"Third Flesh" FINAL PREVIEW

In order to stay within the length a post can be, the beginning of Chapter One has been cut. For any newcomers, this is a woman with a head wound who has lost her memories. Enjoy!

Part One: The Flesh of Burden

One

Death has always suited you better.

A slithering, invisible cobra wraps its cool flesh around her throat, tightening its grip. It tickles her ear with its words. You thought you could escape misery? Pain? Look at what that’s done for you. You’re worse than you left off. Not that you wouldn’t remember, since you fucked that up, too.

“Shut up.” She hisses under her shivering breath, lips numb and almost foreign to her.

You speak to me as if I am your enemy. I am only trying to protect you. Life… was not meant for you. Or do you wish to remain in this hell?

She swats her ear, imagining a fly being flattened and falling off her shoulder to meet the snowy depths. She didn’t have time for it. Not right now. She, at the very least, remembered that much.

However, she could not remember her name. Her family. Her likes and dislikes. Her friends, if she had any. Nothing was coming up except for the awareness that this was not normal. It was enough memory lost to be confused, yet enough memory remained for her awareness to be intact. Enough to know that something was very, very wrong.

A phone. She had to have one, yes? Surely, she had one and could call for help. As she tunes in to her pockets, she feels one of them is a bit more bulbous than the others. Numb fingers struggle to push into the tight pocket, knuckles too stiff to bend without extreme effort. Bile rises in her throat, and she focuses on the pain of the cold to quell it back down.

Trembling hands pull out something that is very much not a phone. However, it is the next best thing, a wallet.

And how will a wallet get you help? You’re still stranded out here. I doubt that’s real leather, so you can’t eat it, either.

If I still have my wallet, it means I wasn’t robbed. Plus, wallet means ID. ID means name.

That’s nice, it’s good you’ll be able to tell them what name to put on your tombstone.

She swats her ear again, and the voice dissipates. He’s wrong. This will help me survive. I know it.

Adrenaline causes her fingers to shake even more, the unfeeling tips dropping the wallet repeatedly, as she curses under her breath- though the lack of sensation in her lips and tongue caused the words to putter out like a bad car.

Finally, finally, she got the wallet open.

It was empty.

She screamed as loud as her parched throat would let her, aching, raw, defeated, which was immediately followed by a coughing fit. Her throat may have been parched, but her lungs were bone dry.

You know what would stop this pain?

“SHUT UP!!” She cried, not caring that it sent her into another fit. “Just go away! Fuck off!”

She swatted her ear so hard that her head rung, and she was met with quiet again. She didn’t think he’d return for a while now.

She shook the wallet, agitation and anxiety rising. She peeked in every pocket, checking if there was anything, anything that she missed, that could give her a clue about who the fuck she was, where the fuck she is, and how to get the fuck out of here, and go wherever the fuck she was headed.

A piece of paper peeks out, in one of the back pockets. It pulls out with difficulty, but she manages to take it out without tearing it. A photo. But it wasn’t her. It was… a man? She didn’t recognize him. Dark, shoulder length hair, that was curled ever so slightly. Some light stubble. He was smiling, cheeks rounded and slightly cherried. But his eyes. His smile was all in his warm, chestnut eyes. The man was as tranquil as the scenery behind him- tall trees, the hint of a trail path, and a clear blue sky. Was he a friend? A boyfriend? If so, it’ll be awkward if she sees him again and can recall nothing about him, nothing about herself.

She flips the photo over, in hopes of a clue or… something. She lucked out. There was painter’s tape on the back, so that it could be written on. In sloppy marker, a memento:

8/30/2017

“Went hiking with Madeline! Got to catch some amazing sights, and even saw a baby snapping turtle! I tried to catch some fish in the stream with my hands, and that made Mads laugh.”

Huh. So her name was Madeline. And apparently, this man knew her. Or it could be a trap. She wasn’t sure. But at least she had a name now. She whispers it, to test how it feels on her tongue. “Madeline.”

No memories resurface, even with the aid of the photo, but she’d take anything at this point. A gust of wind, like a deep moan, bristles her neck and interrupts her thoughts. It was only getting colder. Time to find shelter.

Madeline takes a breath, and wills her body to-

Wait. Could she even stand? She struggles, her body weak, numb, and exhausted. Her knees ached and popped as she went from sitting, to crouching, and finally to standing.

She turns around and notices her tracks leading up to her and stopping abruptly. Clearly, she thought, she was running in this direction before losing consciousness. But what stopped her? If there’s a wound on the back of her head, but she fell backwards, something must have stopped her abruptly, pushed her. Yet, there were no sharp rocks or objects to be seen in the snow. No blood aside from the puddle that pooled out of her own head. As worrisome as this was, it had to be solved another time. Right now, the objective is warmth, nutrition, and water. It might be best to continue on the path she was headed and see where it leads. Home? That mysterious man? Maybe she wasn’t far from safety at all. Why can’t she remember anything?

Her head thrums in a dizzying pain with each step, begging for relief, for rest, for the sweet slow death she could achieve by just lying back down and closing her eyes. Her body and mind are clear- I want to die. Let me die. Stop. Let me die.

Why don’t you just give yourself what you want?

But she can’t die, not yet. Not until she at least gets some answers. Or at least the feeling of warmth again.

Warmth. Warmth. Her heart wanders to a flickering image- a colorful, likely handmade mug, filled with tea. She explores this. What kind of tea?

Her heart answers. Earl Grey. Your favorite.

The image focuses slightly. She can feel the heat of the mug warming her fingers, slightly burning them, but in the most delightful way. She can smell the tea, with its hint of lavender and honey, and takes a sip in the well-lit kitchen. She smiles. “This is just what I needed after today. Thank you.”

A figure is by the stove with a kettle. It’s the shadow of a person, and warbles out a fuzzy, incomprehensible response, like it was being filtered through an old telephone. She tries to focus harder on the figure, like a camera. Her head aches and pleads for her to stop, but she ignores it.

The figure starts to have color, then a more defined shape. She’s almost got it-

“Hey! Are you okay?”

She startles back to reality, a small cry leaving her lips. She turns in the direction of the voice.

It was him. The man in her wallet. Even in the dark, she could make him out clearly. Her jaw falls open, eyes widened. He’s not a hallucination, right? She closes her eyes, then opens them again. Yep, there he was.

She blinks. “It’s you.” She mutters lowly. Her throat is still far too dry to speak as eloquently as she did in her memory.

His eyes widen with a mix of bewilderment and confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“You tell me.” She replies, handing him the photo. He examines it, and she studies his face. It seems to be genuine surprise, then confusion, and… was that fear?

“And check the back.” Madeline says, making sure he sees the cryptic note. This only seems to puzzle him even further, his brow furrowing. “I, uh, okay, so this is me,” he starts “And I don’t know how you got this photo of me, but, uh, this- “He gestures to the note “This is my handwriting. Or at least it is a very good imitation of it. Which is very freaky cause I have never been to this place where I ‘tried to catch a fish with my bare hands’, and I do not know you.”

“Then who wrote it, and why the fuck is it in my wallet?” She couldn’t help it. Someone needed to take this anger, this confusion, this fear. And she was sick of carrying it. Why not this guy? He may not have looked like he was lying, but the evidence was stacked against him.

He stammers for a moment, getting defensive. “I mean, for all I know you could’ve-“ He stops, running his fingers through his chestnut hair, and sighs slowly. “Yeah, okay, you know what, let’s put a pin in that.” He shifts back into his initial concern, only growing the longer he looks at her. “You’re bleeding, or at least were, and are probably suffering from a bit of hypothermia, and I have no idea how long you’ve been out here. Let me take you to the hospital.” He’s almost pleading with the last sentence. He takes her hand, gingerly, but with urgency. “I live close by, my truck’s a quick walk. Can you move?”

Wow. His hands were so warm. How long has it been since she felt warmth? “I don’t remember my name.” she replies. She has no idea why she’s telling him this. It’s not what he asked. “My only guess is that it’s Madeline because of that note. I don’t remember anything.”

The man draws in a hissing breath. “Okay, we can work with that, sounds like some amnesia, all the more reason we should get you to a hos-“

A crack of a branch whips both of their heads around, sending Madeline into a painful haze that takes a moment to relent. At first, nothing but darkness is seen across the forest. But as the silence gets louder, it is squelched once again by a groan. Another groan of the wind.

Except, it never was the wind, was it?

The groan intensifies, deep and angry, like something being stirred from its slumber. The sound grows as a slender, tall figure snaps and crackles to its full height. As it slowly emerges from the tree line, perfect camouflage for this nightmare, its movement speed accelerates, and before Madeline It looked like it may have once been human, but somewhere along the way, someone put far, far too many bones inside of it. Neck far too long, fingers stretched like taffy on a spike, so many sharp, jagged edges pierced through it’s-

-it’s nurse scrubs.

It was a nurse, once. Lanyard hanging by shredded strands, there was an ER badge attached, and as the creature drew closer, terrifyingly closer with its uneven and frantic pace, Madeline could make out a smiling photo of what was formerly a woman named Laura.

Memories flood through Madeline, quick and abstract, like a kaleidoscope. Bright, harsh hospital lights, blood, warping faces and twisting torsos, restraints, escape.

Escape.

Hand still in hers, the man yanks with a force to pull Madeline out of her trance, heaves her over his shoulders, and breaks into a sprint. He is silent, but she swears she can hear his heart thrumming.

A wet, inhumanly deep shriek emerges from the husk of Laura, and it lurches with a speed that is slower than the man carrying her, which is a surprise. Madeline couldn’t tell earlier under his loose jacket and sweatpants, but this man was strong. However, they were not in the clear yet- this thing was fast enough to be a danger should he slip on some ice, fall, or even hesitate. Or if her weight slows him down.

It starts to. He’s running with the speed and fervor of an athlete, but carrying an injured human is certainly taking its toll. He maintained maximum pace for a few minutes, but then started to slow down, ever so slightly. His breathing is heavier; she can feel the sweat sticking to his shirt and her skin, muscles tightening from the strain of carrying her. His heartbeat is hammering now, as if its begging his body to stop. She wishes that she could muster the selflessness to tell him to leave her behind. But she can’t. She’d rather they die together than leave her to face that thing alone. You repugnant bitch.

The hulking mass of bone, sinew, and hair gains closeness to the two. It moves like a wet sack stuffed vertically with bones that pulled and tore its skin like taffy. Shards of marrow and blood poked out around the edges that had been pulled too far. With every step, mottled flesh hit the earth with the sickening sound of tenderizing meat. Even closer now. In fact, it was now so close that Madeline could make out more details. Laura was tall, this was obvious from the start. Its hair was mid length, middle part, and aside from the general grime to it, not very noteworthy in comparison. But its eyes. What should have been two blue or green or brown or hazel eyes was instead red. Dark red blood matted around the sockets, and deeper within were black, mealy things writhing in the viscera.

Worms. Worms were eating Laura’s eyes. They bulged and pounced for their meal, like a litter shoving siblings aside to nurse. And yet, looking longer, it was clear the worms inhabited every inch of Laura, making a home in their fleshy host. Underneath the skin, small round tubes protruded and seized furiously, like ants under a magnifying glass. It invoked the same pang of dread as peeling open a tarp that laid dormant for a few months too long, not knowing what lurked underneath, but knowing it would writhe. The sight was as hypnotic as it was horrifying. Where did Laura end, and where did the worms begin?

Almost as if Laura noticed Madeline staring, it raises a jagged hand to one eye, not slowing down its movement, and pulls, attempting to yank the what remained of the eye out of its socket. The slick, pulpy muscles stretch and break, like pulling the pit out of a peach. Madeline tried to gasp, but all the air had long left her body, leaving her gawking in silent fear. Pop. It is finished. Right socket now hollow, it reaches towards Madeline, eye in hand, gaping maw opening as if to speak, but only flies emerged from its rotted gums.

Her breath returned and Madeline screamed. Piercing, loud, hysterical, desperate wailing emerged from her one after the other, her whole body being put into every cry, as if she were auditioning to live. And that was enough to give the man a second wind. He had no idea what was behind him, what she saw, but he knew his purpose in this moment was to run, and if it killed him to do so, that would be a better fate.

Dizzy from her screams, it takes her a second to feel his pace pick up again, and she sees the creature and its infested eye drift further and further away. She sighs with relief and turns her head to him, voice hoarse. “Keep going! You can do this!”

She clings hard to him as the texture of the footpath suddenly changes. Pavement. Pavement meant they’re on a street, meaning they must be close to his house, meaning they must be close to help. Okay, she thought. This could work. We’re going to get to shelter, away from that fucking monster, barricade the doors, catch our breath, treat my wounds as best we can, and formulate a plan. We’re going to live.

“We’re almost there.” He gasped.

We’re going to fucking live.

It was then, during her swell of hope, that he silently collapsed.

The timing would have been comedic were it not for the fact that they were about to die. Madeline cried out twice. First in surprise at the sudden drop, second in fear. Having fallen a couple feet away from the man, her body ached with more scrapes and bruises. She begged her body to run, but she was too cold, and frankly too afraid, to move her own limbs.

Laura is closer now. Much, much closer. Now almost at a mockingly leisurely pace, it inches towards the two of them, and all Madeline can do is watch. When it finally reaches the pair, Laura leans down, long, spiked spine cracking into a curve that creates a looming shadow over Madeline’s face.

“St-stay away!” She stammers. She looks behind her in desperation, but still no response, or even movement, from the man. Fear boils in her belly as she realizes; he’s dead. He died from overexertion. She was alone. Helpless. An innocent man is dead because of her. And she was about to face a fate worse than death. You deserve this.

Breaking her train of thought, Laura suddenly thrusts out a hand and grabs Madeline’s trembling face with an unpredictable strength. Squeezing, tightening, until her mouth is forced open. The other hand rises, fingernails caked with dirt, still holding its displaced eye. As the hand lowers and moves towards Madeline’s mouth, her fate is painted even clearer, and a heat pools between Madeline’s legs as she silently soils herself. Oh god, she thought, I’m going to be forced to eat that eye, and then what? Will she kill me? Feed me more of her? All of her? I can’t die like this. Please, please, please, please-[AM1]

Bang.

A gunshot, and then a gasp. Blood drips onto Madeline’s face, and her head is ringing from the sound, but she does not dare to avert her eyes from the creature, its eye mere centimeters from her lips. Blood pools from a wound in the center of its head, and it stands deathly still for a moment that seems like eternity. Until, finally, finally, Laura falls to the ground with a wet thud, sounding much heavier than it appeared. The eye limply rolls out of Laura’s hand, almost ceremoniously, to signify its defeat.

Madeline turns to realize the gasp was from the man. He had not died, but merely passed out, and the ringing of the gunshot woke him. Relief flooded her as he sat up like a soldier.

“What? Where am I- holy shit”. He gawks at the corpse of Laura- on the ground, bloody and rigidly still, except for the worms that continued to squirm inside its eyes and skin, still feasting. Flies putter out of its wide maw and flitter into the cold night.

His attention lingers for a moment, but then resets its sights on Madeline. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I mean, not anymore hurt than I already was.” She replies, body and voice trembling. “Are you okay? You passed out.”

“Yeah, I think so, I just-“

“Dean!”

The man’s head turns and so does hers. The source of the gunshot was an old woman, wearing a nightgown, a large cardigan, and an expression of irritation. She eyes Dean, then the woman, and speaks again.

“Quit yer’ yappin’ and get in the damn house.”

Two

The house was a bit stuffy, but that was a daydream for Madeline’s near frozen state. She could already feel herself thaw upon entry, as if the house itself was breathing life into her.

Though there was not much time for admiration. A rushing of steps through the door, locking of bolts and overlaps of shouts came one after the other; like a hazy film playing in front of her.

“Ma, turn the radio on!”

“Already done. Who is she?”

“Name’s Madeline, she needs to warm up, has a head wound.”

“Put her in some of my clothes and I’ll start the kettle.”

Movement past the kitchen, now being carried to the bedroom. He’s warm. He smells like dirt. Came from her.

“I’ll let you know when the broadcast starts!” The old woman shouts down the hall.

They enter a bedroom, dark and smelling lightly of incense. Madeline is placed gently onto the small bed. It’s firm. Almost stiff.

“Okay, we need to get you into warmer, dryer clothes. Is that something you can do on your own, or do you need help with that?”

Her body is trembling at this point from the sheer shock of cold into warm. “I think I can do it myself,” She says slowly. “But could you stay in the room with me and just uh, turn around? I don’t exactly want to be alone right now.”

“Of course.” Looking down at the bed in embarrassment, she can’t see his expression, but a bundle of clothes are gently placed on the edge of the bed. “These look like they would fit you.” She hears his footsteps as he faces the closet. “I’ll just uh, stay right here while you change. Please let me know if you need help.”

Included with a drying towel is a pair of sweats, soft socks with little mugs on them, a lavender tank top, and a dark brown jacket. Comfortable, yet functional. The mud caked on her old clothes peel off her like a [think of a metaphor here], and the wet cold leaves a damp residue on her skin, which Madeline collects with the towel. As she slides on the sweatpants, and then the shirt, she takes in what has transpired. To say Madeline felt odd being in a stranger’s home and wearing her clothes after facing a near death experience would be a massive understatement. It would be borderline mortifying if her body wasn’t depleted of all adrenaline, and so focused on seeking warmth. Just the sensation of the socks pulling over her feet made her skin hum, muscles dropping into a borderline bliss.

“I’m finished.” She calls after a couple minutes, and Dean turns.

“Do you feel okay? That wasn’t too much, was it?”

“I’m only a little dizzy from it. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He gestures to the door. “My mom’s tuning in to the radio. We’ll get any live updates from there. Until then, I’d like to get a look at that wound on the back of your head.”

“Thank you. Please lead the way.”

The kitchen’s walls were a pale yellow, as if they were vibrant once, but years of sunlight stripped its color. Paint peeled in the corners. Plants, healthy and green, hung from the ceiling and rested on the windowsill above the sink. No overhead light in the kitchen, but instead a tall lamp in the far corner, and a couple misshapen, scentless candles on the table. The scent of curry and cinnamon washed over her like a home come to life. Madeline takes a seat in one of the three chairs that surrounded a round, rustic dining table, where the radio stood front and center. It was small, one of the portable ones you can take anywhere. It was tuned to what seemed to be just a slow jazz tune.

In front of Madeline was a mug- blue, and likely handmade. Dean and the old woman had ones as well, with Dean’s being orange, and hers being a sunflower yellow. Water was slowly heating up in the kettle, and soon their barren cups would be filled with an aroma of comfort. The sizzling of pans and smell of rice made Madeline hum a little bit. This house, while worse for wear, was well loved.

Dean’s seat and chair were not where they should be, as he was seated directly behind Madeline, cleaning the wound on the back of her head with a rag and some water. A bag of medical supplies sat beside him- from peroxide to sutures to gauze, he seemed prepared for almost anything. Almost.

“Are you sure you feel up to this?” Madeline asked, brows furrowed with concern. “You passed out from exhaustion. Maybe you should rest first?”

“I’m okay, really.” He replied, though his voice shook a bit. “I think it was exertion and fear, if I’m honest.” He picks up an absurdly large water bottle resting on the floor. “Besides, I’m chugging this!”

The old woman whips her head around, sauce coated wooden spoon pointed at Dean like a weapon. “You better drink all of that, or I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Yes, Ma.” He chuckles. “Look, see? I’m almost finished.”

She grumbled and turned back to the food. “You’re gonna eat a big plate and drink some tea too, boy.”

Dean leans in toward Madeline’s ear. “Don’t worry,” He whispered. “My Mom’s a bit rough around the edges, but inside she’s a big softie.”

Madeline wasn’t so sure. The old woman shot her glares whenever she could. Was she being blamed for her son’s collapse? Well, Madeline was a total stranger. Having your son almost die from carrying a stranger away from a bony worm-monster, and then bringing said stranger inside her home may have made her a bit less than thrilled.

Perhaps the best tactic was becoming less like strangers. She turns her head, but only slightly, so as to not interrupt Dean’s work. “So, I’m Madeline. What should I call you?”

She doesn’t reply for a moment. Almost like she was considering ignoring her, but eventually relented. “Janet.”

Madeline swallowed. “Well, lovely to meet you, Janet. And thank you for taking me in.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

“Aw, come on, Ma, you’re not being fair! None of this is her-huh, that’s interesting.” Dean said suddenly, taking the cleaning cloth away from Madeline’s wound.

“What? What is it?”

“Well, the wound on your head is actually super shallow. Like, it’s barely a cut.” Although she can’t see him, Madeline can sense the puzzled look on his face. “But, there was so much blood I had to clear off to even see it, more than what your wound warrants for. Do you take anything that thins your blood? Even so, it wouldn’t bleed that much… Oh right, no memories so you wouldn’t know anyway! I doubt it’s someone else’s blood, because of its location..” Dean continues to mumble to himself, intrigued by this apparent anomaly on the back of Madeline’s skull.

“How do you know so much about this kind of stuff anyway?”

“Pardon?” He asked, snapped out of his trance.

“Hypothermia, amnesia, cleaning and dressing wounds. Are you a doctor or something?”

“Oh! Well, I’m working on it, but right now I’m just an EMT.” He reaches for the medical bag and places it on his lap, searching for medical gauze. “I’m working on my Masters Degree in Medicine, and then after that my doctorate. But every winter and summer, I come back here and work to help pay for bills and tuition. Ma’s been kind enough to let me stay here rent free every break.”

Madeline grimaces. “That’s very nice. It’s good to have support like that.” She wishes desperately that she could remember her own family. She wishes she could remember what she was doing with her life prior to this. A job, a school, a face, a location, a room, a feeling, anything. But there was only an emptiness where those memories should be. A sick, gutting emptiness, like her heart was ripped out of her chest cavity.

Like an infested eye, ripped from its socket.

Madeline shudders. She couldn’t wait for food to be done, so that they could finally talk about what just happened. Beneath each chuckle and air of small talk was a tremble. Trembling terror bubbling up, building pressure, higher and higher and hotter and hotter until-

WheeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Janet turns off the flame and lifts the kettle from the stove, bringing it to the table. “There,” she said, as she poured the boiling water into each mug. “I have yet to find a situation that can’t be made better with a cup of tea.”

Madeline returned to the present and thanked the woman for the tea. Realizing she hadn’t bothered to check what kind of tea, she tenderly picks up the tag on the end of its string to read it.

Earl Grey.

“Hurry up with her head, Dean.” The woman said. “Tea’s gonna get cold and food’s just about done.”

“I’m almost done, I’m just looking for…” He gently parts her hair, then parts it in another spot. And another, and another, and another. Until he finally stops.

Silence. An uncomfortably long silence.

“It’s gone.” He whispered.

“What, what’s gone?” Madeline is unable to hide the panic in her voice.

“The wound.”

Even Janet stopped what she was doing to look at them. She stared for a moment, then spoke. “You said it was small, maybe you lost sight of where it is. Can’t be gone.”

“No, no, it’s gone. Look.”

She crouches next to Dean, looking where he’s gesturing. Her eyes squint, then widen. “Dear god.”

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s already a scar, at this rate it’ll be fully healed by like, tomorrow! That’s not natural, none of this is.” Dean breathing quickens, the weight of all recent events being hoisted over his shoulders once again. “Ma, can we please about what just happened outsi-“

“Not. Until. Food. Is. Done.” Her voice was loud, and commanding. This is the rule that kept Dean and Madeline quiet this whole time. We’ll talk when food’s done. Not before.

The two shrunk a bit from her assertiveness. There’s a pause, as if the house was holding its breath. “But the food’s done, so yeah, we can talk.” She turns back to her pots and pans, filling bowls with warm deliciousness.

The house exhaled.

Janet sets a bowl down at everyone’s spot, her own being last. “Eat up,” Janet said. “It ain’t gonna stay warm forever.”

The three eat in silence for a few minutes, not talking even though they were permitted to now. And Madeline realized why this rule of “no talking until dinner” was enforced with an iron fist. Janet wanted everyone (or at least, Dean) to be well fed before talking about what happened, because she knew we wouldn’t have the appetite after. And fuck, this food, this tea, was like a heavenly reprieve from the outside world. The dinner guests didn’t feel apprehensive anymore- they just didn’t want to interrupt this moment of peace. A simple meal had the power to nourish the body, mind, and spirit. Even with the hell they just witnessed, there was beauty to be found.

Madeline broke the silence. “This is truly delicious.” And she meant it. The aroma of the jasmine rice dancing with cardamom and paprika, the spice and tenderness of the chicken, the lavender notes in the tea- everything was heavenly. Maybe it was made extra magical since Madeline couldn’t remember what foods tasted like, so it was like experiencing a meal for the very first time, maybe Janet is a damn good cook, maybe she was starving. Probably all of the above. “Thank you so much for the meal.”

The elder hums lightly, seemingly pleased. “I make the best curry in the state. I dare anyone to challenge that. Never had food this good, have you, lil’ lady?”

“No, I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t remember much of anything before this, including food.” Madeline glances at her half empty cup. “Except for this tea. I remember this tea.” And that’s when she decides to be brave. That’s when she feels her hand reaching for her wallet, finding the photograph and placing it center of the table. “Which is why I feel compelled to ask how you two know me.”

“Why in hells do you have my son in your wallet?”

“That’s what I would like to know.” Madeline was shaking, but she was finding her voice. She couldn’t turn back now. “I wake up in the snow, freezing, bleeding, nothing on me. Not even a phone. Just a photograph and a note on the back.” She flips the photograph over, revealing the invitation to find Dean. She pauses before continuing. “Only two memories have resurfaced for me. One was that I was running away from the hospital. I escaped there. I escaped those monsters.” She shudders, then continues. “The other… the other is a memory of a man making me Earl Grey tea, because he knows it’s my favorite. You have made me my favorite tea.” She looks at Dean. “You work at the hospital.” She faces both of them now. “Now words cannot express how grateful I am for you saving my life, taking me in, feeding me, and dressing my wounds, and I am not trying to accuse either of you of anything, but surely you can understand why I am very, very confused. I just want some answers, that’s all.”

There is a long silence. A silence that could penetrate the thick air and give Madeline a new head wound.

Finally, Janet speaks. “Dean, did you give this lady this here photo of you?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. At least, I don’t remember. Because that’s…”

“I know, I can read it.” Janet mumbled, examining the note. She then sets the photo down and turns to Madeline. “Well, you heard my boy. He didn’t do it. So here’s what I think. I think you’re a crazy, fucked up monster, like that one in the street. You stalked my grandson, forged his handwriting, put his life in danger, and you’ll kill us both the second you remember what you are. And that’s if you’re being honest about the whole amnesia thing.” Her voice is level, but with each word heat and venom spew out, a matriarch’s rage activated. “Hell, how else would your head wound sealing up on its own be explained? You ain’t human, at the very least. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt- Dean insisted on it. And I love my boy. I love his heart. But now,” She picks up the photo again and shakes it in Madeline’s face. “You come in here with this bullshit, claiming my son knows you. He risked his life for you, and you accuse him?”

“I’m not accusing anyone…”

“No, you are. You think my son’s behind all this? You think he’s a monster like that freak outside just because he works at a hospital? Well, I don’t see him closing up holes in his own head. I don’t see him luring Distortion’s to my fuckin’ door. It’s just you doin’ that, ain’t it?” She slowly, but with measured intensity, stands from her chair, walks to the corner where she had propped her rifle, and picks it up. Cocking it once to discard the old shell, she turns the barrel towards Madeline. “So, surely you understand that I’m fucking pissed. So why don’t you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t paint my kitchen with you.”

“Stop it!” Dean rushes forward, becoming a barricade between her and Madeline. “Look, I get that you both are angry and confused. So am I. Because that thing…” He points towards the window, and his arm begins to shake. His posture slumps, and his voice cracks. “That is what we should be talking about right now, instead of being at each other’s throats. I can’t lose another…” He shakes, then slowly collapses back into his chair, head in his hands.

Janet’s irate expression falls immediately into one of concern, compassion. Lowering her rifle, but keeping it at her side, she circles around a frozen Madeline and sits next to her grandson, placing a hand on his back. Wet, heaving sobs emerge from him. And for a minute, the house just lets him cry. It’s enough time for Madeline to recover from her petrified state, and shakily sit in the chair that patiently waited for her.

What a shame. She deserved to kill you. Your head should have burst like a tomato.

Slap. Out, damned spot.

“Honey..” Janet says, low and soothing. It’s almost like she’s a totally different person. “Can you tell me what you mean by ‘losing another’?”

He sniffles, takes some deep breaths, and then wipes his eyes. “Sorry.” A sip of tea. Another breath. “So, when that monster first approached us in the woods,”

“Hold on. You were in the woods?” Janet asked. “I thought you were just jogging.”

“I was, but then I heard a scream, and went to go check it out.” He looks at Madeline. “That’s how I found you. I was out running, and then you screamed like hell was on your back, which, I guess it was, and,” He shakes his head. “Anyway. When that creature came out and faced us, there was a brief moment I got to look at it. I didn’t want to believe what I saw, but when you killed it, I got a longer look.” Shaking again, tears brimming Dean’s eyes, his voice barely above a cracked whisper. “It was Laura.”

It feels like the whole kitchen freezes over. Everyone is painstakingly still for what feels like minutes. Until Janet finally breaks it. “Laura? Are you certain?”

He nods, the tears now spilling over. “She looked so wrong, Ma. Her skin was stretched and she was so tall and her eyes were infested with something. She smelled like chemicals. I… She wasn’t like that when I clocked out.”

Madeline’s eyes widen. “Wait. You saw her before all this happened?”

Dean takes another sip of his tea before nodding. “Yeah. We were friends. Well, work friends. She usually worked triage until 10pm, and I start my night at 6pm, so our shifts would overlap. We made a habit of saying ‘Hi’- on slow nights we’d chat about board games, books, all that sort of nerdy stuff we liked. Tonight, I saw her shortly before her shift ended. She seemed tired, but that wasn’t unusual at all. No one else was infected, not that we knew of. We had no indication that the virus spread here.” He takes another gulp of tea. “Something must have gotten to her on her way home. How else would she become a Distortion? Fuck, I thought we were safe here. The news said we were fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Madeline interrupts, feeling the room spin with this information. “But I hear you guys saying ‘Distortion’ a lot. What is that? What does that mean?”

As if on cue, the jazz music stops and the radio hums with the sound of a male broadcaster’s voice, a bit too chipper for the state of affairs. “Hello, and good evening, people of Sector Nine! We have some very important news for you all, and we do ask for your undivided attention! It may seem overwhelming and scary, but we can assure you- take our precautions, and you have not a worry to mind.”

“Fake bastard.” Janet mumbles, followed by a “Ssshh!” from Dean.

“We… unfortunately, have confirmation that Distortions have reached our community. We have enjoyed the safety and privacy of our cold, quiet little bubble for quite some time, but now we must adapt! As we all know, Distortions are what were once people- our friends, our family, our lovers- turned into something barely recognizable, which then turns against us. The cause has yet to be found, but medical researchers state that all Distortions carry a form of virus that has not been seen in any other living organism. This was found by taking the living cells of a Distortion, and studying them under a microscope! Isn’t that handy?”

“Just get on with what we’re supposed to fucking do.” Janet sighs, head in hands.

“Now, you’re probably asking: ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Worry not! We can help you with the survival and neutralization of Distortions. Firstly,” his voice changes, almost mechanic. “Trust no one, they will betray you. Trust no one, they will betray you. Trust no one, they will betray you.”

A pause. Static from the radio fills the room, and for a moment Madeline wonders if the broadcast has lost its signal. Back to his chipper self, his voice fills the empty air once more.

“Secondly! If you are unable to run from a Distortion, you can neutralize it. Shoot it in the head, cut its head off, render it unconscious, whatever you can do to make it immobile! Get creative! It’s the difference between life and death! However, that will not kill it. In order to kill it completely, you must burn its body. Consider making the work of D.N.T- Distortion Neutralization Team, that much easier by discarding your distorted corpses with flammable forces!” He chuckles at his own alliteration. “But of course, as always, you can reach D.N.T. by dialing ‘3-3-3’. Unfortunately, the lines have been… extra busy as of late, so do your best to remain alert, aware, and prepared! And now, for the weather…”

The radio trails off to a tinny voiced woman talking about the record cold temperatures for about four seconds before Janet shuts the radio off. “Damn it,” She mutters. “They’re here. They’re really here.” Her movements are deliberate and quick, reaching in the nearby drawer for matches, and the pantry for an absurdly large bottle of vodka. “Well, you heard ‘im.” She said, marching toward the front door. “We gotta burn that fucker before it gets back up. You gonna help an old woman or not?”

. . .

It’s cold. It has always been this cold.

Despite Dean’s protests for her to stay inside, Madeline insisted on following them out.

“It wasn’t far.” Janet lights a cigarette, deeply inhaling as they walked. With her backpack full of liquor and matches, and her gun still snug in her right hand, she looked like someone you’d run into in a videogame where the currency was bottlecaps. “Was right outside Mr. Trudy’s.” She turned to Madeline, eyeing her down. “Don’t think I don’t have my eye on you. Don’t slow us down, and don’t get in my way. Got it?”

“Trust me, I want to see this thing gone as much as you do.”

And she meant it. She wanted to see this thing burn. To become nothing but ash before her eyes, a threat eliminated. There were so many questions, so many gaps in her memories, so many anxieties. But right now, all she wanted was to warm her hands over the corpse that nearly took her.

How delicious that would be.

She smiled.

Wow, you’re a real sick fuck, you know that?

It stung, but that thought could be easily dismissed. This wasn’t sadism, this was closure. This was safety. This was what they all needed. What they were waiting for.

But all that waited for them was a blood trail of where Laura had once laid- blood that continued down the street, up a porch, and stopping abruptly at the victim’s door. On the welcome mat was a tattered, bulbous eye, beckoning.

Three

“Fuckin’ hell,” Janet griped, surveying the living room. “I can’t tell if this is all the creature’s blood, or poor ol’ Jim. Maybe both.”

“We haven’t found Mr. Trudy yet,” Dean whispered, tiptoeing into the kitchen. “So maybe he escaped, or maybe he wasn’t home. He also travels to Sector Two for work sometimes, so he might not even know this is happening.”

“Pipe down.”

“Pipe down?” His mouth is agape, like some sort of angry fish. “You’re the one yappin’ a daydream, with a cigarette stinkin’ up the place like a smoke signal!” In his hushed agitation, Madeline noticed Dean does possess some of his mother’s southern twang- but only when he’s pissed off. “And need I remind you, the creature that is Laura might still be here waitin’ for us,”

“Quit callin’ it that. That ain’t yer friend no more.”

Dean’s quiet. Only shuffling in the kitchen as he looked for more clues.

Madeline, in the bathroom, found nothing but more blood. Spackles of it, like a toddler decorating their bedroom for the first time, littered the walls and the floor. The smell of the entire lower level of the house was putrid- like iron mixed with the smell of someone leaving a raw chicken out to thaw for a month. And then there was the bile. Thick, black, stringy masses were in every corner of the home. Afraid to touch it, but curious if it would bring anything to light, Dean had covered his hand with part of his shirt earlier and rubbed some between his fingers. Despite its goopy, mucus like texture, there was also a grittiness to it. “Like sand.” He had said.

She would simply take his word for it. Madeline turned, about to proclaim her grand discovery of nothing, when she heard movement. Not in the room, but above her. She looked up and saw a wet spot in the ceiling- red, bulging, and heavy. The plaster and wood seemed to already soften and strain under its weight, a spongy round bulb forming above her.

Quietly and quickly, she rushes out to the living room. Janet immediately picks up on her urgency and calls for Dean. “Bathroom.”

. . .

“Dear god, what is that?”

“What it is is upstairs.” Janet mumbled, cigarette doing its damndest to suffocate the putrid stink. “All we have to do is trap it.”

“Trap it?” Madeline asked. “How the hell are we gonna do that?”

“One sec.” Janet steps out of the room, and faint noises are heard in the kitchen. She returns a few moments later with a broom. “Watch,” she said. “And mind your head.”

Gently, she pokes the ceiling’s abscess with the broom. Though its boil did not burst, wet, sickly fluid dribbled out of it like a sponge being wrung. The smell now became thick and overwhelming, and Madeline was grateful there was a toilet behind her to vomit into, should she need it.

“Jesus, Ma!” Dean pinched his nose and backed away. “What if it collapsed?”

“That’s the goal.” Janet replied.

“Wh- okay. I’m not following. You want this to come down?”

“Eyup.”

She does not elaborate.

“Ma, you actually gotta explain the plan. We’re not mind readers.”

Janet sighs, pinching her brow. “No, you’re all just stupid.” After taking a moment, she clasps her hands together. “So, Dean, you’re the strong one. Grab furniture that’ll barricade this door on the outside. Make it to where nothing can leave this bathroom. That worm-fucker is probably immobile, but it won’t hurt to be careful.”

“How do you know it’s immobile?”

“Because we’ve been yappin’ and snoopin’ and pokin’ it with a broom, and it hasn’t moved! Ain’t this the thing that’s so fast, you passed out tryin’ to outrun it? It probably used the last of it’s strength getting in here, and can’t move. So we gotta act fast. You’ll barricade the bathroom, the girl and I will go up to the room it’s in, put enough pressure on the floor that it falls through, I chuck some fire down there, and bam! It can’t leave, it’ll burn to a crisp, and we can safely get the hell out.”

“Hold on.” Dean says. “We’re gonna burn his house down?”

“He’s dead, he won’t miss it.”

“Don’t say that! We should at least check if he’s here before we incinerate the place!”

“Hey, doctor-boy! Ever see a human lose all this blood and be alive?”

“You just said that it could be Laura’s blood!”

“Don’t call it that…”

“Let’s do it.” Madeline mutters.

Dean and Janet stop their argument and look at her, almost forgetting she was there.

She stares them down. “The longer we wait, the more time it has to regenerate. Let’s just kill this thing and get it over with. Dean, you can barricade, Janet, you can stand by me and light it up when the time is right. I’ll make sure I get it down here. But if I fall with it, do not hesitate.” With that, she silently heads towards the stairs, not giving them time to object. This fucker will burn. I will watch it suffer, squirm, and scream, and I will feel nothing but raptured bliss. How dare it take me from my home? It deserves this.

Or maybe you see yourself in it, and you hate that.

“Shut up,” she mutters lowly as she marches upward. “I just want to go home.”

Home. She now had a piece of it. Not a place, but a feeling. Not a place, but a sensation in her chest. Wherever home was, it was a precious place. A place where she felt warm, deeply loved, and cherished. She felt an ache in her belly from all the laughter shared, and the tears wrung out. A dance on her skin that was the touch of someone safe, the linens freshly dried, an ice cube in her fist. Someone was waiting for her. A faceless mirage, but a person, no less.

She stumbles a bit as an image strikes her once more. She’s in a bathroom. Not the viscera-coated one up the stairs, but a clean, lightly decorated bathroom. The tub is full of hot water, and bubbles. She can practically feel the steam and smell the eucalyptus. Behind her, gentle, large arms wrap around her waist.

“Tell me about your day.” He says. His voice sounds warped, like a record left out in the sun, but it still brought comfort.

Madeline sighs in the memory, as the mans hands move to shampoo her hair. “My day was okay. Busy, we had a lot of customers, but that’s also a good thing since that means more tips.” She looks up to her beau. He is simply a shadow. He could touch her, he could talk to her, he could smile at her, but she would still have no idea who he was. Oh, how she wanted to come back to him. “How was your day?”

He smiles. “My day was…”

“You lose your resolve already?”

Madeline snaps out of the memory and gasps. Janet is beside her, staring quizzically. “If you don’t have the guts, just say it. No need to put on a bravado for us.”

“No, it’s not that… I… I had a memory come back, kind of.”

“Oh, okay.” She looks at the stairs, then at Madeline. “So… either get movin’ or get out the way, I need to get up there.”

Madeline takes a breath. This woman does not let anything phase her.

Unlike you, you weak willed, loveless parasite.

“Yer gonna go deaf of you hit your ear like that.” Janet says, pointing at Madeline’s frustration. “And I kind of need you to hear me do I can get up the stairs?”

“I’m going!” Madeline snaps, and storms upward, not caring if Janet is two steps or two miles behind her. She, of course, was a short two steps.

Up the stairs and the first door on the right was where the scent was strongest. The bedroom, it would seem, since the only other door was an empty guest bathroom.

Janet’s grip tightens around her gun. “I have your back. If it tries anything, I’ll blow its head off like I did last time.” She aims at the door, ready to attack whatever might be on the other side. Madeline looks for s moment, takes a breath, and slowly turns the doorknob.

This would have been a very nice bedroom, in any other circumstance.

The odor was so strong, gods it was so strong. The stench of hot blood, sweat, and pulpy meat filled Madeline’s nostrils and made her dizzy. Janet’s cigarette was undetectable. Blood was smeared on the glass of the vanity, red footsteps slid and encroached the hardwood floor. The bed itself was the worst. It was stained deep with a black bile, ruining the soft blue sheets. Bits of skin, hair, organs, and even teeth remained scattered about, like the crumbs left after breaking bread with family. Yet, there were no bones left. It seemed nothing was wasted. If Mr. Trudy was here, there was nothing left of him. Then, at the top of it all, dominating this revolting scene, were those black worms. They were in every fold of the bed, in every crevice, in every corner, suckling and moving with an erratic joy at their meal. The bed was heavy and sinking into the weakened floor from the sheer amount of blood, bile, and worms.

“What the fuck.” That was all Janet could say.

“These were in Laura. I think… they were controlling her. They were in her eyes and skin. I was wondering why we didn’t see any downstairs.”

“They ate her from the inside out.”

You know what that feels like, don’t you?

“She’s free of her pain now.” Madeline mutters. “But we still need to dispose of this.”

“Agreed.” Janet replied. “Should be lighter work than we thought, considering it’s just worms. It just needs a little more weight.” She turns to the bloodstained vanity. “Help me pick that up.”

Madeline nods as they get to work. It’s a bit slower with the slick of the blood causing them to lose their grip, and the sheer weight of a vintage vanity, but eventually, they prop it right next to the bed.

Janet calls downstairs. “Dean! We’re ready if you are.”

“I was gonna do one more couch…”

“No need, Laura’s dead.” She pauses. “It’s just her worms we gotta burn. I doubt they can break down a barricade.”

“Okay, I’ll stay down here just in case, but I’m ready.”

Janet and Madeline nod at each other and lift the vanity once more. The hungry worms were so distracted engorging their bellies with their meal, that there was no reaction when the two-hundred-pound vanity came crashing down on top of them. The floor folded and tore like paper mâché, and a deafening crash signaled the worms were now in the bathroom, ready to be lit ablaze.

Janet made quick work of it, too. Reaching into her bag, she immediately doused the entire area below, lit every match in her match box (except for one), and dropped them all down.

Despite the moisture that permeated the bed, the alcohol and sheer number of matches caused a blaze to roll and blaze. As Madeline watched, she learned that these worms could scream. She was glad.

You’re just like them, you know.

I’m nothing like them. I’m not listening to you. I’m going home.

Home? You don’t know where that is. And you heard the radio, these things are EVERYWHERE. You think the man you keep dreaming about is still alive? What if he’s a bucket of worms, too? What if he isn’t even real? What if he dumped you? What if you hate him? What if you never get your memories back?

Stop it. You don’t know that.

Oh, but I do. I’m only trying to protect you from more pain, my little monster. And here, you have an opportunity.

No.

It’s just a small step off the ledge. The fire is burning brightly. You’d only feel it briefly, before all your nerves seared off. No more pain. No more mysteries. No more burden. Janet would certainly be happy if you did it. You’d be protecting her and her son. It’s the least you could do for them, really.

“Oh… I guess that’s true.”

“Huh?” Janet asked, turning around after lighting another cigarette with her last match. “Did you say something?”

But it was too late. Madeline had taken one, two, three steps, and on the fourth step she gently plummeted down to the hell she deserved.