your presence until weeks had passed¡­¡± She took a moment to think. ¡°After that, an older sounding man was admitted, screaming, to solitary confinement.¡± She sighed. ¡°The rest were all quiet. Subdued. I cannot say there is much information for me to give.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I said in desperation. ¡°That still leaves so many questions open. Why did we end up here?¡± ¡°If I knew, then I would tell you, my son.¡± She stood from her chair, slowly moving to the desk at the far side of the room. ¡°The only other piece of information I can give is that I heard your psychiatrist speak to all of you when you were admitted. He is likely the only one to have the full picture.¡± Dr. Prescott¡­ My mother was right, he was the person who looked after us and organized the whole thing. The one man who would know what happened would be him¡­ But I knew that if I simply tried to run up to him and ask him, there would be trouble. If he was there when we were admitted, it meant he knew full well what was happening to us. He was in on it. Aside from confronting him, though, I found know way to figure out his secrets. I was no good interrogator, and I had nowhere to take Dr. Prescott where we could not be found. There was no way of knowing¡­ ¡°That¡¯s probably the worst person to hold all the cards¡­¡± I said, continuing to think as my mother rummaged about her desk drawers. Then, it hit me. I did not need to extract the information from Dr. Prescott. He had already done it himself. The leatherbound journal in his office. He kept records of every one of us in that, and I¡¯d be damned if he stopped when we were admitted. All I had to do was find the journal, and I could learn everything Dr. Prescott kept hidden. My mother finally found what she was looking for in the drawer, pulling out a small wooden box. ¡°Take this. You¡¯ll need it.¡± Taking the box, I pulled it open. Immediately, a low tune began to play. Shocked by the sound, I clamped it shut once more. It was a music box, and an old one at that. It was small, wooden, and overall modest in make. ¡°Why?¡± I simply asked. My mother softly chuckled for a moment, then shook her head. ¡°Just keep it close.¡± We stood in silence and moonlight for a good long while after that, unsure what to say. Finally, my mother spoke up. ¡°I know what you plan to do. There is only one option to find the truth¡­¡± She sighed, moving back to her chair and sitting. ¡°Remember that you cannot do this alone. Before you risk traversing to the very opposite side of this dangerous place, you would be wise to find support.¡± ¡°If I got caught, everything would be over¡­¡± I said, pondering her words. After deliberation, I agreed with her sentiment. Before I could risk going all the way to Dr. Prescott¡¯s office on the western wing, I would need to free my companions from the drug just as I freed myself¡­ Easier said than done. Tucking the music box deep into my pocket, I held the candle in my hand outward and opened the door. There were no signs of the creature to be found, and light from daybreak had finally begun to illuminate the halls. Before I left, though, my mother spoke again. ¡°I feel your hesitation¡­ You¡¯ve seen something, haven¡¯t you?¡± Swallowing the lump in my throat, I replied. ¡°I¡¯ve seen many things¡­¡± At that, my mother chuckled heartily. ¡°You¡¯ve seen nothing yet¡­¡± Undercover undeafening I lay in my bed, watching the sun slowly creep up the horizon. In time, the clouds broke apart and allowed beams of light to shine into my room, finally signaling that the morning had come. I had not slept or made a sound since I returned to my room. I simply lay in the dark, listening to the shambling horror trudge its way about the halls. As per routine, my infinite contemplation was interrupted by my caretaker, I vomited my medication, and emerged from the dormitories to the eating room for breakfast. Outside, the endless factories had begun to run fully, leaving a thick smog hovering over the atmosphere. All the windows and doors were closed in order to mediate the amount of toxic fog inhaled by all of us. Inside, the patients shuffled to here and there with imbalance and mindlessness. The eating room itself was a compact and unremarkable place. Small tables with two chairs. A closed-off section with access to the kitchen, and a large countertop with several dishes of unmistakably soulless gruel. I got in line, trying my best to fit in with the groggy masses. As I waited for my turn to take a bowl of tasteless slop, I noticed a peculiar sight in the depths of the kitchen. On the wall were several cured meats and sausages hung up by their casing. Meats such as those were certainly not integrated into the diet of us patients, and as far as I knew there was no cafeteria for the faculty. The only reason such things were kept in the kitchen is if more people than just the patients lived on the grounds. With the quality of those meats, I could also assume that it was not being eaten by the staff either. Were there doctors living in the hospital? If so, where? Before my mind could wander further, though, I was weakly shoved by the man behind me. I had held up the line for longer than it took for the patients ahead of me to get their food, and those behind me had become impatient. Most importantly, I was drawing attention to myself, and I worried that if a guard spent too long inspecting me, they would be able to tell I was not under the same daze as the others. Looking to the floor, I hastened myself to the bowls of food. I grabbed a tray from the counter of many and looked at the dining portion of the room. I inadvertently brought so much attention to myself, which made it best to lay low at the edge of the room and survey my surroundings. After finding a decently secluded table, I began to watch those around me. There were two guards at the edge of the room, watching over us. Wooden shutters closed at the opening to the kitchen, secluding us from the cooks. At the tables sat people so disoriented that they could barely manage to move the gruel from their bowl to their mouths. In the crowd, I made out two people. Bradley and Emilia. The first order of business was to snap one of them out of the trance they had been ensnared in¡­ But there were two prominent roadblocks to that quest. Who would I choose first, and how in the world was I to sober them up without getting caught? The first step was to decide on who I wanted to awaken first¡­ I trusted Bradley greatly, and he had been a great friend for many years. I wanted to get Bradley out and hear his retelling of what he remembered happening to us, yet even from my secluded spot at the edge of the room, I noticed his lips softly mumble with incoherent language of increasingly indescribable dialect. Off the medication, Bradley spoke in both cryptic messages and tongues. I knew for a fact he would not be able to communicate what he remembered with me, or even worse, his loud mouth would somehow give us away. Emilia would be difficult to free, but I felt as though she was the best choice anyways. Next, I supposed I just needed to play things by ear, and that what I would first have to do was simply get ahold of her. Breakfast was too orderly to make any moves. I needed to wait for our rest period in the lounge. After a good twenty minutes of choking down the bowl of pale sludge, the caretakers opened the doors to the lounge. Our brief rest period had begun, and my time to find Emilia and formulate a plan was at hand. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Firstly, I made sure to keep my eye on Emilia as we were all shepherded into the lounge. Whilst following Emilia, I noticed the spot in which I had toppled over the vase and crashed it, but luckily the caretakers had cleaned it up without much of a second thought. Hopefully, they did not notice the missing candles and matches¡­ Emilia found herself a comfortable spot in a large, cushioned, chair and sat. She did not do anything but sit and stare bewildered at her surroundings. She would frequently close her eyes, take deep breaths, dart her head around the room, and shift uncomfortably. It was as if she was trying to tune out information but failing. I began to get closer. It would be unwise to approach her directly, so instead, I discretely sat in a chair across from her, waiting for her to notice me. After a moment, she did, and once she caught sight of me she did not break our interlocking gaze. We stared at one another for minutes before I made any action. As we looked at one another, I tried to guess what was going on inside her mind. She seemed confused and lost, especially at the sight of me. She murmured to himself quietly, almost as if she was trying to remember something. Her brows would furrow and unfurrow as her head tilted. The only piece of information I could confidently derive from that was that Emilia did not even remember me; Not fully, at the very least. Aside from her lack of memory, she did at least recognize me and seemed partially lucid. I nodded my head to the entrance of the dormitories, hoping she would understand my body language. I stood, and so did she. Without further direction, we both began moving to the hallway. The guards seemed to be nonchalant and lazy. Our best bet was to hope they were negligent in their duties, or simply wouldn¡¯t care. We congregated at the entrance. With one look back to the guards, who were far too lazy to even glance our direction, we were off. It was a small walk to my room, but once we arrived we would hopefully have all the time we needed to sort things out. Although there were few ways to tell time in the asylum, I thought we had to have at least had an hour before the rest period was over and we were tasked with our menial chores. As we met near the hallway, I made sure to watch for candlelight. A guard was roaming the corridors, but I had noticed him enter as soon as breakfast was over. It would be a very good long while before he reached the end and turned back. We continued to move forward, and all seemed well. There was no good way to communicate with Emilia, but even in her inebriated state, she was able to simply stick behind me. As well as that, it seemed us new arrivals were not so consumed by the medicine like the others, possibly even having some amount of consciousness left. Perhaps all our years of taking the previous Andha flower prescription built us a tolerance of sorts. I tried to wrap my head around the situation and our current states, accidentally missing the footsteps ahead... Just before us, a figure emerged from one of the rooms. We both stopped dead in our tracks as the caretaker swiftly turned and locked the door behind her, crumpled bedsheets in hand. She seemed calm, at least until she saw the two of us, that was. Emilia and I were both frozen as the woman stomped towards us. We were caught, and if the hospital knew we were conspiring against them, there was no telling what horrible consequences would be brought down on us. The caretaker stammered. ¡°W-What do you think you are doing!?¡± ¡°I¡­ We¡­ Uh¡­¡± I thought for excuses, but none came to mind. All hope was fading from my mind. That was until I noticed something peculiar. The caretaker was not infuriated, but rather her cheeks were flushed red, and she seemed almost embarrassed or offended¡­ That was when I realized that she had assumed we were up to much different things than conspiring against the hospital. ¡°You both need to return to the lounge. Right. Now.¡± She said, finally regaining her composure. Not willing to give up our saving grace, I timidly nodded. Emilia began to back up as I slowly turned, trying to defuse the situation as much as possible. Luckily, the caretaker allowed us to simply return to the lounge. No doubt the other caretakers would be notified of our sneaking and a keener eye would be kept on the two of us, but at least that was all the trouble we had brought on ourselves. That plan was far too idiotic. What was I thinking!? I had to concoct something more discrete if I wanted to stay inconspicuous. We returned to the lounge, immediately separating once the broke past the threshold. Our rest period only had a good few minutes left. There was no way I could afford to keep going by myself, especially after that caretaker saw us. Within time, I suspected she would realize the dumbed masses would not be capable of sneaking around like that. If she realized I was not taking my medicine and ratted me out, it would only be a matter of minutes until they found me from my description. I needed a fallback. Someone to rely on if I got caught. I needed a partner. Things only got worse from there, meaning a plan was required. It had to be a damn good one, too. One more slip up, and it would be the strait jacket... The music that sets you free Sitting on a windowsill at the far side of the lounge, face in my hands, I thought of what to do. Emilia had shown some sign of intelligence, even while under the effects of the medication. Whatever came next, I needed to place trust in her abilities. With one last effort concocted in my mind, I stood up. One last chance. I thought to myself. I went from the lounge chairs to a small nook that had bookshelves and tables. Taking the least-read book on the shelf, I sat in one of the many reading chairs. I held some text regarding sea travel. Considering the large amount of dust that plastered the leather binding, I had assumed no one had given the book a glance in many years. With that, my plan could be put in place. There would be one thing I needed before I could proceed. The night before, when I had just realized I was stuck in an infinite loop, I had pocketed the bent ink pen I had used to cut myself with. Retrieving the pen from my pocket, I gave it a good shake. A small bit of ink dripped from the tip, assuring me it was still usable. With all the discretion I could muster, I began to write on a random page of the book. A simple message, one I hoped Emilia would be able to decipher. ¡®Do not sleep. Room number?¡¯ With that, I wedged the pen on the page I wanted seen and clenched the book tightly. Slowly, and with many detours to conceal my intentions, I made my way back to the chair in which Emilia sat. From there, I could see she had gone back to trying to block out a sensory overload just as she was before. When I sat the book on a side table next to her, she looked at me with utter confusion. It was as if she forgot the events of just ten minutes ago. Nevertheless, I had to put my hope in her. I gave the book a single tap with my finger and left, hoping that would be enough for her to understand my intentions. After that, I secluded myself at the windowsill I lingered at before. I forced myself to stay there for almost the entire duration of our rest period, making sure our actions could not be traced to one another. The bell rang, signaling the end of our time. Everyone stood and began to congregate in a line, but I made my way over to the bookshelf. My cover of rushed and confused patients was quickly disappearing as I found the nautical book. Upon inspecting the spine, I found an opening from where my pen was wedged between the sheets of paper. I opened it, and my hopes bore fruit. In shaky, almost illegible handwriting, the disassociated Emilia simply wrote ¡®116¡¯, an answer to my question. Hastily, I scribbled over the writing and pocketed the pen once more. The rest of the day moved quickly as I tried to stand out as little as possible. First, we washed the dishes, then we scrubbed the baths, and after that, we ate lunch. A large period would have been spent in the yard, but the miasma from the industrial complexes nearby made that impossible. Instead, we all simply spent more time mulling about the lounge. Once the sun began to set we were all thrown into segregated bathhouses. After the allotted time for us to clean ourselves was over, we were given a dissatisfying dinner of brothy soup. Finally, we were led to our rooms and the candles were extinguished. Over that time, I had tried my best to steer clear of Emilia and Bradley to stay discrete. Because of that, I had no record of their habits or routines beyond our first rest period. Once I was in my room, I patiently waited until deep in the night. I hoped that by my waiting there would be a lesser chance of guards and a higher probability that the drugs Emilia were on began to wear off. After the moon was high in the sky, I began my escape. Luckily my first trip in the dark would be my worst, as I had stowed away matches and a candle. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Kindling illumination against the depressing blackness, I began to tread deeper into the hall. My room was number seventy-three, which meant I was in for a brisk walk. I worried I would encounter things such as the shambling horror from the previous night, but my flame warded me from the creatures in shadow. The journey, very much so to my delight, was uneventful. With a bit of walking, I reached room one-hundred-sixteen and found it locked. I grasped the handle and turned the other direction. My method had luckily become like clockwork with how many times I had broken the identical locks before, and within moments the door had been breached. Creaking the door open, I saw Emilia sitting up in her bed, she looked defensive and scared, most likely because I broke into her room with a moderate amount of force. Despite my directions, it seemed as though she had been sleeping. That was to be expected, after I had noticed her inability to remember the events that had happened under ten minutes, let alone hours. Before I could even show it was me, Emilia cringed and grabbed the sides of her head. Soon afterward she curled into a ball in pain, leading me further into the room. I sat the candle on her desk and came up to her. I put my hand on her shoulder and tried to softly call out her name, but it was no use. She was completely inconsolable. Still, I had no other course of action but to continue trying. Shaking her shoulder, I grew closer. I could barely make out where her face was in the bundle of messy black hair. Once close enough, I asked again. ¡°Emilia?¡± After a few heavy breaths, Emilia finally responded. ¡°I-It¡¯s¡­ Loud¡­¡± She shivered. ¡°I can¡¯t think!¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright. You are going to be fine¡­¡± I tried to reassure her, yet I had no clear remedy for the pain she was in. Too loud¡­ I repeated her words in my head, contemplating¡­ That was when I had an epiphany. It hurt me to do so, but I left Emilia¡¯s side. Grabbing my candle, I broke out from her room and began a sprint down the hall. Bursting into my room, I ran to my mattress. Pulling it up, I revealed the many tally-marks I had etched into the wood, yet further beyond them was a small wooden box. The same one my mother had mysteriously gifted to me the night prior. I grabbed it and began to return to her room. With little time and much effort, I ran back to Emilia¡¯s room. I sat the candle back down on her desk and propped myself on the edge of her mattress. She was still curled into a writhing ball of pain, barely noticing my presence. With hope, I looked to the bottom of the wooden box and turned the small brass key to the clockwork inside. Finally, I pulled the box open, letting a sweet melody play out. Immediately upon hearing it, Emilia¡¯s harsh tremors lessened. The song continued to play as she gained better control of herself. She began to hum along to the tune as she uncurled and sat upright. The music box had to have looped hundreds of times as we spent countless minutes sitting there. Emilia hummed along to the song as I simply watched her recover, slowly but surely. Eventually, she no longer seemed distressed, but at peace. Very cautiously, I closed the music box. Emilia continued to hum in the sweet key played for her. Another good long while passed before she began to quiet. I was the first to softly ask. ¡°Are you ok?¡± She had her eyes closed, still somewhat concentrating. ¡°As long as I keep the song in mind¡­ I¡¯m alright¡­¡± Eventually, she gathered the courage to look at me directly. ¡°Where did you get that music box?¡± I looked down at the wooden chest. ¡°My mother gave it to me just last night¡­ Do you know it?¡± ¡°I had that as a girl¡­ My father gifted it to me before the voices made m-¡­ Before they passed¡­¡± She contemplated her words for a moment. ¡°When things became bad and we were not sure we would get more of our medicine, I gave it to your mother for safekeeping¡­¡± How my mother knew the music box would have such effects on Emilia was unknown to me, but one other question pressed greater in my mind than that. ¡°W-What did the voices make you do?¡± At that, Emilia broke eye contact and looked into the distance shamefully. She heard voices in her head, but could they command her as well? Did they tell her to..? No. The tearing insanity has made us all do things, and I did not care to reprimand my trusted friend. I knew that whatever Emilia did was not Emilia¡­ With a little more thought, I decided to say nothing and instead slip the music box in her hand. She whispered as her hand tightened. ¡°Thank you¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m just glad you are alright¡­¡± With that, Emilia extended her arms. I leaned forward and hugged her. It felt like a weight was lifted to finally have another person that was in my situation back. When the world was dark and violent, having a friend made all the difference. Eventually, we broke apart again, and Emilia questioned. ¡°Now what?¡± ¡°We help the others.¡± I answered, then I asked a question of my own. ¡°What was the last thing you remember?¡± With that, she thought for a moment, humming that tune again as she was left alone with the voices. Finally, she answered. ¡°We were all called into a meeting¡­ Dr. Prescott told us he had completed the new medicine and brought everyone to his office. He made us drink it, but when I did¡­ Well, here I am.¡± Shit. Dr. Prescott was not only a player in this entire debacle, but a key one at that, and if Emilia was telling the truth, the only way we could tell his motives would still lie in his journal¡­ ¡°Vomit whatever they try to make you drink,¡± I said, thinking. ¡°And get some rest¡­ We have much to do¡­¡± Gardening and grim realities I lay in bed, watching the shadows slowly creep further up the wall as they retreated from the rising sun. Another sleepless night, but that was to be expected. The everlasting cloud cover had lightened ever so slightly. It was not immensely foggy, nor rainy, nor did the many factories nearby overload themselves enough to bring about a noticeable bog in the air. For once, the weather was somewhat manageable. Eventually, my caretaker came in and I became ready for the day. When walking through the halls towards the dining room, I noticed that there was not even any need for candles. Finally, the sun had produced enough light to illuminate the entirety of the ginormous hospital. We congregated into a line near the dining room. I could hear Emilia hum the music box melody somewhere behind me. I had gained an ally. Now for the next. In the morning illumination, I saw that there was more than I thought stowed away in the back of the kitchen. Not just expensive cuts that had to go to a group of important people, but also a large quantity of normal food. It assuredly did not go to us, but then why would there be such a volume? For the time being, I would have to put aside my questions. There would be no answers as I got my tasteless gruel and sat in my lonesome corner. Bradley was nowhere to be found in the mass of patients eating, but it did not matter. It was far too risky to approach him or try anything during the day, while the guards were still about. Luckily, the patrols were practically nonexistent after they lock the patients in their rooms at night. I would have a much more gracious outcome if I were to fail at snapping him out of his drug-fueled haze. There was but one problem¡­ I had no clue where Bradley¡¯s room was, and his ramblings proved to set a damper on communications. There was no use in trying the same trick I had devised for Emilia, either. Bradley did not only speak in strange eldritch tongues, but he seemed to understand no other. Any attempt at using language would fail, which made locating his room extremely difficult. The same problem also stood for Price and Hughes. At the very least, I knew Bradley was in the same crowd of people I was a part of. I had not seen the other two at all, though. Not even a glimpse. I had to find out which rooms they were being kept in, and it seemed as though my only choice was to figure it out myself. I knew there had to be a registry, but where that was located was an entirely new challenge¡­ After finishing my meal, we were all brought to stand. One by one, the caretakers had us form a line. I had assumed we would be shepherded into the cramped lounge once more, but that was surprisingly not the case. The doors and windows were open as they were on most days, only this time it was not raining, and the patients were coerced through them into the courtyard. I took in the enormity of the patchy grey sky and the wet courtyard. I felt as though it had been forever since I had been let into such a wide-open space. As expected, the gates were locked shut. It wouldn¡¯t be hard to climb them, but I had resigned myself to freeing the others¡­ And even still, I needed to know what had happened before I could simply run away. There was a lingering shadow in the corner of my eye. A face that watched me, just out of my vision. Every time I turned to look at the shadowy black thing, it moved in conjunction with me. The blackness would grow, and the visions would only get worse if I did not find answers. Running would only lead me to become consumed by the madness. Deeper was my only option. We were set free to roam the courtyard, and I had but one objective on my mind. From the crowd, I followed Emilia¡¯s humming until I had her within my sights. Her melody slowed as she also caught sight of me. With a nod, I signaled that we should find a seclusive spot to talk. Past the crowds of mindless people, we moved to the side yard. There were many shrubberies and few windows. A good enough place for a brief conversation, and an important one at that. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Emilia was the first to speak. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°I have something I need to ask you¡­¡± As I spoke, I looked upon Emilia¡¯s face. Where she had always seemed happier and healthier than my surroundings, she had become just as pale, thin, and broken as the rest of us. Dark circles appeared under her eyes just as my own. We were all devolving and turning weaker the longer we lived in the festering hole that was the hospital. We needed to work faster¡­ That started with finding the others¡­ ¡°We need to get Bradley back to his former self next, but there is no way of telling where his room is.¡± And there would be no way to find his room. If it weren¡¯t for Emilia that was. ¡°You used to work as a caretaker here¡­ There has to be a registry of the patients and their rooms, right?¡± Emilia looked to the distance and thought to herself, trying to recall anything like what I had described. After just a brief moment, she responded. ¡°Yes, I believe there is. Although¡­¡± She grimaced. ¡°You won¡¯t like where it is¡­¡± Foreboding comments such as those rose a grave feeling deep in my gut, but I assured the both of us out loud, ¡°There is no other way. Just tell me.¡± After she sighed, Emilia confirmed that I, indeed, did not like where it was. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s in the staff quarters¡­ On the wall next to the door, right next to the beds¡­¡± That was not good. Not good at all. It was easy to sneak at night when there was no one patrolling the halls at night, but walking right into the hornet¡¯s nest was something else entirely. ¡°Staff quarters? They live here? How many?¡± Emilia shrugged. ¡°They changed it so the nurses and others could stay overnight just a few days before our incident¡­ When I went in, there had to be at least a dozen beds¡­¡± She put on a fake smile, feigning optimism. ¡°They most likely aren¡¯t all filled though.¡± I believed that to be far from the truth. After seeing the fumbling and low-class guards, I could tell these people were not very well off, especially with how poor the world had become in recent years... If the hospital offered free lodging, then I bet that every one of those beds would have a body in it. In any case, no matter how horrible it was, I saw no other way. Trying to find Bradley, Price, and Hughes in the mess of others would be like finding a needle in a haystack. ¡°I see¡­¡± Was all I said as I pondered what Emilia had just told me. Emilia began walking back towards the courtyard, knowing that our conversation would have to be cut short or the guards would notice our absence. But just before she fully left, she spoke one last sentence. ¡°Go through the lounge, through the kitchen, and then go through the hallway. Two doors down on the right and you¡¯ll find it.¡± I nodded as she returned to wandering about the courtyard. Following soon after, I decided that I needed to gather more information before I planned for the tumultuous journey ahead. The courtyard was mostly a way to get the many people out of the hospital while the caretakers cleaned whatever needed to be cleaned. There was not much to do other than wander around the cold and muddy yard. In the corner, though, I saw a small patch of flowers and shrubberies. A small garden, and the person tending to it was none other than my own mother. I walked towards her, questions stirring in my mind. As deeply as I wished to know how she knew to give me the music box, that was not the pressing matter I had in store. I would have to figure out how to help Bradley next, and I had no clue how to pull him from his dissociative state. If she could give me advice on how to free Bradley, then I could look past the cryptic esotericism in her talk. She was kneeling next to a bed of daisies, thin and wilting despite her best efforts. I kneeled beside her, getting my white trousers soaked in the cold mud. She did not respond or react, knowing who I was simply from my gait. Once a moment or two had passed, I spoke curtly. ¡°How did you know to give me that music box?¡± Continuing to blindly feel for weeds and pluck them, my mother responded. ¡°You were going to find your friends, weren¡¯t you? I thought it was a pertinent time to give back what she had lent me, simply as that. You give me far too much credit than I deserve, my son.¡± I pondered that for a moment, then rejected that proposition. ¡°No. You knew it would help her¡­ How?¡± I was not forceful in my pressing, but I certainly was not going to move on without an answer. Halting her weeding, my mother sat up straighter and sighed. ¡°There are some things, Theo, that one cannot explain. You are not yet prepared to hear all of the truth.¡± That was not the answer I had hoped for. What does she even mean by ¡®all of the truth¡¯? What part of the picture did I not yet see? Before I could reply, though, my mother slowly turned to me. Her face lingered just beyond my left shoulder. It grew deathly silent before she finally whispered. ¡°Why is it here?¡± The horror on her face led me to look at whatever was just beyond my vision, yet when I turned there was nothing there. Nothing but that shadow in the corner of my vision. Looking back to my mother, I noticed that her line of sight had moved towards behind me. Once again looking just beyond my vision. I faced my mother directly, and once more she pointed herself just beyond my left shoulder. When she was once mysterious and elusive, she had just become very grounded and serious. Fear was displayed clearly on her face. ¡°What do you see?¡± I questioned, trying my best to stay calm. ¡°You might discover the truth sooner than I expected.¡± She said, still unmoving. Then, in little more than a whisper, she spoke. ¡°You¡¯re running out of time.¡± Dirty disguises and dire doorways I float in an endless pool of deep cobalt. Light shone in slivers from the surface, yet the pressure against my chest told me I was far too deep to reach that surface. Part of me was serene in the water and resigned to my fate. Another part deep within my heart raged. It thrashed and screamed and cried out in frustration. A feeling of a vacuum rose into my throat, clamping it shut. Whatever air was left in my lungs was running out. My eyes were beginning to feel heavy, and my chest burned. My mind was at war with itself, forever conflicted on whether to fruitlessly try and escape to the surface or to resign myself to my fate. Whatever part of me I had control over, though, simply watched the beams of light shimmer through the ripples. Somehow it was both peaceful and torturous at the same time. One of the beams of silver light seemed queer after I noticed it. It was no ray of light, but rather a fish swimming towards me at increasing speed. It was long and thin, like an eel. Its hide was reflective and barely recognizable against the rays of light. Again, my mind was at a crossroads with what to do. Surely I would be consumed by this creature, but was I not already dead? Was there a reason to resist being swept away in the open maw of the eel? Did I go out screaming and thrashing about, in fruitless hope of changing my doomed fate, or did I leave the worldly plane with what dignity I had left? My fist clenched as the eel bolted forth. There was no winning, and there was no survival, but my mind was made. I would rather die hopelessly fighting than with pride. I outstretched my arms in preparation for impact as whatever air was left in my lungs struggled out as a muffled cry. It was only seconds away now. 3. 2. 1. And then I felt the water wash away. I shakily held an empty wooden bucket over my head. Water dripped from my hair down to the cold floor I kneeled on. My grip was so tight on the bucket that my knuckles had turned pale. Taking a deep breath, I collected myself. I was in the bathhouse, and it was all just a vision¡­ They were getting worse, especially when water was involved. Ever since that sunken ship, submerging myself brought upon horrible feelings, but that intensity of a vision had never happened while I was awake. In any case, I believed that was a clear indicator that I was done washing. Even though I knew it was not real, my heart still beat like a drum, sending shockwaves resonating all down my body with each thump. Perhaps I could derive meaning from that feeling of ferocity. My mother made it clear that my time was running out, and since then I had merely pondered on her words when I needed to act. There was no way to move about the halls during the day in the state I was in. I needed some way to go unnoticed, and I was not nearly stealthy enough to do it by the shadows¡­ There was one other option¡­ I stood and held the bucket tightly in my hands. It was wood, but the planks were held together by iron, making it quite heavy. After getting myself ready, I waited. A bell rang, signaling us patients to dress and get out of our stalls. I had other plans. We were easily identified by our grimy beige canvas clothing. Yet, if I were dressed in the tidy white button-ups of the caretakers, I would be indistinguishable from the rest. I could walk freely to where I was needed. After a moment, the caretaker began barging through the different stalls, since many patients were far too disassociated to understand what the bell even meant. I held the bucket high and held my breath. There was always one caretaker, and the patients would not even notice. I just had to make it quick. He opened the stall beside me and shouted, then I heard his footsteps reach my stall door. Unlocking it and opening it, the man was completely unprepared for my attack. Stolen novel; please report. With a clean strike on the top of his head with the metal brim of the bucket, the caretaker fell. I took in a sigh of relief. I had done it. Or so I had thought. The caretaker groaned and began to slowly raise himself from the floor. I didn¡¯t like to hurt this stranger, but I had no option but to bring the bucket down again, and with that, he was really and truly unconscious. I leaned down and checked him. His eyes were rolled far back, and his nose was bleeding, but he was breathing. My sympathies were with him since I had only recently been knocked nearly unconscious by a blow to the head when we faced the drugged sailors. There was no time to waste with further contemplation, though. I quickly stripped the man down to his britches and got myself dressed. Due to how thin I was, the clothing draped over me like a child trying to wear a man¡¯s suit. Nevertheless, I tightened his belt and tucked in the shirt neatly. Once I no longer looked completely out of place, I left the man in the stall and walked out. Many patients were simply gazing at me confusedly. If I left immediately, they would almost immediately know one of the caretakers was an imposter, so I decided to usher the patients out of the bathhouse as best I could. I tried to conceal my face from the patients, hoping that Bradley would not see me. He was unintentionally loose-lipped, and I did not trust him to keep my secret. After bringing the patients to the lounge, I decided to try my luck. I walked to the two guards that watched the lounge and tried to pass through the doors they kept secure. Getting near to the door, I got a strange look. The guard held his hand out as my heart started to race. He continued to glare at me, bringing me to look at myself. Like a fool, I had forgotten that the caretaker collapsed to the wet floor after I hit him. My shirt was soggy and moist. Trying to act as calmly as my body would let me, I muttered out to him. ¡°One of them put up a fuss¡­ It¡¯s dealt with now¡­¡± The guard pondered my words for a moment, still staring at my overly sized and wet shirt. He then shrugged and opened the door. Trying to pace my breathing, I went through and found myself in the lobby. After the door did close, I gave myself a moment to calm down. My head ached and my face was flushed. I was never a good liar, and I had decided to take a route that solely relied on deceit. There was no time to devolve into anxiety. I had to find the staff quarters. The lobby was a large room with high ceilings. There was a desk at the far side where a nurse would usually be sat, yet there was no one to be seen. There were numerous doors. One door to the east wing where the patients were kept. One to the west where the offices were. And one to the north where the medical wing was. First, I needed to figure out where the staff quarters even were. I moved to the receptionist¡¯s desk and peered over it. As I had hoped, there was a map of the building. Sadly, it was too old to accurately show where the living area was. Luckily there were multiple rooms that were not marked as anything, meaning all I needed to do was some simple process of elimination to figure out which was the staff dorms. I had to assume that the largest of those rooms was made into the living quarters. Making a mental note of the location, I went through the northern door and towards the medical ward. There was a long hallway. It was mostly empty, and whomever I did happen to pass did not give any care to my appearance or what I was doing. Within just a few moments of walking, I found myself at the door to what I hoped was the staff quarters. To my dismay, though, it was simply full of large pieces of medical equipment. Before I left, I tried to peruse the equipment in hopes that I would find something useful for later, yet there was nothing small or discrete enough to stow away. With that failure, I went to where I remembered the second largest room to be, which was at the very end of the hall. I counted the doors as I continued down the hall. The closer I got, the more people I ran into. More staff members began congregating near the door I intended to check. It seemed I had the right place. Moving into the room, I saw a stoic dormitory of beds and bedside tables in a row to the far wall. A few staff members were resting on their beds, and a few more leaving and taking belongings from their bedside table. I took no mind and instead focused on looking as natural as possible whilst I walked to the sheet of paper pinned to the wall. There, I saw a handwritten list of names and room numbers. I began to search down the crowded roster in my mind. Murray Brackett, Felix Bradberry, ah, Herbert Bradley. Room 151. Next, I looked for Alfred Hughes, and in time I saw he was in room 200. The last in the hall. All that was left was Price¡¯s room¡­ I saw the name Finnigan Price, yet there was no room. ''Medical bay'' was simply written next to his surname¡­ There was nothing I could do about it there, though. Wherever he was in the medical bay, I was sure that I could find him. I left the room and emerged into the hall once more. There was little time until the caretaker I knocked unconscious would be found, I suspected, and once that happened I would be in much more of a rush. After looking both ways, I noticed something strange. There was a door at the very end of the hall, yet I did not remember it being on the map. It should have been a dead-end¡­ Compulsion brought me to walk over to it. After trying the handle, I realized it was locked. I did have one other option though, and that was to peek under the crack below the door. I must know. I thought to myself. After making sure there was no one behind me to see, I got on my knees and looked. My eyes had to get used to the darkness of the room, but once I did I saw something¡­ Not right. The wooden floor instantly changed to stone, and it went in mined steps down in the earth. Deep, deep down. Candles were stationed on the walls and dimly lit into the abyss below. Yet even with the illumination, I could not see the bottom. Something new shone in the dark. Far down, where I assumed had to be the bottom, opened a set of reflective eyes. Pale yellow, and slit. They gazed right at me, slowly growing closer as the sound of something lumbering up the cold stone stairs echoed out. I immediately stood up and began walking in the opposite direction. Never mind. Tongue-tied Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Electric skeptic This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Out of the frying pan The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Into the fire Rain pattered against the roof of the building as I continued down the dusty hallway before me. Windows to my left showed the sun being drug below the horizon by a suffocating amalgamation of smog and rainclouds. My head felt light in a mix of adrenaline and anxiety. The revolver gripped tightly in my hand rattled as I struggled to keep a steady grip. The more time passed, the more I realized that deep down I did not even wish for the truth. All my suffering instead seemed like blissful ignorance with the things I had witnessed. No matter. I had made my bed, and I was to lie in it. Eventually, there was no more path to walk, only a wooden door shut before me. Amber firelight flickered from the crack underneath, and footsteps could be heard within. With great reluctance, my free hand reached for the doorknob. My heart began to race as I clutched the cold brass sphere and slowly turned. Once the door had partially been opened, the fluttering beat of my heart rushed into my limbs and caused me to throw it the rest of the way. The familiar office of Dr. Prescott laid bare before me. I held the revolver up, my eyes darting around the room. Yet, I found no immediate danger. Every book was where it always was. The windows were latched shut. The fireplace crackled calmly. Behind his desk, Dr. Prescott poured a cup of tea into a porcelain cup. It was a bizarre feeling, being in such a familiar space with such a different context. For years, I had come to that room. Sought guidance, help, and hope. Instead, I was standing in a den of lies. An eyebrow raised as he poured; Surprised, but not panicked. Dr. Prescott greeted me in a nonchalant manner ¡°Oh, hello Theodore¡­¡± He gave me a quick glance up and down, then finished his pouring. ¡°Would you like a cup of tea?¡± I did not respond, simply slamming the door shut and continuing to train my revolver on him. All the while, Dr. Prescott was unfazed. Moving further into the room, I took no heed to pleasantries and instead moved straight into the questions engraved deep in my mind. ¡°Why did I end up here? What is going on?¡± ¡°Many things.¡± He said whilst taking a sip. ¡°As for how you got here, your friends simply brought you. You were hurt, and we were glad to help you get back on your feet.¡± I moved closer and hissed at the doctor. ¡°You know what I meant. Why am I here?¡± He produced a smirk as he responded. ¡°Ah, so you¡¯ve gained a bit more knowledge than expected¡­¡± He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable as if he were about to monologue like in our old therapy sessions. ¡°Just to preface, I would like to say that we have only your best interests in mind.¡± ¡°Bullshit.¡± I muttered in frustration. ¡°It¡¯s true!¡± Dr. Prescott retorted. ¡°Oh¡­ How very true it is.¡± His face brightened in passion. ¡°You are very special, Theodore. You, and all the others.¡± He looked in the distance in thought, not caring to keep his eyes on the gun pointed at him. ¡°The things you¡¯ve witnessed are extraordinary. Divine¡­ I know they have been startling at times, but the grandeur of the things you have seen are truly amazing!¡± I moved ever closer, standing near the chair on the opposite side of the desk. ¡°The things I¡¯ve seen are hideous, and by your word not real.¡± He clicked his tongue. ¡°Ah, yes, well, sometimes you need to make a few white lies for the greater good.¡± ¡°What about my medicine?¡± ¡°Purely sedative.¡± Dr. Prescott said matter-of-factly. ¡°You can¡¯t make things that are really there disappear, so we simply coerced you into ignoring what you weren¡¯t ready for. My apologies about that.¡± Letting my revolver drop down, I pursued a word from his sentence. ¡°We? How many people are working against us?¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Not against you, Theodore.¡± He corrected. ¡°It was not a lie when I said we had your best interests in mind. The entire hospital, and quite a few others, only want to help you, and in the process help everyone.¡± ¡°Explain.¡± I stated. ¡°What do you mean by help?¡± ¡°Well, you and your friends are the final chapter of a very long book. The last encore of a momentous symphony.¡± He sat his teacup down. ¡°The things you have seen are all the work of a single benefactor. One that takes many shapes. This benefactor has been here since the beginning, and he will come to lead us to the end.¡± I was taken aback by the audacity of Dr. Prescott¡¯s words, and even more at the fact that I believed them. ¡°Have you ever noticed that these ¡®monsters¡¯ have never hurt you?¡± He questioned. My attention was brought to my arm, eldritch scars still wrapping up it from the jellyfish creature pulling me¡­ Although painful, if it had not brought me to that air pocket, I would have drowned¡­ I avoided the question and instead asked one of my own. ¡°What does this mean?¡± ¡°It means you are a part of something special. You are the witness to the end, Theodore. The eyes that will see our world succumb to its ever-growing entropy.¡± ¡°Stop lying!¡± I shouted, letting the stress of the situation affect my temperance. I brought the revolver back up, trying to coerce the doctor into speaking honestly. Deep down, though, I knew that I was not being deceived. ¡°I¡¯m not lying, Theodore¡­ You and our dear benefactor are one and the same. You have been gifted with the old one¡¯s eyes.¡± He said bluntly. ¡°Have you ever noticed that all the creatures you saw on your own made no sound? Speaking in a language of nonexistent colors, even when they had mouths to talk with?¡± I felt dizzy. The influx of information was absurd and bizarre, but the more he linked it together, the clearer the truth became. ¡°The others¡­¡± I said. ¡°What do they have to do with this?¡± Dr. Prescott gave me an expectant look, as if waiting for me to piece together a puzzle. ¡°Come now, you can figure it out¡­¡± Yet after a good moment of silence, he sighed and continued. ¡°There¡¯s five of you. You see the truth. Emilia hears his voice. Hughes feels his touch. Bradley speaks in the ancient language with the tongue gifted to him. Price himself will tell you he can smell a liar meters away.¡± I stopped for a moment, pacing around the room. I tried to control myself, yet the more I thought on the subject the less in control I felt. My shallow breaths turned into heaves as nausea stirred inside me. I whispered in disbelief. ¡°No¡­ You-¡­ No¡­¡± Dr. Prescott seemed overjoyed. ¡°Yes! The witness, the hearkened, the touched, the orator, and the keen. All of you together make a single whole. A physical form to the old one. A divine avatar. You would not believe how long I have waited to reveal this to you!¡± The brewing nausea crept up my throat as my memory was brought back to the suffering man I had seen but hours earlier. His eyes were jammed into his skull as if implanted from another, and his jaw was obviously removed and replaced¡­ Oh, God. I wretched on the floor, dizzy and unable to think straight. Dr. Prescott stood in startlement and mumbled to himself. The moment I finished vomiting; he spoke in his most reassuring voice. ¡°I know it is frightening, but you will be something beautiful. We have collected the best surgeons in the world, and we have had decades of planni-¡° With a second wind and rush of adrenaline, I shot up. I was lightheaded, but I still managed to raise my revolver and aim it at the mad doctor. ¡°No¡­¡± Was all I managed to surmise once more. I stared down the mad doctor, whom I once thought of as a mentor. ¡°This is a test. I-It¡¯s all a lie that you told to see how I would react.¡± He raised his hands, continuing onward. ¡°It¡¯s the truth, and you¡¯ve been hiding from the truth for long enough. I¡¯ve coddled you all, and I see that now. I should have revealed this much sooner.¡± The adrenaline, anger, and denial became too much. The only person in my life I thought stable, dependable, and caring was instead out to bring me a fate worse than death. The man I thought was a pillar of stability, someone who could bring me to the world of normalcy, was instead a lunatic with no more on his mind than the profane cruelty of reality. My finger squeezed on the trigger as I screamed out for a second, defiant, time "No!". Dr. Prescott screamed in pain as the shot went wide and lodged into his shoulder. He stumbled back into his chair and took deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. ¡°They wanted to rush you¡­ If it were not for me, you would have all been squandered long ago...¡± I spent another shot without reply. It landed in the side of his chest, leading to another cry for pain. As he whelped and squirmed, I blankly asked. ¡°What of my mother? What about her?¡± Dr. Prescott writhed in pain, but he still struggled out an answer in hopes it would save him. ¡°She had your eyes¡­ When she found out the truth, she thought to stop us¡­¡± He winced in pain once more as crimson gushed over his leather chair and finely sewn suit jacket. ¡°Yet it perseveres¡­ Always¡­ When she gouged out her eyes, the gift moved to you, just as it would be inherited by another soul if you were to-¡­¡± He looked back up at me, and his eyes locked with mine. Once he saw the expression on my face, he realized that what he said did not increase his chances. ¡°No escape¡­¡± I mumbled. Dr. Prescott realized that I had become distant. He forwent his explanations and instead moved to pleading. ¡°Please¡­ We can still make this right¡­ You can trust me. There is no meaning beyond the end. You mus-¡° One more round thundered from the revolver, this time implanting lead through his skull and leaving splatters of grey matter all about the large bookshelf behind his desk. Dr. Prescott¡¯s body slumped down in his chair, and blood continued to gush onto the wooden floor in audible dribbles. I lowered the revolver, simply staring into space and letting thoughts pass through my mind. Fuck. Retreat by combat Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. We would have a moment to rest, I thought. That was, until I opened my eyes once more. Back to the jaws Rain tapped against the window as wind crept through the crevices in the door. Horses galloped as police shouted down the street. The five of us stood in hesitation as Payne surveyed the situation. I promised an explanation, yet I feared the truth would only dig our graves even deeper. There was but one solution that I could surmise. Reaching towards the small of my back, I pushed past the revolver and produced Dr. Prescott¡¯s leatherbound journal. Payne hesitantly took it and flipped through the pages. His brow furrowed as his eyes darted by all the esoteric symbols and notes. His expression made me worry that I made the wrong bet. Horses galloped outside. I could hear the police banging on doors near my apartment. If I had to guess, the authorities would check the butchery in due time. I required a more persuasive case. If Payne wasn¡¯t thoroughly convinced by the time the police came, it was either the death of us or him. Knowing the truth did not sit well with him, I decided to take a different approach. I gestured to Hughes, cloistered in the shadowy corner of the room, caressing his bandaged flesh. ¡°Look what they did to us, Payne.¡± I muttered, cutting through the deafening silence. ¡°They were madder than us, and we were lucky to escape with our lives. Look at the ¡®treatments¡¯ they tortured us with.¡± Payne¡¯s attention was fully on Hughes, who avoided his harsh gaze. Hughes had regained just enough cognizance to recognize his lowly state, and the shame was clearly displayed in his demeanor. Payne continued to inspect the example I offered him, weighing the likelihood that the hospital itself really was the enemy. Before he could speak, a knock came at the door. Payne sat the book on the counter as he made his way to the entrance. Price fully drew his knife, anticipating the worst. We all ducked low as the chimes jingled. Payne stood in front of a fat man garbed in blue. The policeman peered into the back of the building as he greeted the butcher. ¡°Good evening sir.¡± Payne responded curtly, his mind obviously still contemplating our plea. ¡°Evening.¡± Not finding any of us lurking in the shadows, the officer went back into a leisurely stance. ¡°So then, I assume you¡¯re the owner of this fine establishment?¡± Payne sighed disdainfully. He as well as anyone in this part of the city had no liking towards the authorities. ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± ¡°Wonderful.¡± The fat man said. He began to take an entitled step into the shop, but Payne did not move from his position in the doorway. Somewhat offended, the policeman spoke. ¡°May I come in?¡± Undaunted, Payne replied ¡°No. There are unsafe instruments about¡­ You could get hurt.¡± The officer raised a brow and frowned at Payne¡¯s audacity, but he still had questions that needed answering, which meant he had to act affably. ¡°Do you know Theodore Chatwood? Lives across the street.¡± Again, as bluntly as ever, Payne responded. ¡°I do.¡± Before, he seemed thoughtful and conflicted, but now he was focused and attentive. Seeing the kind of people after us seemed to strengthen our case. Things looked brightly until the police officer spoke once more. ¡°Well, we¡¯ve suspected him of killing a good man this morning¡­ When was the last time you saw him?¡± Payne¡¯s expression went from contempt to a grim realization. His eyes slowly moved from the police officer to his bloody hands. Blood from Dr. Prescott¡¯s journal. The policeman took notice as well and gestured towards the crimson smudges about Payne. "And what happened to your hands, there?¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Payne grimaced. I could no longer tell if he was with us or against us, but at the very least he could not admit to having the blood of the victim on his own hands. He surmised an excuse quickly. ¡°Just cleaned a pig. Was about to piece it apart before you came along.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± The fat man said, satiated. He then went on to press his first question. ¡°Now, Theodore Chatwood. Have you seen him?¡± Payne sighed once more, his eyes quickly darting to me and then back to the policeman. After a long bout of hesitation, he spoke. ¡°No officer¡­ I haven¡¯t seen him in quite a long while.¡± The fat man frowned. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a shame. Let us know if you see him around¡­¡± Still stone-faced, Payne nodded. ¡°Will do. Have a good morning, officer.¡± The policeman simply murmured in discontent as he turned and walked away. Payne slowly closed the door behind him, then rested his forehead against it. His stoic demeanor broke into relief, then it flashed to anger. Price sheathed his knife, satisfied with Payne. The rest of us reemerged from our hiding places and waited in awkward silence. Hughes muttered out a slow and barely comprehensible ¡°T-Thank¡­ You.¡± Payne didn¡¯t respond to the linen-wrapped man. Instead, he walked over to the counter, took Dr. Prescott¡¯s notebook, and threw it toward me. ¡°I want you all out. Now.¡± There was nowhere for us to go, but Payne had done all he could be brought to. With hesitation, we exited into the alley from whence we came. The police seemed satisfied with their search of the area, as none could be found. It was obviously still not safe to loiter on the streets or go to my apartment, but we could at the very least compose ourselves in the alley. Price sat on a milk crate among the rubbish and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Well, where to now? They¡¯ve almost definitely taken my boat by now. Nowhere for us to go¡­¡± I opened Dr. Prescott¡¯s notebook and looked back at the runic symbols and notes. Remembering what the doctor said, I mumbled to myself. ¡°Nowhere to go¡­¡± Emilia walked over to me and extended her hand, wanting to read through the journal herself. As I gave it to her, it occurred to me that the others had not even found out the horrible truth. Price talked about his boat and escape like there was a way to escape the inevitable. The book was passed around, and it only took a few passages for every one of us to realize our situation was far grimmer than most had hoped. Price was the final one to read the journal, and his expression immediately turned to a deep frown as he flipped through the pages. Everyone went silent and thought to themselves. Despair grew thick in the shadowy alley as rain poured down on us. I looked to the grey sky and thought to myself. There was no way to run from our fate. Even if we succeeded in fleeing, the cycle would only be born anew with different victims of the profane gifts we were given. There was no way to run, and we had yet to even fathom the entirety of what we were subjected to. Beneath the hospital was a cavern full of tools and resources that would continue their evil¡­ Unless we stopped it. There was nowhere to go but back into the jaws of the beast. To the heart. Emilia talked slowly and thoughtfully, the medication having all but faded from her. ¡°Well¡­ What now?¡± She looked at all of us, wallowing in our nihilistic future. ¡°We all read the same book. There¡¯s no running away for us.¡± That was my time to speak what was on my mind. It was a brave idea, and altogether unlikely to come from my lips, but to me, it was our only choice left. ¡°What if we went back¡­ Tried to destroy it from the heart.¡± Bradley mumbled, bringing our attention to him. The drugs had been wearing off on him as well, and his grasp of language had begun being brought back to him along with practice since we last met. Although struggled, he began to speak. ¡°H-How? There¡­ We¡­ It¡­¡± Bradley¡¯s words slurred into nonsense, but he did not quit. With a deep breath, he concentrated. ¡°There¡¯s no¡­ Way¡­ B-Back.¡± Price nodded, moving on with Bradley¡¯s sentiment for him so we didn¡¯t waste precious time. ¡°Even if we did want to go back to that God-forsaken place, how do you suppose we get inside again? Sure as hell can¡¯t just walk through the front door.¡± I sighed. There was no answer at the top of my mind. The police would be looking for us on the streets, and there would not be a single worker in the building that did not know our faces, especially with Hughes sticking out like a sore thumb. We needed a way of passage that went straight to the underground cavern¡­ Then, I looked at our surroundings. The freezing rain poured down harshly and pooled on the ground. The rivers of rainwater accumulated at the ends of the cobblestone streets and rushed downwards. It accumulated in a rushing waterfall, flooding into the drainage¡­ Into the sewers¡­ ¡°I-¡­ Uh¡­ I think there may be one way back¡­¡± I muttered. One of these things... Water poured in around us as we trudged shin-deep through the icy and foul sewage. It was dark, but our navigation stayed relatively consistent. The hospital courtyard was so large it required an excessive amount of drainage. Although not pleasant, all we needed to do was move up the current of rainwater. I looked back to the others, making sure they kept pace. Price, Emilia, and Bradley were right behind me. Price had a soured expression as he waded through the water. Emilia walked with a handful of her dress in her arms, trying not to catch the icy current as much as possible. Bradley shook as he tried to keep contact with the frigid river to a minimum, although his best efforts were not enough to keep his white patient¡¯s wear from becoming soaked and frosted. Trailing behind us were Hughes and Norman. Hughes struggled to push against the current and move forward in his drugged state, but Norman was tall enough to stay mostly dry. Price shouted past the sound of rushing water. ¡°How much longer do we have to go!?¡± I looked ahead. The mist and darkness made the tunnel look nearly endless. ¡°No idea!¡± I shouted back. We could not have been far. We only ran a short distance to Payne¡¯s butchery, and there was no reason to believe the trip would be any longer whilst underground. Eventually, we came across an offshoot tunnel. Water gushed forth in great volume, and on either side of the current were two risen brick walkways assumedly for maintenance. If my sense of direction served correctly, that had to be the hospital¡¯s drainage. Bradley pointed outward and struggled out a sentence, continually becoming more fluid in his speech. ¡°T-That¡¯s it I think.¡± Price responded curtly as we all grew closer to the tunnel. ¡°Seems like. Let¡¯s get out of this muck.¡± All of us were very ready to climb out of the cold and onto a dry walkway. Water spat and sprayed due to the forceful stream, but it was still better than being thigh-deep in it. Before we all pulled ourselves from the filth, though, I commented ¡°There are two walkways. We should split up so we can check all the exits.¡± Emilia responded. ¡°Should we? What if something happens?¡± Norman¡¯s head twisted from one side to the other. Of course, he could simply move across if something were to happen. Price nodded. ¡°Right, right. Who is going with who, then?¡± Emilia had her background as a caretaker at the hospital and did quite well keeping track of Hughes in his sorry state. It would be best for them to stay together. Bradley and I had a strong history of working as a team, so we could stay with one another. All that was left was Price and Norman. I took my pick. ¡°I¡¯ll go on the right with Bradley and ??????-¡° I cleared my throat. The lack of sleep must have been getting to me. ¡°I¡¯ll go with Bradley and Norman.¡± Price, Emilia, and Hughes shared glances with one another, then grouped. Content with the split, we climbed atop the pathways and began moving forward. The brick was slippery and old, leading me to keep a hand tracing along the wall for stability. The entirety of the tunnel was filled with darkness, letting only a few dim rays of light shine through the drainage openings. My mind wandered to my mother. Our mission was crucial and time-sensitive, but I could not stand to leave her to the sadistic clutches of the cult, especially not after she helped lead us to the truth. She was always a distant and cold mother, but I blamed not anything but her madness and my father for the harsh childhood I had. We did the best we could, just the two of us. When she plucked her eyes out, I was all alone, but now that I know why, my resentment has washed away. Only sympathy and despair remained. I must be stronger. I must end the cycle. The others seemed less determined in this task, but all of us were resigned to either succumb to madness or put an end to it all. Price put on a stoic mask, but I had noticed he barely tended to the bite on his forearm. He didn¡¯t change the bandage, instead, he simply kept it above the diseased waters like he did not care for anything more than his immediate wellbeing. Unfortunately for Hughes, there was no good way to keep his cuts from the sewage. Our materials needs could not be forgotten, though. As difficult as it was, we needed to stay at least somewhat optimistic. There was no time for hesitation when we first hid from the police in the infected waters, but I would certainly not let the others resign to death. When we got to the hospital, we required medicine to clean Hughes and Price¡¯s wounds, then get street clothes for everyone to escape in. Maybe¡­ Maybe not everyone needed to go to the dark underground caverns. It may have been risky to leave Hughes alone, but should we really take such a despairing man to the eldritch depths? If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Norman¡¯s smooth face turned to gaze at me. His pale white eyes showed disappointment in my thoughts. Fair enough, it was most likely a bad idea to leave others behind. In any case, there would be no hurt in finding medicine when we look for my mother. As we walked further down the tunnel, I noticed the scenery begin to change. Laden brick turned to sculpted stone. Assembled blocks turned into old, artistic carvings and etched paths. The same make as the underground caverns beneath the hospital. Just to be sure, I made my way to the last overhead drain before we moved into the old stone layout. The thin entry was flooded with water which made it difficult to see the surface. I needed a better view. I looked to Bradley and gestured for him to come over. ¡°Help me up. I want to make sure we¡¯re going in the right direction. Bradley nodded, not wanting to force out any more words than needed. He cupped his hands together and I planted my shoe there. He pushed me as tall as he could, but unfortunately I still couldn¡¯t catch a glimpse of the surface. As I struggled to keep myself from getting drenched in rainwater while simultaneously looking past it, I felt an icy cold grasp on the back of my neck. Thin, elongated fingers wrapped around my neck and shoulders, slowly lifting me into the air. I was pulled into the water. Frigid rain rushed onto my face, forcing its way into my nose and throat. I struggled to turn, but the grip on my head was too strong. My lungs tried to expel the water by coughing, but that was no use while I was still submerged. My feet searched for purchase, but instead left me paddling air. One of my hands grasped the fingers around my neck, while the other looked for something to hold on to. After what felt like forever, Bradley finally grabbed my ankles and helped push me up. A long while of struggled coughing later, and I could breathe once more. I finally had a view of the outside, and we were indeed at the hospital. In fact, the drain had to be one of the last ones installed in the courtyard. Only a short walk until we were under the building. With my sight restored, I grabbed the ledge of the drain and leaned to the side, avoiding the water and helping myself down. I wiped the wet hair off my face and rubbed my eyes. ¡°Good God, Norman. Thank you, but try to say something before you decide to help.¡± I looked up to Norman, and he stared at me blankly whilst the water flowed around him. Without a word, he turned and began walking once more. A lack of apology was mildly irritating, but we were all on edge. I had no time for causing a fuss at that moment. After a short while had passed, the two paths led back into one. Rather than a drain, laid before us was a foreboding and shadowy stone tunnel. The route ahead had to be connected to the hospital underground. It would be dangerous, but there was no other option but for the five of us to move forward and see to the end of this madness... The five of us. The five of us. Five. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I counted each person alongside me¡­ One of us did not belong¡­ The first in line was Bradley, my oldest friend. It couldn¡¯t have been him. Price and his boat were crucial months ago, so it was certainly not him. Emilia? No. My mother had talked about her long before this all happened. Was it Hughes, or was it¡­ With a skeptical eye, I finally noticed him. Norman stood ten feet tall, with deep, dark, purple skin. Like he was covered in a million scabs. His sunken pure white eyes met with mine as we both realized something was amiss. He raised his hand with its hundreds of long fingers at me as his feet went slack. Instead of lumbering in a false walk, he instead hovered limply above the ground. The longest finger of the bouquet extended towards me, as if accusing me. I pulled the gun from the small of my back and shot it at the creature. The bullet flew through it and ricocheted off the walls behind us. The others shouted as they grew closer to me. They thought I had gone mad, that I had started attacking a friend. As they grabbed onto my arm, I shouted at them. ¡°He¡¯s not real! He¡¯s not real!¡± Bradley pried the gun from my hand as Price wrestled me to the ground. Emilia, though, stood straight and stared at the creature. She whispered low. ¡°H-He¡¯s not¡­ He¡¯s not real¡­¡± After she whispered those words, the creature¡¯s rotted face turned to look at Emilia. It began slowly and silently hovering towards her, causing her to scream out ¡°He¡¯s not real! Look!¡± Hughes mumbled in incoherent fear as he realized what was happening. All the commotion brought Bradley to look, and when he saw its true form, he began peeling Price off me. The creature began moving towards Emilia even faster. Price finally let go of me and shot up to challenge Bradley, but he noticed no one was looking at him. His gaze slowly moved to the corner of his eye, and then to the creature. Once we all witnessed the creature, its momentum halted. It stayed frozen in the air, exactly where it was when we all met its eyes. I cautiously stood while maintaining eye contact with it. With all of us recognizing it for what it was, it no longer moved. Like a feline that only proceeded when not being watched, it could not continue with all of us against it. The creature shook as we pulled ourselves from its enchantment. Its tremoring soon turned to full convulsions as its scabbed skin began to fall off in heaps. The encrustations slithered into the water and down the current like eels until there was nothing left but the creature¡¯s marble white eyes, which stayed levitated in the air. The eyes rolled forward, revealing color. They looked¡­ Like mine. Both flickered from place to place, taking in the surroundings. We stood in anxious silence as it looked about. Bradley held out the gun he had taken from me and shot again at the eyes. He wildly missed his mark, but as the muzzle flashed, the eyes had blinked out of existence. I took a deep breath as we were alone once more. Price was the first to blurt out. ¡°What the fuck was that!?¡± The others looked to me as I was the first to notice it, but I simply shook my head. ¡°I have no clue¡­ But whatever it was, it couldn¡¯t hurt us while we were together.¡± Bradley dropped to the floor where he sat and caught his breath. ¡°T-T-Theo¡­ That thing. It lifted you¡­ I-I-It can interact with us.¡± Emilia continued to stare at the space in which the creature once was. ¡°We¡¯re getting closer to the heart of it¡­ We need to have our wits about us... Or else that will happen again¡± Hughes coughed; his constitution not suitable for such adrenaline. ¡°I want things to go back to normal¡­¡± ¡°They must soon." I replied. "I fear we don''t have much time left..." Whiplash If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The plunge Firelight bounced off the slick stone walls. All down the hall were geometric etchings that spiraled inward, like walking through a kaleidoscope. Price held the makeshift torch he formed from rags and rubbing alcohol forward, trying to keep our vision as far in front of us as possible. We grew closer to the heart of these caverns, and the closer we went, the more the pungent aroma of iron filled the air. Death was lingering, and it was obvious we were all on edge. Well, everyone aside from me. My friends were tense, unknowing of what their fates might be. Their future was a foggy road that took any sort of twists and turns, but I had realized my path ever since I spoke to my mother. I went to the front of our group and looked over to Price. As much as he was born to lead, his tendency to paranoia made anxiety gleam past his tense glare. I held my hand out, offering to take the torch. Price refused for a moment, not wanting to leave the frontline, but I had a certainty that he was unable to grasp. Eventually, I received the torch, and Price was able to take a deep breath. The man was not made to have such a clashing battle of steadfastness and doubt. His curse corrupted him in a way that took away his greatest strength, but that would not be for long. We continued down the stone hall, and the smell of blood only became more pronounced in the stagnant air. I spoke out calmly, trying to take attention away from our grim journey. ¡°So, what are you all going to do if¡­ When we¡¯re freed of this curse?¡± No response came, not due to some esoteric force or eldritch monstrosity, but because deep down I don¡¯t think anyone truly could envision coming back out of the dark. I, on the other hand, saw them leaving. This wasn¡¯t a death march. Not for them. ¡°How about you Bradley? Ever going to finish university?¡± It may have been a bit manipulative, but I knew Bradley¡¯s mouth would run if I let it loose. ¡°W-Well, I suppose so.¡± He stuttered out. ¡°Not sure anyone will take me after what happened.¡± I looked back to Bradley and saw him glancing at the others. ¡°When my, er, symptoms began showing up, I just spoke whatever was on my mind... I did not have many pleasant things on my mind regarding my professors.¡± He let out a soft chuckle while the rest grinned. Their minds began to wander from the path we walked, and without my provoking, Bradley continued. ¡°But if¡­¡± His eyes locked to mine, and whatever he saw within mine caused him to steel himself. ¡°When we get out of here, I¡¯d like to continue my studies, wherever that may be. Quitting the bottle is also a wise decision, most likely.¡± Price nodded at Bradley¡¯s last sentiment. ¡°Cutting down liquor sounds like a good first step to me, too¡­¡± His gaze went to ambient space as Price thought. Such a simple answer was not the only one on his mind. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll go back home¡­ God knows what¡¯s waiting on me when I get back, but it¡¯ll be worth it if I can see L-¡° Price stopped himself before he could conjure the name, and instead just grunted. ¡°My wife is still there.¡± The group fell silent after what Price had said. Such silence did not last for long, though. Hughes had been formulating his own thoughts as we walked along. His hand tightened the bandage wrapping his arm, then slowly moved to his face. His gloved finger ran over the taught dressing that twirled around where his nose was, before he scraped it off in his deliria. ¡°I-I-I believe I will take my fortune and move somewhere a bit more open and alone¡­¡± He itched at his neck. ¡°I would quite like to feel the cold breeze on my skin once more.¡± Hughes then looked to the rest of us. It was hard to make out his thoughts while his face was mostly covered, but from what I could tell he looked conflicted, guilty, or some mix of the two. ¡°You could have all left me in that padded cell but instead you bandaged me and brought me to my senses¡­ If any of you want to get away from this place, I would be happy to purchase somewhere everyone could escape to¡­¡± He then looked to Price, knowing as well as the rest of us that he was not liked by authorities in any of the Isles. ¡°Perhaps you find your wife and come along. Somewhere quiet and near the ocean.¡± Price nodded appreciatively and swallowed a lump in his throat. He did not respond, as it seemed he had other things grabbing at his attention since the conversation of his old home was brought about. We went on in silence for another moment before Emilia talked about her hopes. ¡°I think I¡¯d like to go back to the countryside. I¡¯ve got some bad memories there, but I think it¡¯s about time I met with those rather than run from them¡­ I¡¯ve tried to make up for the things I¡¯ve done by helping others, but I think there¡¯s only one way to make it all right.¡± Bradley spoke up. ¡°W-What about you, Theo? What are you going to do when we get out of here?¡± For a long while I was simply silent, and even after my extensive thoughts, I could only conjure the words ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Those sorts of questions did not concern me, but they nevertheless brought me to delve into thought. If I were to go back into the world, free of my curse, what would I do? The plaguing visions consumed my entire adult life, leaving me absent of almost any greater ambition. The last long-term plan for my future I had was to take a hot air balloon and fly into the stars as a boy. Ever since adolescence, my time and concentration had been almost solely focused on feeding myself, supporting my mother, and resisting the temptation to cut my time below the stars short. My life was robbed from me by this force; by entropy. It was my turn to take something from it. I began moving forward at a quicker pace, nearly leaving the others behind. They trot along behind me, not interested in asking questions as to why. Assumedly, they were just as ready as I was to leave these endless sprawling stone corridors and see what we were meant to find from the very beginning. Finally, I met the end of the hall, and what I found was a large and spacious stairwell. Light and putrid stench emanated from far below us, but the stone steps spiraled down so far that there was no way to reasonably tell what was at the bottom. We stoically continued down the stairs. Eventually, our makeshift torch would only give us away, so we extinguished it and left it behind. Whispers were carried along the updraft as we grew closer. Hushed conversations between only a few voices. It was near impossible to concentrate on them, though, as the sulfuric stench of rot began to clog the sinuses. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Despite it all, we continued our descent. Most of us, and especially Price, found some way to cover our noses as the smell became near unbearable. Along with that, the temperature of our subterranean coffin brought most of us shivering to the bone. I made the foolish decision to get closer to the edge of the stairs and peer downward. Immediately, vertigo took hold, and there were no guard railings to brace myself on. To keep my balance, I had to stumble backward. Though at that moment I could see what awaited us. Bodies were piled in a mass at the center of the circle, all mangled, shriveled, and pale. Any blood left from the pile flowed into a larger room by etched markings in the stone floor. We finally reached the ground floor, and I could see the runic symbols all merge into a singular trench that streamed to the center. The voices also grew louder but were still muffled beyond comprehension. I pushed myself against the freezing cold wall and shuffled quietly to the entrance of the large room. Peering past the doorway, I saw multiple figures. They wore white surgical gowns that were stained in deep crimson. I couldn¡¯t identify any of them, and their heads were all shawled in a cloth sack with two glass eyepieces and a metal filter by the mouth. The count was only four men, and they carried themselves as if they were frail and old. They moved old ceramic jars and primitive clay sculptures in a circle around something, but my sight was so diffused by the objects that I could not make out what. The only thing I could see for sure was the trickling stream of blood that ran to the center. On the other side of the room were shiny medical tools hung on the wall, alongside five surgical tables. The others had grouped up close behind me, with Price closest. I whispered to him. ¡°Four doctors. I¡¯ll fire as much as I can. You run in and finish them.¡± To which the red-haired man simply nodded. I would¡¯ve taken a deep breath, but I was already so close to vomiting I thought it best to take my shot without bracing. Price pulled the knife from his boot and got ready to run. Once he was ready, I leaned past the doorway and retrieved my revolver. I pointed it at the farthest man and squeezed the trigger. A deafening shot echoed throughout the stairwell as the masked man¡¯s head spouted a red mist. The others began to confusedly scramble for cover while I simply picked another target and began firing. One shot went wide. Another pierced through my target¡¯s shoulder. One more shot landed in his abdomen and brought him tumbling to the ground. The rest all found themselves safety before I could retrain my sights. I held out my gun, to which Price snatched it and broke into a full sprint. He ran straight towards one of the two remaining doctors¡¯ cover and vaulted over it. He fired a shot with the revolver in one hand and dived down with the knife in his other. There were muffled screams, then silence. Price stood back up, now sprayed in blood himself, and began walking towards the other doctor. The masked figure jumped up from his hiding spot with his hands raised. He shouted something that was incoherent past his panic and mouthpiece. Price simply held out my revolver and planted a round into his chest. We had all heard well enough lies and pleas. The one I had shot in the side was still crawling, so Price made his way over. With no more ammo, he simply dropped the gun and grabbed the man. Without much struggle, the dagger plunged into the white fabric and brought red slowly staining the gown. Once he looked back and nodded to me, I walked in with the others. My eyes were not drawn to the cryptic symbols on the walls, nor the many ancient artifacts surrounding the room. I was encompassed by the stream of blood, which ran down stone steps to a large square pool that shimmered sanguine in the torchlight. The more I stared at the murky liquid, the more my head began to ache. A pulsating pain pounded to the beat of my heart. That was my destination. I continued to walk toward the pool as the others gathered in the room. They began to inspect all our surroundings as I stood entranced at the foot of the basin. Emilia was the first to come up to the pool. We both pondered upon it for a moment before she spoke. ¡°Are you alright, Theodore?¡± I looked over to her and smiled a false smile. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m fine¡­¡± I tried to conjure something more to say, but that was all I could muster. Our gazes stayed locked for a long while as the others began to gather around the pool. For a brief moment, my gut churned as my throat clamped shut. My mind wandered to what my life could have been. My arms wrapped around Emilia as I brought her into a hug. Although surprised at first, she hugged me back. My mind slowly let those thoughts go. Like a leaf on the wind, they eventually floated along the breeze to some greener place. Such fancies had to be put aside. Although I did not want it to, our embrace came to an end. A tear ran down my cheek, both due to having to let go, and for what was to come. I turned back to the pool and stepped in. The others quickly gathered close, but none dared enter. Although the dead bodies should have had blood to fill the entire room, I found the liquid to only reach my ankles. Wading into the middle of the pool, I looked back at my friends. Bradley tried to run after me, but his foot never found purchase. In the very first step, he very nearly fell knee-deep into the blood, only saved by Price grabbing his arm and hoisting him back out. My old friend shouted at me, this time in perfect punctuation. ¡°Theo!? Get the hell out of there so we can figure this out!¡± Unfortunately, I had already figured it out. Nevertheless, I was glad to see Bradley so prepared to come after me. Almost anyone who met him in his adult age would have called him a selfish layabout, but he had become one of the most reliable and determined of us all. Hughes muttered out. ¡°I¡¯m not sure this is a good idea¡­¡± As well as Bradley changing, so did Hughes. He may have lost the pride he held on to so dearly, but he gained a group of people that cared for him. Offering to help the others on his own dime was not something I had thought he would do in any situation. Emilia simply grimaced and looked away. There were too many things to be said about her. She took better care of my mother than I ever could have, and her care for Hughes was the only thing that could have brought him to such a cognizant state. In the end, I was glad she planned to reclaim her past life. Redo what should have been and come to face what had happened. Price simply looked me deep into the eyes and slowly nodded. Despite how standoffish and untrusting he was to everyone around him at first, and as scary as it might be to leave such grave work to another, I knew he was depending on me. He still had work to do on this earth, which left me to handle the rest. I wouldn¡¯t let him down. Giving them all one more glance. I smiled. ¡°Well. Goodbye, friends.¡± As soon as I said that I felt a long cold hand grasp my ankle and pull. The sudden jerk caused the wind to escape my lungs as I plunged deep into the pool. Instinctually, I tried to resist, but I was sinking at such a speed that my arms were locked above my head. The pounding headache I felt earlier grew more and more intense as my body tried to convulse and failed due to the pressure of the flowing liquid. My concentration was spent on not breathing in and filling my lungs with blood, but my consciousness did not last for long. The headache became dull as my thoughts drifted. The forceful push of the current around me began to instead feel like a gentle wave washing over me. My consciousness dissipated as I felt like I was floating. Nothingness into nothingness into nothingness. Then, something whispered directly into my ear. The sounds startled me as if I had been violently awoken, and most concerning of it all, the words came from my very own voice. ¡°Wakey wakey.¡± Immovable My eyes opened. I found myself standing on my feet, not sure how I came to be upright. My surroundings were black as pitch, with only small blinking stars in the distance. My lips dryly parted as my throat struggled out words. It was as if I hadn¡¯t spoken in years, yet I was still able to force out a rasped call. ¡°H-Hello?¡± Initially, I expected an echo, yet nothing sounded back. It did not sound like I was in an open space, either. My words seemed to travel short. Muted as soon as they left my mouth. Consumed. Part of me wanted to run, but I had no way of knowing where a single step forward would lead me. Every breath I took seemed to bounce back at me like I was caged in a box, yet my surroundings felt spacious and empty, as if I were standing in the middle of a glass ocean. I stood there for a very long while, simply observing my surroundings. My heart fluttered deep in my chest as I wondered whether my grand assumptions were really true. Perhaps I had simply waltzed myself into a tumultuous death¡­ Then, after an amount of time I could not recount, something happened. The speckled stars around me seemed to shine brighter. They did not actually shine brighter, though. The blackness around the stars simply retracted like the sea¡¯s tides revealing a grand reef. More stars appeared. Bigger stars appeared. Wondrous luminescence of all colors were unveiled, twisting between the stars like ink poured in water. It was beautiful beyond anything conjured in my dreams. The blackness did not just disappear, though. It instead accumulated into a phantablack sphere in the center of my vision. Vibrations emanated from the globe, sending shockwaves throughout my sternum like the beat of a war drum. I remembered this. This moment. Before everything began, I had a dream with this very same thing. Except, in the dream, it spoke in colors with black nothingness around it. The only light in the dark. Now, it was a black hole in the middle of a bright universe. My feet planted into the reflective ground as the trilling reverberated through me. The tremors were nearly enough to take me to my knees, but I withstood. Eventually, they stopped, and the globe began to warp and wobble. It fell like a raindrop to the mirrored horizon and reclaimed shape. Now, it was the figure of a man. It looked almost like my own, but narrow. Stretched. Entropy had come to continue our conversation from months ago. This time, there was no waking up. The shape was a complete void. The only way I could see details of the shadow was due to the light behind it creating a silhouette. I took a deep breath, and the air around me felt cool and fresh. Whatever smothered me had faded. Once more my vocal cords struggled to resonate. ¡°Entropy? Is that what you are?¡± A choir of voices spoke. It sounded as if it were myself and all the others speaking in unison, yet it came from the figure standing across from me. ¡°I have many names. Ul¡¯roth N¡¯tho C¡¯thelo. The one who consumes. Entropy¡­ I am also called Theodore Chatwood, Herbert Bradley, Emilia Moore, Finnigan Price, Alfred Hughes, and so much more throughout the aeons.¡± It was so far away, yet its words sounded as if they were whispered directly to my ears. I tried to keep my cool as I continued. ¡°Entropy it is¡­ I¡¯ve heard much about you¡­ And seen far more.¡± ¡°Do not speak so detached from me. Feel at home, as you have returned to the greater whole. Our meaning has been realized.¡± My head tilted. For a long while I was silent, but in the end I decided if I were to be there, I might as well ask what was on my mind. ¡°What do you mean our purpose? What are you, really? Not some god like those cultists say, I would bet.¡± The figure began to walk towards me, although it did not seem like it grew closer, only larger. ¡°You are correct.¡± It whispered. ¡°I am no god. Simply a force of nature. A constant, primordial, inevitability. All which came from nothing returns to nothing.¡± Carefully, I shot back. ¡°So what, then? Everything is just made to simply return to dust? Where is the meaning in that?¡± The figure finally stopped walking as it became exactly as large as I was. It simultaneously felt like it was both a distant trick of the light and right in front of me. ¡°That is the unfortunate reality. There is no meaning but the end. No end but to be consumed.¡± Those words led to a question burning in my mind. ¡°My entire purpose is to become your physical form, is it not? If everything returns to you, then why not just wait?¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Quickly, the whispering voices responded. ¡°A flower grows tall and blooms in beautiful colors. Then it withers and turns pale. Returns to dirt. I wish to pluck the flower while it still shines in the sunlight.¡± Quite a poetic fa?ade for such a horrifying end. I thought. Horror is the rawest form of poetry. It thought back. ¡°R-Right.¡± I mumbled aloud. There were no barriers where I stood. ¡°You speak of flowers, then what of dandelions drifting in the wind? The beauty of a musical note slowly fading to a close? A dignified, peaceful, end?¡± ¡°Do you think humans are truly dignified?¡± Entropy asked. ¡°They accumulate like rats in concrete nests. Pile atop one another in filth and disease only to blot out the sun with clouds of smoke. They have already shown their true colors, and those colors are muted and cold.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± I shouted out, yet the volume of my voice did not seem to raise. ¡°There are indignant times. Times of ruin and times of sin¡­ But unlike you, we can create. We¡¯ve made beautiful things. Things that harmonize with the sun and the grass and the beauty we sometimes corrupt.¡± Entropy¡¯s head tilted. It hissed out. ¡°The optimism you offer is misplaced and unneeded. Did you return to yourself in hopes of debate?¡± A smile came across my face. ¡°No. I came here to win.¡± The figure across from me undulated and convulsed. Laughter erupted from everywhere, although it sounded less like a chuckle and more like a chittering screech. ¡°There is no victory in surrender! You are fully aware that there are only two options. Give in to your truth or perish like your mother and let the cycle continue.¡± I chuckled as my attention turned from the silhouette to the colorful starscape beyond. ¡°My mother was forced here years ago. Correct?¡± The rapturous laughter ceased as Entropy¡¯s many voices, with a hint of anger, whispered back. ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°She had told me of those two options¡­ And I had thought it strange that she had options. I am here, right next to you. Why not simply take me, Entropy? Use me for my intended purpose?¡± All I received in return was a deafening silence. With that, I continued. ¡°You keep saying ¡®we¡¯ and ¡®our¡¯. I¡¯ve been told again and again that I am not cursed by you, I am a part of you.¡± I took a step forward, and my foot found purchase on solid ground. ¡°Believe me when I say, parts of a person do not always obey. Your heart flutters in fear, which makes you run. Your eyes see things that are not there. Cancers grow and kill the cells they derived from.¡± Entropy growled back. That vibration that drummed in my chest became more intense, causing my entire body to shake and the floor beneath me to tremble. ¡°Is your great plan to kill me? Neither of us are bound by mortality in this place.¡± The experience led me to fall to my knees. Nevertheless, I continued. ¡°You¡¯re all consuming¡­ Yet, you aren¡¯t all-powerful, are you?¡± I rose to my feet and continued walking, gazing at the stars as I went. ¡°I have two options, meaning you can¡¯t choose for me. The one thing you can¡¯t consume is yourself.¡± ¡°I cannot choose for you?¡± The voices sounded as if they circled around me. ¡°You have never chosen your own path.¡± That caused me to stop in my tracks. ¡°As you drowned in that sunken ship, I outstretched my hand and brought you to oxygen. As you wandered aimlessly throughout the corridors of your hospice, I led you to the truth. Ever since you were a boy, you were led by me to this very moment. What makes you so filled with pride now that you are given a single choice that leads to the same inevitability?¡± Again, the thrumming heartbeat caused me to wince, but I held my footing. ¡°You killed my mother effortlessly, yet even as I taunt you and waste your time, you do nothing? Why not make my decision for me? Consume me or spit me back out. Those are the two options, right?¡± Slowly, my arms raised. My heart nearly beat out of my chest as I waited in silence. My plan was either correct, or everything we fought for would be meaningless. I waited outstretched for an eternity yet received nothing but silence. I could feel a deep hatred within the air. Finally, Entropy responded in a deep snarl. ¡°You still have but two options. Return to your disgrace or become whole. You canno-¡± ¡°Wrong!¡± I interrupted happily. ¡°I have three options, actually.¡± Turning back from the stars to the smaller silhouette, I sighed in relief. I was proven right. ¡°You could have possibly tried to kill me back in the physical world through indirect means, but we aren¡¯t in the physical world now. I saw your grasp on the stars rescind as I got your attention, and now you can¡¯t ignore me.¡± Again, a chuckle escaped me. ¡°At this moment in time I control you, and you can¡¯t even continue to interfere with my friends or my home.¡± I looked back to the starry sky. ¡°As is true throughout much of life, you prove to be your own worst enemy.¡± The ground rumbled at my feet, yet the more I noticed it, the less it seemed to shake me. ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay here for a while¡­ A long, long, while.¡± ¡°Do you have even the slightest comprehension of infinity!?¡± Again, the floor beneath me seemed to billow, yet I somehow felt unphased. I supposed I had gotten my sea legs, so to speak. The shadowy figure looked like it had started to walk towards me, but it stayed just the same size. Eventually, though, it stopped and simply stared at me as it continued. ¡°You will not last. You will plead for me to release you from this prison within time.¡± I waved my hand nonchalantly. ¡°Oh sure, eventually I¡¯ll give up. Remember that note quietly playing out?¡± For a moment I thought about my friends, and the lives they could have free from our shared burden. I would miss them, but it was worth it if they could live content lives. ¡°Instead of dying right here, I believe first humanity will reach that infinity you were talking about¡­ And once the final star has gone out, and the final song has been sung, I¡¯ll let you rifle among the echoes. That¡¯ll be a satisfying end.¡± The many voices of entropy screamed out, yet instead of emanating from all around me, they weakly called from the frozen silhouette. ¡°You are a fool to think of yourself so imputable! You cannot stop creations one meaning! YOU CANNOT STAY AN UNSTOPPABLE FORCE OF NATURE!!¡± It was strange. As Entropy continued talking, it spoke in less and less voices. At one point, it was all five of us together, but by the end of its speech, it was just my own. Slowly, I eased to the ground. My legs felt tired, and I was quite ready for a chance to relax. The stars were striking as they floated about the cosmos in a timeless dance. The smile on my face softened to a reminiscent grin. I spoke out softly. Little more than a whisper, yet more sure than I had ever been in my life. ¡°Well, my friend. Every unstoppable force has its immovable object.¡±