EJ. kiory @ejkiory - Tumblr Blog

ever-strange & ephemeral; eyeless jack

PAIRING | eyeless jack x afab!scientist!reader

CAST | jack nyras (eyeless jack), the operator (slenderman), the rake, jeffrey woods (jeff the killer)

WC | 26.3k

GENRE | horror, slight angst, smut, strangers to lovers, captive x kidnapper

WARNINGS | semi-canon & non-canon origin stories, references to slender: the eight pages, references to the proxies but no appearances, explicit language, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption (casual), smoking (cigarettes), dissection, medical torture, surgery without anesthesia, non-consensual injections, gore, de-gloving, cannibalism, attempted murder, murder, murder cover-ups, stabbing, strangling, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, scarification, biting, scratching, bruising, extremely rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, choking, oral (fem receiving), degradation, knotting, breeding, unprotected sex, overstimulation

SYNOPSIS | as a graduate student finishing up your final rotation, you’re quite used to the monotony of the laboratory. there are only three things on your mind until graduation — dissecting dead mice, finishing your thesis, and securing a recommendation from your professor. that is, until your professor proposes a new project with a new subject — and this one isn’t giving in without a fight.

A/N | this fic is special to me because it’s been a full decade since the last time i wrote for the pastas but i’m back and i hope people enjoy this fic — please reblog or comment if you do!! it was super super fun to write this and i hope to write more for the pastas very soon ;) inspiration behind jack’s three tongues are from @rainrot4me and @yuriversal. i was also inspired by @cryingintheclubdhmu’s interpretation of jack and by @bloodblanks’s works to write for creepypasta again in general. love to see the fandom alive and thriving in 2026!!

request to be added to current and future taglists here!

MASTERLIST | CREEPYPASTA MASTERLIST

prologue.

Despite the fact that it was late summer, when the junebugs were thick in the air and the cicadas chirped loudly, the wind had a chill to it as it blew straight through Jack’s hooded silhouette. There was so much life fleeing with him — the aforementioned noisy insects, the fluttering birds overhead, even a deer with velvety antlers bounding alongside him momentarily before being scared off further into the woods by a stray bullet.

With all of that life surrounding him, it was a shame he was about to die.

Jack’s feet pound heavily against the ground as he pushes himself faster, further. He kicks up dirt and leaves, twigs snap beneath his boots as his desperation grows. His heart hammers in his chest, uneven and panicked, as yet another bullet whizzes past his head — this time just barely missing him. Jack curses under his breath, inhaling deeply as sweat trickles down his temple, his face suffocating beneath his mask.

Just a little further.

Trying to duck beneath a low hanging tree branch, Jack slows momentarily, using the moment to turn around and look at his perpetrators. Much to his dismay, he can’t see anyone — only hear them, and smell them as they grow closer.

Not wasting another moment, Jack speeds off again, hoping that he’s far enough into the Operator’s territory that the Rake might get to them before they can get to him.

He keeps running, until he feels a sharp pain in his side and his knees buckle one by one.

Once his head hits the forest floor — hard — he doesn’t see, nor feel, any more.

The last thing he hears is the cicadas and crickets, jeering at him before everything fades into silence all at once.

i.

You might need to do something about that, you tell yourself with annoyance.

Although your home isn’t fancy by any measures, and it’s an extremely temporary living situation, you feel as if you’re entitled to a living space that doesn’t literally leak.

Quite the pleasant way to start your morning, being awoken by the sound of water droplets pitter pattering into the growing puddle in the corner of your room. Supposing that it’ll be worse to put it off, you sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and pushing your covers back. The air is chilly, unusual for this time of year, and your teeth chatter a little as your bare feet make contact with the cold wooden floor. It creaks loudly with each careful step you take over to the sopping corner, and you suck in a breath as you see the extensive amount of water that’s made itself welcome during your once peaceful slumber.

Much less careful and much more awake now that you’ve assessed the situation, you stomp over to your closet and pull out a towel, throwing it onto the puddle and watching the fabric darken with dampness. Using your foot, you step on the towel gingerly until it seems the puddle is gone, and you run to retrieve a bucket of sorts while you dial your landlord’s number on your phone.

“No, it’s literally dripping right now — I swear, I can send you a video,” you say, quite irritated as your landlord denies it. You hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder, thrusting a large pot beneath the drip as your landlord insists that the building couldn’t possibly have any such issues; he’d inspected it personally before you moved in.

“I refuse to be late for work because of this. It’s leaking, and I expect it to be fixed by the time I come back!” you shout, gripping your phone with more strength than necessary. You’d never even taken a negative tone with your landlord before, but seeing that this was a temporary situation, you couldn’t care less what the stupid man thought about you as a tenant.

Your alarm goes off at that exact moment, reminding you that it’s your last chance to look decent for the day before you really have to leave. You glance down at your phone, turning the alarm off and exhaling deeply. Just a few more months of this, and then you’d have your degree and a job lined up for you.

For now — work was your priority. It would just be nice if little inconveniences could stop building up and getting in the way of that.

—

The chill that permeated your bones as soon as you stepped out of bed should have been a sign, but you were so scatterbrained about being late that it didn’t hit you until you stepped outside.

This weather was the sort that could penetrate through layers of clothing with ease, and there it would stay all day until you could truly warm yourself at night beneath the covers once more. It was wet and soggy and downright melancholy. It certainly didn’t help you want to go to work on such a dismal day, especially not when you had no desire to go in the first place. Although it was your priority, it didn’t cancel out the fact that you were exhausted and ready to graduate from the laboratory.

Your fingers are already going numb as you fumble with your keys, managing to lock your door after a few pathetic misses. You bring your hands up to your face, exhaling warm air into your enclosed palms, attempting to warm yourself up as you walk to your car.

Chilled dew rests upon each blade of grass, dampening your shoes as you wearily trek across the neatly trimmed lawn of your apartment complex. Despite its upkeep, the short green blades are still long enough to tickle your ankles beneath your pant legs, making your face twitch as you grimace and try to ignore the annoying feeling. The soles of your shoes squeak against the moist vegetation, sinking lightly into the mud and ensuring that your steps are as quick as possible, so that you don’t sink in further.

Your headlights gleam yellow through the foggy morning, and the familiar beep of your car welcomes you as it unlocks, your thumb summoning it to life with one swift press of your keys. Droplets of rain slither down the roof of your car as it roars to life, dripping down and soaking into the sleeve of your sweater as you swing open your car door.

Before you step into your car, something inside of you calls for you to look around. The early morning is somewhat eerie in the thick fog, and although you’re used to being awake when not many others are, something about today feels… off.

Just behind your apartment complex and designated parking lot is a man-made field, and just beyond that is a line of trees, the entrance to a thick and dense forest. You shiver a little as you peer into the lush foliage, which looks especially green and wild from the recent rain. The faint sound of dripping water echoes towards you, seemingly from deep in the woods between the hefty trees.

A flock of birds suddenly flies out from the treeline — crows most likely, from how they’re cawing, and their coal black feathers. It startles you at first, your heart nearly pounding out of your chest before you realize it’s only a few birds and nothing more.

Even so, you hurry and get inside your car, locking the doors as quickly as possible and starting your engine.

One of the crows lands on the hood of your car, making your grip tighten on the wheel out of surprise once more. It hops closer, seemingly tittering to itself as its beak opens and closes. Its beady black eye bores deep into your own eyes, unblinking and dark, before it flies off, its caws echoing in your ears.

What the fuck?

You try to ignore it, but the way the bird seemed to be trying to communicate something didn’t help ease the feeling that something felt off about today. It was probably nothing, you try to tell yourself.

But nothing else consumes your mind the way that does — and before you know it, you’re parked in your spot at the laboratory, your clammy hands still gripping the steering wheel much tighter than necessary. Focus, idiot, focus, you murmur to yourself, as you gather your things and step out of your car, at least remembering to lock it in your apparently scrambled state.

The weather is just as, if not more dismal at the laboratory. It was to be expected — it’s not too far from your apartment complex, and the weather around the laboratory was unusually intense, even when it was agreeable elsewhere close by.

It’s in fact sprinkling a bit as you walk up the sidewalk to the front entrance of the laboratory, and you can tell that it has been for a short while. The tiny droplets of rain make their appearance known on the concrete surrounding you, darkening the ground as it dampens it. The smell of rain is stronger here too; the wet stone and earth is almost sharp in your nostrils as you inhale, likely heightened by the fact that the laboratory borders that same large forest outside of your apartment complex — the convenience of living near campus, you suppose.

You’re deep in exhausted, monotonous thought when a hand claps on your shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin for the third time this morning. “Morning, graduate.” The unpleasantly silky voice of one of your labmates — Alex — crawls into your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. Luckily, the shiver gives you a segue into shrugging Alex’s arm off of your shoulders.

“Uh… Morning, Alex,” you mutter, trying but failing to inject a modicum of cheerfulness into your voice. “Not a graduate yet.”

“Ah, well. You will be in the next few months, right? Sooner than anyone else in the lab.” Alex moves away from you, much to your relief, and swivels ahead of you, walking backwards in order to attempt eye contact. “What’s with the Monday blues? Senioritis? Hangover from the Sunday scaries?”

How does he know so many of these damn sayings? You force a chuckle, shaking your head as you speed up your gait, passing Alex and grabbing the handle of the front door — which is freezing cold and wet, much to your dismay. “Just tired, I’ll wake up as soon as we get into the lab,” you assure Alex, holding the door for him to justify your rude exit immediately afterwards.

Speeding off once again, you find your locker in the staff room and shrug off your damp coat, shoving it inside the tiny space along with your depressing soggy lunch. You move as quickly as possible, wanting to be out of there before Alex arrives. Your timing is impeccable, and you squeeze past him as he enters the room, cutting off whatever insufferable question or statement he began with a, “see you in lab!”

The hallway is yellow with warm lighting, giving the illusion of comfort and coziness. You’re all too familiar with this lie, however, and swallow past the scowl that threatens to make itself known on your face as you attempt to ignore the annoyingly positive flyers and posters littering the walls.

A gap in the mess of papers pinned and taped to the walls reveals a door, the office of your professor — the one in charge of this laboratory, your boss, the one that’ll help make or break your future career as a researcher and scientist — Dr. Hellström. Your steps falter for a moment as you stare at his door before you continue on your way to lab.

For a second, you swore you heard something from inside the room, even though Dr. Hellström is always in the laboratory before anyone else arrives in the morning. Always. On your first day in the laboratory, Dr. Hellström welcomed you with a stack of paperwork and only a verbal promise that you’d someday be actually involved in the hands-on experimentation.

Lucky for you, you proved competent and impressed him enough that you were able to work alongside him before any of your other peers (although Alex was the second, only a day after you had proved yourself).

The man himself was, of course, already in the laboratory when you entered, focused on dissecting something tiny; as you get closer, you can see that it’s a mouse. Nothing new — that’s exactly what you’d been doing for the past five years. The sound of you turning on the sink to wash your hands arouses him from his daze, and Dr. Hellström’s head snaps up in your direction. He pulls down his surgical mask, his crooked grin arranging itself on his cracked, chapped lips. “First in the lab again, are you?” he asks, his voice dry both in tone and in the sense that he sounded as if he could benefit from a drink of water. “I’m not surprised.”

“You know me, professor,” you say, your desire to impress overriding your overall annoyance. After finishing washing your hands, you dry them and carefully put on a pair of gloves. You grab a mask and a pair of goggles, putting them on as quickly as possible and approaching Dr. Hellström. “What are you working on?” you ask, just as Alex walks through the door, making you stiffen up once again.

“Take a look. Same shit we’ve been working on all year, don’t get too excited,” Dr. Hellström says with a wheezing laugh, before pulling his mask back up over his rough, patchy facial hair. “Alex, I see you’re here early as well. Do the two of you carpool or something?”

Alex’s responding chuckle sounds genuine, while yours sounds hollow and numb echoing in your own mind.

ii.

The rain outside begins to come down harder, the once gentle pattering of small droplets turning into wet thuds as more substantial downpour begins. The rain against the windows is so thick that it’s impossible to look through the glass and see the other side clearly; everything is awash with those fat droplets, blurring the picturesque green outdoors.

This isn’t something that you would normally pay particular attention to — you’re used to the dismal weather, after spending a few consecutive years in the exact area. However, today, your mind seems to be trying to occupy itself anywhere other than inside the laboratory, where it’s supposed to remain for the next few months. It’s quite frustrating, and you attempt over and over again to force your attention back to the specimens before you. Once upon a time, a new and naive version of yourself was excited to work with any specimens in dissection; your undergraduate years were disappointingly lacking when it came to actual hands-on work in the lab. You so desperately wish for that version of yourself to possess your current self, needing that hopeless, stupid motivation more than anything. The rain outside roars even harder, prompting you to turn your attention to the blurred out window once more, away from your mice — they weren’t going anywhere, after all.

After a brief consideration of the unchanged window, your gaze shifts to your professor. He’s engaged with his work in a way you could only recreate in your wildest dreams — hunched over his dissection, visible sweat beading on his crooked nose and dripping down his balding gray temples, disappearing as they soak into the collar of his lab coat. He hardly seems to be breathing as he examines the fragile, intricate innards of his specimen, his hands completely calm and steady as he maneuvers the scalpel.

At the table beside you, Alex is engaged with his work in a similar manner, which annoys you instead of inspiring you, which is how you felt about your professor. Alex seems to be mimicking the motions and posture of your professor, which makes you feel as if you should be doing the same. You take a deep inhale of the stale, warm air inside of your surgical mask and hunch over your mice, looking for anything new that would be helpful to Dr. Hellström.

For a moment, you actually feel engaged in your work, trying to place yourself in the eager mindset of your younger self. But before you can truly immerse yourself in your work, Dr. Hellström calls for a lunch break.

“I was waiting for one of you to crack first, but the two of you were so immersed today that I suppose I’m the weak link,” he chuckles, tossing his mask and gloves into a nearby trash can. He doesn’t wait for a response from either you nor Alex, exiting the room and whistling a sharp tune as he casually ambles down the hallway.

“I always get like this when I’m getting work done. Just another sign that I’m gonna make it big someday soon,” Alex says, mostly to himself. The notes of pride and arrogance make your nose wrinkle, and you’re grateful that you haven’t yet taken off your disposable gear.

Similar to your professor, Alex doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response, and he doesn’t waste time tossing his gear and washing his hands before leaving the room, presumably heading to the break room where most of the students gathered to eat lunch together.

You move much slower than both Dr. Hellström and Alex, not particularly looking forward to the soggy lunch you had packed yourself in a rushed panic this morning, and especially not looking forward to eating lunch with Alex in the break room. No one else in your lab had showed today, and it seemed like the weather had warded off a majority of the other students as well — meaning that it was highly likely that you and Alex would be the only two in the break room. This time, you don’t need a mask to hide your grimace from the otherwise empty room.

Soberly, you pull off your blue latex gloves, watching the garment turn itself inside out and free itself from your clammy fingers one by one. You dispose of both gloves before your mask follows, but it’s only once you’ve removed your goggles as well that you can truly take in the strong aroma of formaldehyde and other chemicals. Your eyes water, and your nose burns a little from the intensity, despite the fact that you’d spent the last several hours in this room.

You swallow the saliva that’s starting to pool in your mouth from the slight nausea, which is from both the strong smell of the room and the lack of food in your stomach. Eager to exit the room for a break, you leave, your nostrils now flooded with the smell of musty old wood, the general overall smell of the old building.

You’re just passing by your professor’s office on the way to your locker when his door suddenly creaks open, just enough that you can see a sliver of his grizzled old face. “I knew it was you. Can you step inside for a moment? There’s something I want to discuss with you in private,” Dr. Hellström says. He speaks quickly, his tone a little lilting and off — it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but something tells you that despite the warning signs, you weren’t in danger. Your curiosity begins to bubble up inside of you, stronger than your hesitation. “It’ll be real quick. We’ll be able to get right back to work after this,” he says, his words encouraging but his tone still a little frightening and unfamiliar.

You make your choice quickly when you hear Alex’s loud chortle from the nearby break room — apparently, he wasn’t alone in there after all. Still, the sound of your competitor’s voice thaws you from your freeze, and you approach Dr. Hellström, entering his office as he quickly steps aside, hardly leaving enough room for you to squeeze through. You’re about to chide him for it playfully, when he shuts the door somewhat aggressively, startling you slightly.

“Professor, what’s wrong…?” you ask, your gaze still trained on your trusted boss and educator. You can see now that his breathing is slightly uneven, his lips are shiny with saliva. He notices your gaze, and licks his lips. Although he’s watching you, his eyes are trained on something behind you. The same moment that you make that realization, you hear something behind you. It sounds like chains clinking, something big shifting — and a low growl permeates the thick air.

“Professor…” you say again, your voice clearly less confident this time. It wobbles a little, even though you only uttered a single word. You swallow thickly as you wait for him to respond.

“Don’t be afraid. It can’t hurt you,” Dr. Hellström says, letting out a pleased little hum. “I have asked you here for a few very specific reasons. Firstly, I trust you, on multiple terms.” He turns to ensure that the door to his office is locked from the inside, before turning back to you and starting to slowly walk towards you. “I trust that you’re competent enough to be such a big part of this research project.” Step. “I trust that you’ve got enough grit and guts to take on such an experiment.” Step. “And…” He stops right in front of you, and now you see, all of that reaction was from pure excitement, unfiltered rampant glee. “I trust that you won’t tell anyone about this, unless I say so.”

Your back prickles with the knowledge that you’re being watched from the front, and from behind. Yet, you can’t seem to find out how to walk away — both literally, and metaphorically.

“Yes, professor,” you hear yourself saying meekly.

“Good,” he mutters, “good.” He inhales deeply, and you can hear the mucus and phlegm in his airways as he does so. You try not to let the disgust show on your face. “Then, please turn around. I have our next great experiment right here.”

It was like he released you from a magic spell — as soon as he said you could, your previously frozen legs and feet began to move, and you slowly turn around on the spot. At first, everything that you see is familiar. You’ve spent plenty of time in this office, asking questions and working on reports late into the night with Dr. Hellström. The bookshelves that line a majority of the walls, stuffed to the brim with thick, ancient texts about various related subjects. The large arched windows that are currently obstructed from view with plush velvet curtains, but you know are there. His desk, always messy with papers and spilled ink; the “guest” desk that sits just beside it, where you so often spend late nights. Then, in the center of the room, where usually there would just be an unassuming brick fireplace (which you’ve never seen lit, mind you), there were girthy metal dowels drilled deep into the brick mantle, with the heaviest chains you’ve ever seen attached to them.

The chains had something attached on the other end, as well.

If you thought that you were afraid before, it was nothing compared to how you felt now.

Pure, frozen, white-cold fear began in your toes, freezing you to your spot on the hardwood floor, before traveling up your legs and through your limbs, nearly stopping your heart and lungs. It certainly felt like all of your internal organs had stopped working, as you lay eyes upon a creature that seemed to be damned to Earth by God or whatever higher power there was; there was no sense of purity or innocence in the slightest.

This creature had to be at least seven feet tall, perhaps more, but you couldn’t tell with the position that it was chained up in. The thick chains connected to the dowels on the fireplace led to handcuffs around its dark gray wrists, which were as thick and muscular as they were raw and bloody from the cuffs. These chains left it in a permanent pose, in which it is on its knees, with its arms raised above its head and chained to either side of the mantle. Its feet are chained up too, you can see them bound in chains of similar thickness and weight.

Each feature that this creature possessed was not human; the only humanity that it carried was in its face and general body structure. Although monstrous in muscle and size, the creature’s body still roughly resembled that of a human; bipedal, similar bone structure and limbs. Its feet were clad in the biggest pair of black boots you’ve ever seen, so you could not assess them in the same way you did with its hands — huge, could cover your entire face and then some, with black claws that come to sharp, curved points. You worry that the creature is somehow able to sense your gaze upon its appendages, as its fingers twitch, the first movement you see from it.

You were this comfortable making your observations up until this point, because the first thing that you noticed about the creature was that it did not have any eyes — and you assumed that meant it could not see. Now, though, you have the dreaded feeling that the creature can see — just not in the way one might automatically assume.

This realization makes you tear your gaze away from the creature, your entire body shrinking away in a shudder as you face your familiar professor instead. Part of you thinks that this is fake, that if you look away then the creature will disappear. You glance back with foolish hopefulness, instead feeling the soulless black voids of its empty eye sockets boring into your gaze. You’ll never be able to forget the way its face looks — it’s more horrifying than the rest of the creature somehow, because here is where the creature resembles a human the most.

It has tousled brown hair — its style a little outdated, perhaps, but reminiscent of guys in your age range. A sharper jawline than expected with how large and hulking its body is, and a sharp nose to match. Thin, but shapely lips, a slightly darker and more pigmented shade of gray than the rest of its body, and quite chapped and cracked. The lightest sprinkle of freckles across his nose, and the lightest hint of facial hair, stubbly and prickly. If you ignored the fact that his skin was the color of slate, you might be able to pretend he was a normal human, until you focus on his eyes — for they are not only missing, but seemingly gory, open wounds on his face. The sockets are unnaturally dark; they do not seem to have an ending, as ridiculous as it sounds. The flesh around the sockets are bruised and irritated, and most noticeable of all, there is a thick black fluid consistently flowing from the voids, too dark and too viscous to be blood.

“I found this marvelous being in our very own local forest,” your professor suddenly booms, rousing you from your deep thoughts and analysis, “feeding on something… quite suspicious. This is where my trust in you to keep a secret begins.” Dr. Hellström grunts, and then clears his throat, nodding to himself.

Part of you wants to tell Dr. Hellström to go fuck himself, before running out of the room and screaming like you’re the one he wanted to imprison. That part of you, the sane and selfless part of you, would obviously report Dr. Hellström to the authorities, and get this… creature some help, whatever that would entail. Another part of you, however, a deeper and more sinister part of you that you like to ignore on a daily basis, urges you to stay where you are. Tattling would result in Dr. Hellström being investigated and unable to serve as your advisor. It would mean that you don’t get to become published, nor defend your final thesis on time. It would also mean that you wouldn’t ever get to see this creature again, never have the chance to not only glimpse it but study it. Depending on what Dr. Hellström was planning on proposing to you, sticking around and keeping your mouth shut might reward you with the opportunity of a lifetime.

“You can trust me, professor. I haven’t rejected you yet, have I?” you say boldly, a little louder than you wanted to be. It makes you cringe just as much as your fake laugh from earlier, in lab.

Dr. Hellström doesn’t seem to care — if anything, your loudness spurs him on. He cackles loudly, throwing his head back. “I knew it. I knew I made the right choice with you,” he hums, his voice almost a purr with how pleased he seems. “Now, I must ask you, do you remember that student that went missing earlier this month? The undergraduate?”

“Um… Yes, I do. The girl, the one that lived right off campus? She was in the news for a while,” you reply, a little confused about the sudden change of topic.

Your professor’s eyes gleam with something rabid now, and as he parts his lips to speak there are foamy bits of saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I found her. But we can’t tell anyone, alright?” He seems to gather himself a little here, wiping his mouth with his fingers and gritting his teeth. “She… was what this creature was feeding on when I came across it in the forest.”

The very thought should sicken you to your stomach, and you feel an odd sense of guilt as you realize that your initial reaction was interest. Further interest in this creature, what it was, why it was apparently consuming humans.

“It ate her?” you ask, more fascination coming through in your tone than you wanted.

“Mm. Indeed,” your professor says, nodding slightly. “Come. I have more to show you.”

Intrigued to no end, you follow your professor over to his desk. His desk is situated quite close to the fireplace, where the creature is chained up, and it’s quite a bit closer than you were before. Although you’re interested, you’re still quite wary of being so close to the creature, especially knowing now that you were apparently its idea of a good meal.

Your professor doesn’t seem especially bothered by this fact, nonchalantly plopping down in his desk chair as he rifles through the numerous papers and files strewn across the tabletop. He mumbles quietly to himself, and you wait patiently though your restlessness grows with each passing moment. Finally, beneath a stack of lab report drafts and a long-empty box of chocolates, he pulls out a thick manila folder, so stuffed full that it’s clipped together on the sides for extra durability and security. This seems to be exactly what Dr. Hellström was looking for, as he holds it up and waves it at you triumphantly before tossing it roughly onto the desktop.

“Look through this, and tell me what you think,” he says, reaching forward to undo the numerous clips holding the folder together.

As soon as the last clip is undone, the folder nearly springs open on its own. You realize that the contents of this folder are not hundreds of pieces of paperwork, but instead, hundreds of photographs. Photographs that were seemingly taken all at once, very recently, by Dr. Hellström of the creature.

You quickly realize that the photos are sorted by body part, and that each stack of photos contains up-close shots of a certain part of the creature’s body. You hold up one that analyzes the creature’s hands, flipping through the photos of the claws, the knuckles, the palms.

“I still need some more of these photo sets. I haven’t taken any of the creature undressed,” Dr. Hellström says bluntly. Perhaps the most humanistic trait of this creature, other than its facial features, was the fact that it was clad in human clothing; a thick black hoodie and a pair of black jeans, along with the aforementioned black boots.

Upon the mention of photographs (and perhaps the mention of undressing), the creature suddenly roars from behind you, causing both you and Dr. Hellström to nearly jump out of your skins. Its chains rattle fiercely, the growls and snarls grow fiercer and grow in volume, seeming to make the very room shake. As you freeze, Dr. Hellström flies into action, snatching a syringe from his desk that you did not previously realize was there, and injecting whatever clear fluid inside directly into the creature’s meaty neck. The roars stop, and the creature’s head lulls forward limply as Dr. Hellström removes the needle, exhaling exasperatedly after he does so successfully. For a moment, there is no sound except for the slow drips of the creature’s black eye fluid onto the floor, creating small puddles beneath where his face hangs. You’re almost grateful for the creature’s reaction, a pool of guilt and disgust forming in your stomach from the idea of exposing the creature in such a way — especially after it expressed such discontent at the mere mention.

“As I was saying,” Dr. Hellström says, a tad of irritation in his voice, as if he were appalled by the fact that the creature retaliated. “There are still plenty more tests to run, evidence to gather. There’s so much to do alongside our main lab… I can’t possibly do it all myself.”

This was exactly what you were hoping for, the reason why you were waiting around this entire time.

“Would you be interested in taking part in this research study alongside myself? You would of course be able to keep your position in my main lab as well, with your peers,” Dr. Hellström says, his tone enticing, as if he were offering candy to a baby. “And… you would be able to have two publications under your name, as well as a job at nearly any institution you long for. With a recommendation from me, you’re golden — not to sound too full of myself.”

Your hesitating seemed to have been rid from your system earlier, as you felt none of it now in this moment. “I am extremely interested, professor, and I accept,” you say confidently.

Dr. Hellström grins widely, before extending his hand to you. You take it, shaking it firmly.

“Welcome to the team once again,” he says, placing a hand on your back as he guides you towards the door to his office. The heavy lock clunks into place as Dr. Hellström unlocks it, and the two of you walk back to the laboratory, ignoring Alex’s parroting questions in tandem, in perfect sync.

iii.

Luckily for you, by the time you returned home late that evening — much later than you were supposed to get out, but you were used to the extremely late dismissals — it seemed that some repair person had come by and fixed the leak in your ceiling. There was a faint smell of plaster and wet paint as soon as you entered through your front door, and it only got stronger as you walked down the hallway and entered your bedroom. Now you could see that there was a slightly noticeable patch on the ceiling, with paint that looked like it was still drying; you deduced this from the slightly lighter hue that the area had taken on. Your pot, which had been faithfully catching the droplets until help presumably arrived, had been emptied and was sitting in the same corner, waiting for you.

The luck cheered you up immensely, and even though you were extremely tired and had yet another early day in the morning, you decided to treat yourself to ordering dinner and having both a glass of wine and a cigarette — you needed it after today.

Your apartment had a small fire escape, hardly a balcony despite the fact that you treated it as such. Balanced quite precariously on the shallow, cramped metal flooring was a stool and a tiny table that you assumed was originally a child’s nightstand before you found it at the thrift store. It wasn’t much at all, but it served its purpose as your designated smoke spot.

Before you could go out there, however, you had to wait for your food to arrive.

It was a dull process, and you ended up downing two glasses of wine and watching some shitty reality dating show with plastic faces and bodies on both the men and women. For some reason, you found yourself getting invested in the moment. Your hand shakes a little as you pour your third glass of wine, promising yourself that it’s the last and you’ll save it to have with your food. It arrives soon after — lucky you, once again — and you guzzle the wine within the first few bites and sorrowfully pour just one more, which lasts for the duration of your meal. You can feel the tipsiness; although you’d consumed quite a bit of the bottle you were used to this amount of alcohol in a short amount of time, and it was the perfect amount to get you buzzed but not drunk.

Your stomach full, you rise and yawn, leaving the television on but lowering the volume before opening your curtains and pushing open your window. The fire escape greets you, still damp from the rain. Droplets of water have beaded upon the surfaces of both pieces of furniture, and you ignore the feeling of cold water soaking through the back of your pants and panties, knowing you’ll shed the clothing in favor of a shower soon after your last reward.

Your last reward is waiting for you in your pocket, permanently and safely at home inside one of your jackets that you’ve designated as your smoking jacket. It’s old and thick and thrifted, with a waterproof exterior and now, a slight stench of cigarettes.

Your fingers are cold and starting to get numb and stiff again, reminding you of the unchanged weather from the morning. Grumbling slightly, you hold a cigarette between your teeth gingerly and fumble for your lighter, clicking it a few times before the flame stays steady long enough for the end of your cigarette to light. You let out a puff of smoke, exhaling as you pull the lighter away, and pocket it as you hold your cigarette in your free hand.

Finally.

Soft patters of draining water dribbling down and hitting the metal stairs fills your ears, leftover rain from throughout the day making its way back to the earth. It smells wet, slightly metallic but mostly of dirt and leaves and trees. Smoke too, of course. You close your eyes for a moment to savor it, all of those sensory details, before you open them again, staring into the void of the forest just beyond your building. It seems so massive and dark, not much less foreboding even in the daylight. That’s where the creature is from. That’s where he ran free until very recently.

That thought sends a chill down your spine. Suddenly, the idea that there are likely more creatures in those woods becomes very, very real.

The timing is perfect, however, and as soon as you start to feel real fear seeping into your stomach, your cigarette goes out. It had started to taste bitter and harsh anyways, so you have no issue stubbing it out on your wet ashtray and hurrying back inside. You double check the lock before pulling your curtains closed, your heart hammering in your chest.

When you lay down to sleep that night, you feel stone cold sober — the pit in your stomach growing and keeping you aware and awake until you drift off into a fitful sleep.

—

The next morning dawns early, and its weather seems nearly identical to the day before. Your commute is just as abysmal (and for some reason, rampant with crows), as are your interactions with Alex in the main laboratory. As he bores you with stories about his undergraduate years that you did not ask about, you think about the time that you’ll get to spend with Dr. Hellström and the creature. It serves as motivation for you to get through the wretched morning hours. Dr. Hellström had promised that you would be able to spend your afternoons — and evenings, if you wished — with the creature, studying it to your heart’s content.

The giddiness in his voice had sickened you a little once again, for he had told you that soon after he had put the creature to sleep quite violently. Your professor went on and on about the details, promising you that he would discuss more with you in the coming days, but it all went in one ear and out the other. You were concentrated on the now slumped figure behind Dr. Hellström. Its arms looked so painfully strained, holding up the entire weight of its upper body as it was forced to practically hang there by its chains. There was no movement at all, other than the soft breathing that served as the only visible sign of life within the creature.

The silver needle glinted in the late evening light coming through a crack in the curtains, making you wince. It was the most honest you’d been all evening; the closest your face got to matching how you felt about this whole ordeal.

At first, you were hesitant. It seemed insane and inhumane. Then, you became confident in your involvement, for the sake of your career and your future in the field. Now that you’d had more time to think about it, and a night to (fitfully) sleep on it, you were hesitating once more. You were undeniably excited at the prospect of such a project and being able to be the first to learn about this unknown creature. But there was still a nagging feeling that something about this was off, that your professor had been lying when he said everything was handled ethically. How the hell could you cover up the murder of a student ethically? Still, though, you were reluctant to immediately tell Dr. Hellström that you wanted to revoke your involvement — because you didn’t fully want to revoke it, to be completely honest. At this point, it seemed like the pros outweighed the cons. You would just have to learn how to sit with this uncomfortable feeling, especially if you wanted to participate in more such studies in the future as a professional. It was the right thing to do.

Lunch finally rolls around, and this time Alex waits for you, much to your dismay.

“I saved you a seat yesterday and you didn’t show! The other lab felt bad for me,” Alex says, groaning with embarrassment — as if you would have sat with him anyway.

“Oh, really? Sorry about that. Tell them I’m taking my lunches and afternoons with Dr. Hellström from now on, then. It’ll stop the rumors and wondering,” you reply, faux pity piled on thick. Alex was the sort of person that didn’t seem to question when people were overly nice and accommodating to them, even if it’s obviously sarcastic.

“Wait, lunches and afternoons? What about our lab?” Alex asks, stuttering a little on the first word. He scratches his temple, looking at you for an answer.

You should’ve known that Alex would pry. Why the fuck did you try and brag? You hesitate for a moment before settling on the fact that Dr. Hellström hadn’t told you to not mention a second lab — he just said no one else could know about the creature.

A slightly uncomfortable laugh escapes you, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice the fakeness of it. “Oh, yeah. He recruited me for a second lab last minute, I’m just helping out again.”

Alex exhales, pursing his lips before his sunny demeanor returns. “Damn. You’re really on that grind, huh? I better get on your level. Congratulations, two research labs is hella impressive.” He claps you on the shoulder again, meaning it as a friendly gesture but only receiving a flinch from you in return. “Well, see you tomorrow, then.” He gives you a grin before whistling and heading out of the lab, leaving you muttering under your breath about what an idiot he is.

You head over to Dr. Hellström’s office as soon as you finish cleaning up your station for the day. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you knock on the heavy wooden door. Dr. Hellström opens it almost immediately, his bloodshot eyes locking with yours. His right eye twitches, and as you look closer upon entering the room, you see his pupils practically vibrating — from excitement or lack of sleep, you’re unsure.

The second thing you notice when you walk in is the dog kennel that’s now in front of the fireplace, and more importantly, housing the creature. Its arms are still bound by the wrists, but now they’re free from the chains and merely held in its lap. It’s able to sit now too, and from what you can tell, move around more freely in general. Similar to its wrists, its ankles are bound as well, still in heavy chains.

“You must look at the samples I’ve been analyzing,” Dr. Hellström raves, clearly not focused on the fact that you’re still taking in the sight of the creature in the cage, “they’re… the answer. The answer to what we’ve all been asking, all these years.” His words are so vague that they’re hard to decipher exactly.

“What do you mean, professor?” you ask, undeniably interested.

He waves you over to his desk. The previously scattered papers are now messily stacked on one side of the surface; the rest is taken up by a large microscope and a slightly neater stack of new paper. His laptop rests on one of the precarious stacks of old notes, shunted off into the corner, unneeded at the moment. He motions for you to come over to the microscope. “Look. Look,” he urges, letting out a shrill, excited little noise as you lean forward and peer into the microscope.

You’re not sure what you’re looking at. There are countless cells — skin cells, from what you could tell, but obviously not human. “Its skin, professor?” you ask under your breath, feeling uncomfortable with discussing the sample so close to its source. You pull away from the microscope momentarily to look at your professor.

“Keep looking,” he grunts, pointing to the microscope. Before you return your attention to the cells, you hear slight clinking, and look over at the creature to see it facing you completely. It doesn’t utter anything, merely watching you and observing you. You were certain yesterday that it could see you despite its lack of eyes, and today you’re now certain that it can hear you from across the room, even though you were whispering.

Shakily, you return your attention to the view under the microscope. The cells aren’t doing much — until suddenly, they are. It’s the oddest sight you’ve ever seen under a microscope — the cells all suddenly stop and freeze at the same time, before vibrating quickly, so fast that it’s just a blur no matter how much you magnify it. When the movement slows, there are twice as many cells as there were before. You let out a low exhale, fascinated.

“The blood does the same. The potential that these cells carry… we could take over the entire medical field if they perform how I expect them to,” Dr. Hellström says, unable to hide his excitement as always.

“Healing properties. And potential cures for all sorts of diseases and disorders that rely on cell regeneration,” you mutter, earning a frantic nod from Dr. Hellström.

“Yes, yes! And more! What if we could extend the human lifespan? Or even further, the lifespans of other creatures? Until we know more, the possibilities are endless.” He laughs aloud, licking his lips and smoothing his hair back to look at you. For the first time since he had introduced this project to you, he looked calm — just like his old self. Then, his appearance seems to shift again, this time into a man that looks older than his years, weary and beaten down. “I can only hope that the subject lasts long enough.”

“How long will it take? Surely, it can survive a few months. It looks hardy,” you say, still keeping your voice low. The creature continues to watch the two of you from its cage, silently.

“It hasn’t eaten since I found it,” he says, sighing. Now he looks over at the creature, almost longingly and affectionately. “I just can’t source human flesh. Not unless I want to end up behind bars. And it won’t eat any of the animal meat I’ve provided it with… beef, pork, chicken… even tried venison and fuckin’ kangaroo meat.” Now he scoffs, the slight affection gone from his voice and his face. “Thing’s picky. And it’s for sure weaker now than it was a few days ago.”

You’re silent for a moment, pondering different possibilities before concluding that Dr. Hellström had likely explored all potential options before even bringing this up to you. “We’ll have to collect samples and preserve them, then. As fast as possible.” There goes the likelihood of analyzing a live specimen up close. At least it would be far easier once the creature was deceased.

“Mm. That’s what I thought, too.” Dr. Hellström sighs. “Well, we shouldn’t waste any more of our limited time, then. Let’s get to work.” He pulls out another syringe, identical to the one that he used to put the creature to sleep the day before. The creature seems to recognize it too, immediately letting out a growl as the two of you approach the cage.

“Now, now,” Dr. Hellström tuts, the mocking tone to his voice making you uncomfortable for the creature, “you know how fast this goes when you don’t struggle, right?”

The creature growls louder, shrinking back into the back corner of the cage, as far away from the two of you as possible. The cage is much too small to contain such a large being, however, and Dr. Hellström is easily able to jab the creature’s meaty shoulder with the needle, chuckling as he watches its head lull to the side uncontrollably.

With seemingly Herculean effort, the creature lifts its head by barely an inch, its eye sockets trained on your face — not Dr. Hellström’s.

“The operator… won’t… be pleased. He… is coming.”

The voice is low, gravelly. It sounds so human — the idea that if you hadn’t seen the creature before you heard it, you’d have no differentiation between it and a normal person sends a chill down your spine, a feeling that’s been much too familiar recently.

After those few bone chilling words, its head drops and its body goes completely slack once more. Just like the day before, you find yourself fixated on the endless black liquid dripping from its eye sockets and puddling on the floor of the kennel.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend you could rewind time and go back to yesterday morning. The drips were just from your stupid leaking ceiling — nothing else.

You almost believed it.

iv.

Who was the Operator? What did the creature mean, that he was coming? For you? For Dr. Hellström? For him? Furthermore, the creature could talk? That brought upon a consideration that you hadn’t previously thought about — you had contemplated its sight, its hearing — but never its speech abilities, or the fact that it might speak your language and fully understand how to communicate using the social norms of humans. The vision of the creature’s face floats in your mind endlessly, torturing your consciousness with a burning question. It had human traits — not all of them, but plenty. It spoke like humans, communicated like them, understood them. It dressed in human clothing, and not in a manner that seemed unfamiliar with the concept. Was this creature… human?

It couldn’t be. Another disturbingly clear picture pops into your mind, of the vibrating cells under the microscope. That wasn’t human — not at all.

Your mind is swarming with thoughts, with questions, with oddly clear memories from the past few days. It becomes suffocating after a while, and as you lay in bed on the eve of the creature’s first utterances, you soon realize there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep. Not like this, at least.

Sitting up in bed, you push back the covers that have become sweltering without you realizing. The air outside the blankets is cool and fresh on your clammy limbs, though still a bit stuffy as you inhale deeply. You know exactly what’ll calm you, and at this point you don’t care how many cigarettes it takes you to make it to your graduation.

You don’t go out onto the fire escape, not this time. In fact, you hadn’t used it since the night before, when you felt a foreboding tenseness in the night air. You had no plans in the near future to use it, at the very least not alone or at night — both of which were currently occurring. Instead, you open your bedroom window, reaching into your jacket pocket and pulling out your box of cigarettes and lighter. The air is even fresher now, and once more it smells of petrichor and damp earth. Crickets chirp loudly, the noise unnoticeable when the window was closed. A slight breeze makes you clutch your jacket closer around your body as you lean against the windowsill, bringing an unlit cigarette to your lips before you click your lighter. Each metallic snap sounds like it echoes through the pitch black forest before you, but you feel safer inside your bedroom than out on the fire escape.

The false sense of security lulls you into a half-sleep, a state between dream and consciousness. You’d long since finished your first cigarette — and a second, though you wouldn’t admit it to anyone but yourself — and the butts lay on a discarded paper plate that once held leftover takeout, ash scattered around them. The crickets continue to chirp, but the natural sounds of the night do not wake you — they simply incorporate into your odd dream.

In the dream — which is half reality and half dreamt — you’re standing outside rather than slumped against the wall, right beneath your window. You’re not only outside, but standing on the border of the forest, staring into the black void in front of you. Just like in reality, you can only really see the initial line of trees clearly, illuminated by the silvery moonlight. Beyond that, there are only glimpses of branches and other shrubbery in areas where the foliage has thinned and allows for slivers of silver to peek through. Other than that — there is nothing that your eyes can distinguish from the darkness.

For some reason, you don’t walk away even though fear is flowing freely through your entire body. You stand there, petrified, as you hear branches crackling. The fear hits you tenfold suddenly, but your frozen stance remains unchanged even as your heart pounds in your chest, resonating in your ears.

Within the darkness — somehow — there appears a pit of even darker energy. It acts like a energy focused black hole, and your entire body feels weak and jittery — the pure adrenaline — or perhaps something more sinister — was keeping you standing there.

Black tendrils creep forth from that center of dark energy, and they seem to be made of pure shadow and matter. You can’t tell if they have a true physical form, but they’re coming for you regardless. Just as they reach the edge of the forest, you see two huge white hands, reaching, grasping — and a completely smooth white face. Static and screeching tones blur your vision almost immediately, making you gasp weakly and taste metal in the back of your throat. It gets louder, ringing in your ears until you manage to let out a desperate scream — and then you awaken.

In your bedroom. Sitting on the floor. You close your eyes once more after registering your surroundings, exhaling with relief. When you open them, however, that same blank white face is right in front of yours, making you scream again — and you wake into your body once more.

This time, it’s real. You don’t dare to close your eyes again, standing up and slamming your windows shut. As soon as they lock, you feel a wet substance dripping down your upper lip. You bring your fingers up to feel it, examining your digits as you pull them back to your line of vision. Blood. There’s still a faint ringing in your ears too, and you can feel an intense headache beginning to bloom from the back of your head and moving forwards. “Fuck,” you mutter, pinching your nose shut. As you tilt your head back, you make the mistake of looking out the window once more before you shut the curtains.

Nothing’s there — but now you know what’s waiting in the darkness.

—

You’re again eager to waste away the morning and get away from Alex and the stench of formaldehyde soaked mouse corpses, but today proves… especially difficult.

For some reason, your work with Dr. Hellström and the creature was beginning to lose its luster. The nagging feeling that you were hurting this creature and putting it through unnecessary pain was growing, and the initial thought that it was worth it to prove your name in science was shrinking into a meaningless dud of an apparent opportunity. Thinking about it more, Dr. Hellström probably would’ve written you that letter of recommendation anyways, and you were going to be published regardless.

Further, today you walked into Dr. Hellström’s office, and the creature was already knocked out. Dr. Hellström had sent you an email saying that he had to step out of the building for a meeting during his lunch hour today, but the creature was already sedated and you were free to take whatever samples you deemed necessary. Already wrestling with the growing guilt, the sight of the creature in such a sorry state and the lack of professional supervision allowed for your true emotions to surface.

“Shit…” you mutter, rubbing your tired, red eyes. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before either, not after the weird… dream? Sleep paralysis? It only added to the crappy feeling.

The creature was significantly thinner than it had been just a few days ago. Despite the heavy hoodie and jeans, you could see that its frame was already much thinner and bonier. The clothes now practically hung off of its body. The exposed wrists were even more telling, with the bones more prominent. The creature was literally wasting away and dying, in your and Dr. Hellström’s bloodied hands.

You get a little closer, confident in its sedated state. Just like before, the only movement is its slight breathing. Now, you can see the scarring on the creature’s wrists and forearms from the handcuffs. The flesh is worn and scarred over, with new wounds on top of the knotted skin. The rapid cell regeneration made sense now.

The creature’s head of messy brown hair was even messier now, starting to get knotted and matted from lack of attention. The back of its head was especially tangled, and you felt a sudden urge to brush its hair before you shook off the insane idea. If anything, you would try to get a saliva and a hair sample — not literally brush its hair like a pet, or a doll.

You turn your attention back to its hands. They’re resting on the ground, close to the edge of the cage. The creature is in a sitting position, but slumped forward enough that his hands are able to extend out in front of him a bit. Drawing even closer, you kneel beside the cage and look at the creature’s hands. Other than the sharp claws and massive size, you realize that they do resemble human hands quite closely — another comparison that sends a jolt of emotion and guilt through your body. Without realizing, your hand is slowly moving towards his, getting closer and closer to reaching through the bars.

“Holy fuck, dude. This is the project you and Dr. Hellström have been working on?”

The sudden and unexpected voice makes you jerk your hand back quickly, and you turn around to give the intruder a glare. You’re not surprised to see Alex standing there, his jaw dropped as he stares at the creature. “What the hell is it?”

“Get out, Alex,” you snap, standing up and starting towards your labmate, trying to shield the creature from his view. It’s not much help, given that the creature and the cage itself are much larger than you are. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Alex ignores you, pushing past you without much needed effort despite your hissing complaints. He approaches the cage immediately, leaning on it and making it rattle. The creature does not stir, although he sways a little from the impact.

“Relax, I just want to take a look. I’ve been curious about what the two of you have been cooking up in here anyways,” he scoffs, waving you off nonchalantly. He returns his attention to the creature, letting out a low whistle. “This is insane. You guys will be famous in like, every science field.” He grips the top of the cage, shaking it a little and jostling the creature even more, making you let out a choked gasp.

“Alex, stop it. It’s sedated,” you hiss, stalking over to him and nudging him off the cage. Alex lets out an exasperated huff.

“If it’s sedated, then why does it fucking matter? That’s like saying we have to handle the dead mice like live pets,” he counters, pushing past you again and making you stumble. Your blood boils, but you try to stay calm.

“I don’t know, respect? Human decency? Just not being a piece of shit?” you spit, clenching and unclenching your fists. You can feel your fingernails digging into the soft skin of your palms, for sure leaving marks.

Alex ignores you again, and you’re not sure if that makes you angrier than you would be if he responded with something equally as stupid. He sticks his hand between the bars of the cage, and his arm barely wedges in the small gap. He looks over at you with a shit-eating grin, wiggling his fingers in front of the creature’s face.

“Alex, seriously, stop. The creature eats—”

“Seriously, stop,” he mocks, his tone reminiscent of a young child that has no other more educated comebacks to use. He grabs a handful of the creature’s matted hair, chuckling as he shakes its head from side to side. “It’s sedated, remember?”

He lifts the creature’s head, curious and wanting to look at its face. You grimace and look away, praying for Dr. Hellström to come back and tell Alex off before you kicked his ass.

But as soon as you look away, you hear a yelp — and turn back to see the creature gripping Alex’s wrist so tight that his hand paled and turned grayish white — the color of a corpse.

“F-fuck! Get your ass over here and f-fucking help me!” Alex shouts, pain evident in his voice. The creature cackles, a sound that makes you clench your jaw and hesitate to move.

In one sickeningly fluid movement, the creature pulls on Alex’s arm so hard that the narrow bars he barely fit in initially slice through the flesh of his forearm, de-gloving the appendage up to his elbow where the bony joint stops it from going further. Alex’s screams rattle the walls, enhancing the faint tinnitus that you’d retained from the night before, as the creature leans forward and tears the remaining mangled flesh from the bone. The screams start to quiet, and you find yourself missing them, for they drowned out the harrowing sounds of flesh peeling from body and the gnashing sound of the creature’s teeth as it eats Alex’s arm off his still living body.

You’re unable to turn your head away from the disturbing sight, as much as you want to and know you’ll never be able to unsee this. There’s so much blood. Did the human body really have that much blood inside of it? If you were the one that was getting torn apart, would you paint the room red as much as Alex is? Dark red has soaked into the vintage rug that covered a majority of the office floor, and it has spread so far that it even lays in puddles and flecks across the minimal exposed hardwood. The brick fireplace is absolutely wrecked with red; flecks from the struggle and splashes from the consumption.

Alex is sobbing, having long abandoned his hope of being rescued by you. He’s weak, but still trying to pull away from the creature. It almost seems like the creature is letting him go, its grip slackening and allowing Alex to pull away ever so slightly. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he takes a step forward, his other foot following.

Crunch.

Alex screams again, but this time his voice cracks mid-utterance and he whispers hoarsely, his face going pale now — the same shade as his hand before it lost its skin.

The creature had returned its iron-clad grip on Alex, inhumane strength yanking him violently back towards the cage. The force and impact makes a sickening crunching sound as one of his joints is popped from their socket — the elbow or the shoulder you’re unsure. The creature laughs again, breathy and phlegmy as a mixture of blood and saliva dribble down its already crimson stained chin — before he takes another bite from Alex’s arm, the nauseating snap of tendon and muscle making bile rise in your throat.

The sound of your gag summons the attention of the creature. He turns to look at you while still gripping the remains of Alex’s now limp, mangled arm. Alex has gone still and silent.

The creature slowly licks its lips, and you swallow back another gag as you watch a second and third tongue emerge, cleaning the blood and chunks of meat from various areas on its face.

“The Operator might spare you,” the creature chuckles, letting go of Alex’s arm, resulting in his body falling to the floor with a sick, squishy thud as he lands on the blood soaked carpet.

The creature grabs the closer of Alex’s legs and chomps down, hard.

v.

Similar to your bedroom at home, Dr. Hellström’s office now smells like wet, new paint.

The brick fireplace, which previously had been darling and antique looking with its natural reddish brown tone, was now muted and mind numbing, painted an off white that made it look permanently dingy. The floor was now bare too, and along with the smell of paint there’s the headache inducing scent of a citrusy cleaning product.

Bleach too, for obvious reasons.

Everything was perfectly in order, and you once more you find yourself unsure if the reality or an alternate scenario would have made you more uncomfortable. You suppose that walking back in here to see Alex’s rotting corpse would have been much less pleasant, but the knowledge that Dr. Hellström had done something with the body was… incredibly disturbing, to say the least.

You supposed he did something similar back when the undergraduate student died, and was found in the forest alongside the creature.

He seemed unaffected by it too, as he worked alongside you, humming to himself. His mask was covering his entire lower face, but you could tell from the deepened crinkles around his eyes that he was smiling ear to ear behind that thin layer of fabric.

He turns to face you just as you shift your gaze away, the back of your neck clammy and nervous as he looks you up and down. Your hands are shaking slightly as they turn a knob on the microscope, but you haven’t been focusing much on the saliva sample that’s been rubbed onto the glass slide.

“I think… it’s time for a lunch break,” Dr. Hellström declares, after analyzing you without much thought. “I’m hungry, so I assume you must be too. And not to mention, our little friend over there.” He nods over in the direction of the creature, who has been awake but docile this entire time, watching the two of you.

“Sure. It’s about the same time our usual lunch is, anyway.” You stand up, peeling back your gloves and mask. The scent of paint and lemons and bleach floods your nostrils again, ten times stronger than it was when you were shielded.

A silence falls upon the room after Dr. Hellström lets out a grunt of approval, no words being exchanged but gentle sounds filling the room as the two of you wash up thoroughly.

You’re about to retrieve your own lunch from the mini fridge in the corner of the room, but Dr. Hellström stops you. “Before you eat, let’s feed it.” He ambles over to a cooler, which is slightly hidden behind his desk. He pulls it out with a sharp exhale and another grunt, opening the lid to expose pieces of flesh and organs. You suck in a deep breath, regretting it instantly as you smell the blood and raw meat, coppery and metallic in your nose and mouth.

Dr. Hellström retrieves a long pair of tweezers, picking up a long strip of flesh that, much to your horror, seemed to be from Alex’s shin, for there was his tattoo of a rose. It was unmistakable; Alex had shown it to you the day after he’d gotten it done, lamenting about the fact that it was done by an apprentice, and they had apparently fucked up on some of the shading. You can see the uneven part he had complained about, just before Dr. Hellström strolls over to the cage and tosses it over to the creature. The creature watches it hit the side of the cage and fall to the floor, before reluctantly picking it up with its still shackled hands and pulling it through the bars. The distinct sound of teeth cutting through flesh makes you grimace, as Dr. Hellström comes back over to the cooler and picks up what looks to be part of an intestine. The creature lets out a low rumble, and as soon as Dr. Hellström tosses it over, it grabs the organ and shoves it into its mouth, smacking obscenely and growling like an animal.

Dr. Hellström looks over at you with a sly grin. He picks up another organ — clearly a lung, this time, and throws it to the creature. Once more, the creature gobbles it up with much more enthusiasm than the strips of flesh.

“We’ve cracked the code, my dear pupil. Now, time is our friend, not our enemy.”

He spears another organ onto the end of the tweezers — another bit of intestine, it looked like — and throws it to the creature.

—

You’re really an idiot.

Your head pounds with the need for a cigarette, but all that stares back at you is the glaringly empty box in your shaking hand. You knew this too — told yourself that you needed to stop by either before or after work and pick up a new box — you’d hate yourself if you didn’t.

And now look. You really do hate yourself at the moment.

“Fuck me,” you spit, crushing the box in your hand and stalking over to your kitchen. You open the cheap, plastic trash bin and throw the remains of the little cardboard box inside, sucking at the inside of your teeth to try and keep yourself from swearing aloud more, for no reason.

Letting out a shaky breath, your gaze drifts over to your car keys, haphazardly tossed onto the surface of your kitchen table. Without another thought, you numbly walk over and snatch the keys, the cool metal pressing against your heated palms and engraving the exact shape of your house and car keys into your soft skin.

“One fuckin’ thing… couldn’t remember one fuckin’ thing…” you mutter to yourself, still extremely annoyed as you throw on your smoke scented jacket and stumble out your front door, the toe of your boot catching on the lifted lip of your doormat. Cursing again, you slam your door and lock it, trying to quell at least some of your rage before you get onto the road.

Deep inhales allow the damp, fresh smell of earth and rain to cycle through your lungs, the scent of nature rather than stale laboratory air calming you just enough. Crickets and other insects unknown to you chirp and buzz in the black night.

Your drive to the nearest gas station is short, but enough time to reflect upon the events of the day, and the looming expectations of tomorrow. Small raindrops begin to scatter across your windshield, and you turn on your wipers. They drag across the glass slowly, one of them making an irritating screeching sound as the rubber scrapes against the smooth surface; replacing the wipers is just another thing that you need to add to your never ending list of mundane chores.

Think of today. Less mundane.

You stop at a red light, the bright colors splashed across the oily black road and reflected back in neon puddles. The short pause allows your mind to settle a bit.

Earlier today, after the creature had finished feeding, Dr. Hellström had put the cooler back in its inconspicuous place behind his desk. “There should be enough in here for at least a week or so. Unless we stuff the brute full each meal,” he had promised.

After that… well, you suppose the rest of the day was less mundane when compared to other aspects of your stagnant life. But still quite monotonous when compared to the exciting events that had conspired in the previous few days.

You pull into the parking lot of the gas station, your tires crackling on loose asphalt. The engine goes quiet as you turn it off and exit, squinting up at the glaring, blinking sign that displayed the name of the place — not a name that anyone would commonly know, rather, a local mom and pop shop that wasn’t a chain.

Inside, it smells musty and still. Much like the basement at someone’s parents’ house, or the inside of a dying mall. It makes sense as to why — there are no windows that open into the small building from what you can see, and the slight breeze that comes in through the door with you as you enter is the only movement. It stops as soon as the door closes behind you, and you’re left inhaling the still air.

You don’t waste time looking around, shuffling up to the cash register. A young man stands behind the counter, his gaze already settled on you — you’re the only one in here, after all. He looks a little too young to be working here, surely not old enough yet to drink or purchase cigarettes himself. His acne marked cheeks and sparse mustache point towards teenhood, but the dead look in his eyes and the slump in his shoulders makes you question it. He sniffles as you stop in front of him, and you hear him swallow a thick gulp of phlegm.

“How can I help you today?” he asks, scratching at one of the scabby pimples on his cheek.

“Marlboro reds. Thanks,” you mutter, already digging in your pocket for your wallet. The man doesn’t seem too disgruntled, but you hear him let out a light exasperated exhale as he turns around to eye up the wall of cigarettes behind him. He grabs the box.

“$11.95.” He tosses the box down onto the counter in front of you, but you’re still digging through your pocket. All you’ve managed to come up with is your phone and your keys (and an embarrassing amount of lint).

“Uh… shit. One second,” you say, gnawing on your lower lip. Your hands turn out the pockets of your sweatpants; empty as well.

“We don’t have a tap to pay system here,” the man says, coming to realize that you don’t have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” you spit, more annoyed at the situation than any individual in particular. You manage to choke out an apology as you leave through the front door, before angry curses tumble from your lips loud and clear.

Your annoyance only grows when you can’t seem to find your wallet anywhere in your apartment. And you swear you’ve turned it upside down, and it’s nowhere to be seen. Sure — at first you were a little too pissed off to be thoroughly searching, but the more you looked the more your panic grew. If it wasn’t here, it had to be back at the laboratory. You hadn’t been anywhere else today.

It was late. The clock on the wall above your kitchen table read just past midnight. You knew that you had access to the building — that wasn’t the problem. It was the fact that it would most definitely be in Dr. Hellström’s office, and you would be alone with the creature in there while you searched.

Habit taking over, you start chewing on your raw bottom lip again, tasting blood when you accidentally rip a piece of skin off too fast. The iron-y taste blooms across your taste buds, and you swipe your tongue over your lower lip slowly before you tighten your grip on your keys and turn on your heel to leave your apartment once again, for the second time in under an hour.

“Idiot,” you say to yourself again, watching your headlights illuminate the rain slick black asphalt before you; the path towards the dreaded creature that’s guarding your beloved belonging. Your turn signal clicks steadily as you wait to round that last corner, the one that’ll take you right up towards the laboratory parking lot. The light turns green, nearly blinding you as you frantically blink your rapidly tearing eyes and turn onto the dirt road.

Pebbles and loose chunks of earth are kicked up by your tires as you slow to a stop in your designated parking spot. The lot is completely empty, except for one other vehicle. You’re not sure who it belongs to — you’re actually not sure you’ve never seen it here before. It’s a black van with tinted windows, parked in the closest spot to the building. It gives you a peculiar feeling as you stare at it, and you decide to hurry up and get this shit over with. You’d have to be back here in the morning anyways — you could just ask your professor about it then.

Your key card beeps softly, and the front door makes a loud clunking sound as it unlocks for you. The neon lights of the hallway are all still on, buzzing quietly as you make your way towards Dr. Hellström’s office.

The building is completely silent save for the faint buzzing of the lights and your own footsteps. It makes the entire experience that much eerier. As you finally make it into the right hallway, your skin prickles as you hear a faint screeching sound. Screeching — or screaming? You’re unsure. It doesn’t sound human.

Your heart skips a beat as you think about the non-human individual that’s being kept in this very hallway. You start speed walking towards Dr. Hellström’s office, your heart now pounding loudly in your chest with anxiousness. The screams grow louder. You’re now almost certain that they’re from the creature, as you hear a growl trail the end of one of the utterances.

Swallowing hard, you stand before Dr. Hellström’s office door. The screams are more sporadic now, but no less gut wrenching. Your hand shakes as you hold your key card up to the door, hoping that you’re wrong, praying to whatever higher power is out there that you’re mishearing things.

The doorknob is cold in your grasp as you turn it, but the screams intensify tenfold. It chills your blood, curdles your soul.

The creature is strapped down to a surgical table, Dr. Hellström hovering over it as he shaves off a sliver of flesh from its abdomen — clearly not the first, you realize with horror, as you spot a small silver dish with a few other bloody grayish slivers. Your eyes dart from place to place, analyzing the various wounds on the creature — it’s missing a nail from its right hand, slivers of flesh from its abdomen, a chunk of hair from its head. There’s an area on the creature’s stomach that’s marked, and you realize with even more horror that Dr. Hellström was intending to likely get an organ sample next, judging from the empty awaiting jars beside the other already collected samples.

“I wasn’t expecting you this late,” Dr. Hellström says calmly, bringing one bloodied glove to his face and lowering his surgical mask. He grins at you, his teeth yellow and stained in the bright light of the lamp above the surgical table. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m so close to finding our answer! I just need—”

“I won’t be part of this any more,” you shout, your voice cracking — much to your own horror. “You’re — you’re operating on it without any numbing? Any anesthesia? I could hear its screams from down the hall!” You clench your jaw, hating how emotional you sound in the moment. You want to stress how inhumane this is — not entertain your professor with your childish personal feelings.

“What does it matter?” Dr. Hellström lets go of his mask, letting out a dry wheezy chuckle. “You were on board with it starving to death after we got what we wanted up until a few days ago. What changed?”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not a hypocrite,” you begin with, your voice wavering slightly.

Dr. Hellström barks out a loud, rough laugh. “Oh, you’re not? Then maybe you’re just a liar. A pathetic, cowardly, liar.” He takes a step towards you, wagging the bloodied scalpel at you disapprovingly. “I brought you onto this project because you said you could handle it. If you can’t handle it, I might have to do something I’ll regret—”

There’s a loud ripping sound from behind Dr. Hellström. You see it before he even has time to turn around — the creature is free.

How, you’re not sure. It had been strapped down to that table being tortured for who knows how long, but only now did it escape.

In reality, hardly a second passes between the moment that it breaks free and the moment it tackles Dr. Hellström to the ground. But as you watch it, you feel like life is moving in slow motion.

Dr. Hellström doesn’t have a chance to turn around and see what’s happening before the creature is on top of him. Roughly seven feet of pure monster is on top of him, making his knees buckle instantly. He lets out a yelp as he plummets to the ground, face smacking onto the tiled floor as his scalpel is knocked free from his grip. The creature lets out a low rumble as the clatter seems to catch its attention, and it snatches the tool before Dr. Hellström has a chance to catch his breath. The wind has clearly been knocked out of the man, as he gasps and chokes beneath the creature. His gaze flickers up to you once and only once.

There’s no regret in his eyes, and no fear. Only anger as he presses his chapped lips together and grits his teeth, the weight of the creature starting to really affect him now.

The creature twirls the scalpel between its fingers, and you can’t help but notice that one of the fingers on said hand is missing a nail. Your eyes dart over to the samples on the table before you look back at the creature and your professor — but by then the creature had clearly made up its mind, and had begun to take further action.

Dr. Hellström lets out a gurgled scream as the creature plunges the scalpel deep into his back, the sharp blade piercing the flesh with ease. Dark red immediately begins to spread across the back of Dr. Hellström’s white lab coat, blooming in rusty splotches as the creature retracts the blade and drives it back in over and over again.

The sound — it’s sickening. But it doesn’t phase you, not after you’d watched and heard the creature devour Alex’s limbs. You watch, completely still, as your professor slowly goes limp. The creature continues to pierce the tender flesh of your professor’s back with the scalpel, until the entirety of his lab coat has been painted red. Only then does the creature stop. Only then does it stand up, panting raggedly, clenching and loosening its fists over and over again.

Only then does it look at you.

It lasts for just a moment, before the creature’s attention is back on your professor. It flips the corpse over with brute strength, using one claw to slice through the front of your professor’s shirt. Then, it grips the scalpel tightly and slices through the abdomen with precise, practiced movements.

It gets much less precise after that, however.

Something seems to overtake the creature, and it lets out a growl that seems to reverberate around the dark room. Both clawed hands thrust inside the slit, even more blood pouring forth from the incision and pooling beneath the body, staining the floors that had just been scrubbed clean of crime. Squishy, sloshy noises make you slightly nauseated as the creature rifles around your professor’s insides, until it finds what it’s looking for. Its mouth opens wide, three black tongues snaking out one by one, dripping with tendrils of hot, viscous saliva. In goes a kidney. Then the other. Then a long piece of intestine.

It’s then that you manage to look away. You hadn’t been sickened before, but it was starting to get to you now. It was starting to sink in that you were witnessing your professor’s innards get brutally removed and devoured, right before your eyes. And that was a bit much for a weekday night, even for you.

The slight movement of your head gets the attention of the creature again. Slightly satiated now, it has more capacity to think rationally.

Eliminate the witness.

The speed at which its hands close around your neck is inhumanly fast — and just like your professor, you don’t even have enough time to turn your head and see it coming before your vision goes black.

vi.

Popcorn ceilings are fucking hideous.

Why did you move into an apartment with popcorn ceilings?

The sight that your eyes are met with as soon as they open is more than unappealing — you can’t think of a properly hurtful word to describe it at the moment, so you close them again, welcoming the darkness.

It is inside the peace of that darkness that you remember — you don’t have popcorn ceilings.

Your eyes snap open again. This time, you try to look around more while still being inconspicuous. The assumingly recent events of — well, you can’t remember what or when exactly, but the last time you were conscious — were beginning to come back to you piece by piece.

So… you were strangled into unconsciousness by the creature, and now you were here.

In this room.

From your limited movements, you gathered that you were in a bedroom. Where this bedroom was, you were unsure. It wasn’t familiar in the slightest, and you were almost glad for that — the room was a sight for sore eyes.

The walls seemed to have once been a beautiful creamy white, but were now yellowed with age and nicotine stains. The wallpaper is peeling in many places and destroyed in the others, many patches of the original wood paneling showing through. There’s that terrible popcorn ceiling, and in the middle a cracked ceiling light that doesn’t seem to have a lightbulb inside anyways.

A small closet was in the far left corner, and the door to the rest of the building in the far right corner. The bed occupied a majority of the room on the other end, but you could see that there was a beat-up old nightstand on your left side. Other than that, the room was void of furniture.

The nicotine stains were telling on their own, but with every breath you take you can smell stale cigarettes and rotting wood. It would take years, maybe even decades, of heavy smoking in this exact room daily to make it this bad. To pair with the initial stench, there was a light odor of ammonia — equally lovely.

Looking down, you see that you’re covered up with a crusty white sheet, tucked neatly into bed. It’s insulting, the neat and almost careful way that you were left here juxtaposing with the disturbingly filthy state of the bed itself. You’re not sure what most of the stains are, but some of them are definitely blood. Whose blood, you’re unsure you want to know.

You decide to take a risk and sit up, only to regret it immediately. You find that your wrists are in chains — almost identical to the ones that the creature had been bound in whilst imprisoned in Dr. Hellström’s office — and they clink noisily with every slight movement you make. Sitting up was more than a small movement, and it’s evident in the way the chains rattle so loudly that the sound seems to reverberate around the empty room.

Almost immediately, heavy footsteps begin approaching from the right-hand door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you mutter under your breath, staring down at your bound wrists, now free from the confines of the dirty sheet but nothing else. You hadn’t noticed the pain before, but your wrists have been rubbed raw from the metal cuffs. Your voice, too, is different — scratchy and rough. You only now realize how sore your throat is, how much it hurts to put any sort of strain on your vocal cords with a mere utterance.

The door opens, slowly at first and then all at once, slamming into the wall and leaving a mark on the wall. Not that it made much of a difference, with the state that the walls were already in.

The creature stands there, hulking and massive in the dim doorway. It’s wearing a mask — one that you recognize from some of the photos that Dr. Hellström had taken upon his first interaction with the creature. Dark, almost navy blue. No facial features except for two cut outs for eyes, black mesh covering the holes. You can see the crustiness of this part of the mask, black goo both new and old dribbling down from the mask’s eye holes and catching in the mesh. Enough of the goo escapes, however, that there are wet and dried black tears leaking down the mask’s blank lower face. It’s also wearing an identical outfit to the one it was captured in, a black hoodie and black jeans.

It is also holding a plate with a sandwich on it.

You’re unsure when the last time you ate was — seeing that you’re also unsure of how long you’ve been unconscious. Judging from the way your stomach growls at the mere sight of food, it has to have been at least a fair while.

“You’re awake. Finally,” the creature says, its voice muffled from behind the mask. “Eat this. You’re probably starving by now.”

Almost every instinct in your body screams and protests against it — why would you trust food from a non-human creature that had just abducted you? Further, you’re put off by the sudden smoothness in the creature’s voice — so different from the raspy, gritted words he had uttered while held captive.

Despite that, your stomach gives another desperate pang of hunger. The creature’s extended hand stays in place, almost taunting you with the sandwich. It looked normal. Smelled normal.

Not hesitating any further, you gingerly take the plate from the creature’s hands, your chains clinking gently as they sway with your movements. You don’t eat it straight away, staring down at it for a moment before regarding the figure in front of you. It’s staring right back at you, almost curious about your actions.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” you ask bluntly, hoping that if you were to get any answers to your questions, this would be one of them. “Back at the lab. Why am I here?”

The creature lets out a sigh that’s between a chuckle and a growl. It comes closer, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning towards you. The crunchy mattress dips beneath the creature’s weight, your body starting to slide towards the divot, towards the creature. “Why’re you asking, little thing? Would you have preferred that?”

Despite the fact that the mask separated its face from yours, you could practically feel its warm breath washing over your face, hot and metallic. You shiver, shaking your head. Suddenly, it becomes very apparent that this is the first time the roles are reversed between the two of you — now, you were inside the cage. And it was the one studying you.

The creature plants both hands on either side of your head, its calloused palms colliding with the wobbly wood of the headboard and making you flinch from both the sensation and the sound. It’s hovering over you now, your legs trapped between its knees that are rigid and stiff in place. The plate with the sandwich has been overturned, and you can faintly smell mustard and mayonnaise.

“I took you to return the favor. After all, you were the one running plenty of those experiments behind the scenes. Not that idiot professor.” The creature croons, and it’s almost tender, the way it words the abduction like it was a favor to you. “You experimented on me, so I’ll do the same to you. That professor wanted to kill me, so I killed him. See? It’s only fair. ‘M only taking back what’s mine, and making things even.” Its voice is sickeningly sweet now, as it lays out its reasoning for you. Almost as if it expects you to be grateful for it. And in a way, you are. You weren’t lying when you said this was preferable to being brutally murdered.

“Let’s start, shall we?” it asks, breaking you free from your ornery, self pitying thoughts.

It doesn’t give you a chance to answer.

You see it just before you feel it, and far before you register what it is. A flash of silver in its clawed hand, and then a sharp pain on your abdomen, beside your belly button. You have enough sense to look down, letting out a pained gasp as the sharp stinging continues. The creature is using a scalpel — the largest scalpel you’ve ever seen, mind you — to carve slits into your soft abdominal flesh. The first few are shallow, just painful enough to get your attention, which is what it wanted. Once that initial reaction had been evoked from you, the creature cuts deeper.

With this slice, more than a thin line of red appears. Skin and meat separates cleanly from the effortless slice of the razor sharp, intricate blade. Red dribbles from the cut, and much to your horror the creature lifts its mask just above its mouth and leans down, licking the wound clean.

The creature moans aloud, causing a ripple of fear and disturbance to wrack your body. Its free hand grips at the flesh of your hip, squeezing as it sucks at the wound roughly, making you cry out in pain.

“So sweet…” it mumbles, gripping the scalpel tightly with the other hand. Almost regretfully, the creature pulls back to look at the cut, which is already oozing more dark red blood in the absence of his consuming tongues. Said tongues are still thrashing about outside of his mouth, garbling his speech slightly as they frantically lap at his nose, his cheeks, his chin, desperate for more of the sweet nectar that is your blood.

The creature quickly makes more slits in your flesh, and now you’ve enough sense to turn away from the gory scene unfolding before you. The pain is still there, but you’re so overwhelmed that you almost don’t recognize it until the creature returns its lips to your skin, biting this time with teeth that are just as sharp as the blade it wields.

“Gonna savor every fuckin’ piece of you…” the creature snarls, its voice on the precipice of another moan. Grunting, the creature bites down beside the mess of sliced flesh, creating another new wound and eliciting a weak whimper from you.

The creature resists the urge to tear your meat from your bones, unclenching its jaw and releasing its hold on your soft skin. Sharp teeth retract from where they were embedded deep in your flesh.

“Soon…” it mumbles to itself, tongues cleaning the blood from its sharp teeth, its chapped lips. “But not yet.”

With what seems like a Herculean amount of effort, the creature pushes itself up off of you, staggering for a moment as it backs away. One hand comes up to wipe a mixture of drool and saliva off its chin.

“Not yet,” it repeats, seemingly more for itself than for you. Then, as rapidly as it appeared, the creature vanishes from your sight, the undeniable thunk of a heavy lock clicking into place behind it once it closes the heavy door.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest, processing what just happened. With shaking hands, you lift up the blood soaked hem of your shirt to see several deep cuts and bite marks surrounding two initials — E J.

EJ?

vii.

From what you deduced after that first “experiment” that the creature — or, EJ, apparently — had performed on you, you predicted that you had approximately three days to live. Even if the experiments weren’t meant to kill you, you weren’t sure how much your fragile body could handle. You weren’t an exceptionally strong or physically capable candidate in the first place — and that first experiment had weakened you significantly, in both a mental and physical sense.

So the next time that EJ entered your room, you prepared for the worst. Branding? Amputation? Organ removal? You had already pondered it the entire night after your initial experience as the subject of EJ’s experimentation. Anything was possible.

But then the impossible happened.

There had been no more experiments since.

The next time EJ entered your room, he came with another sandwich in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. It was the morning after the first (and only) experiment. You had indeed scarfed down the remains of the first sandwich a few hours after EJ left, ignoring the fact that the ingredients had been scattered across your filthy, germ-riddled sheets, and had faced no gastrointestinal consequences. And besides that — it had been a surprisingly decent sandwich.

Still, you flinch at the sight of him.

If EJ notices your reaction, he doesn’t show it. He simply hands you the plate and sits down on the edge of your bed again, eyeing the crusted over portion of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks, surprising you once again.

Mid-bite of your sandwich, you pause. EJ is motioning to your shirt, and holding the first aid kit in its lap.

“What’re you gonna do?” you ask suspiciously, your grip on the sandwich unconsciously tightening and squishing the bread down.

“What do you think?” EJ’s voice is exasperated as he holds up the first aid kit, shaking it mockingly.

You swallow thickly, the bite of food getting lodged in your throat for a moment and making you cough. “Um… sure. Yeah, you can.” You gingerly move your arm aside, making sure that EJ has decent access to your wound.

Carefully, he lifts the hem of your shirt to reveal the cuts, which are puffy and irritated. You look away, nauseated and concerned, but EJ doesn’t flinch. He takes out a bottle of alcohol and a clean ball of cotton, wetting the latter with the former.

“This will sting,” he warns you, looking up to meet your gaze.

“I know,” you murmur, gritting your teeth. “‘S fine.”

EJ gently brushes the alcohol soaked cotton ball over your wounds, the sensation making your irritated skin feel like it’s literally sizzling. You don’t want to let EJ know that it’s really getting to you for some reason, so you clench your jaw and turn your head to hide the tears burning the backs of your eyes.

“Sorry. It’s over now,” EJ says, sounding genuinely apologetic. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, exhaling as you look back down at the wound, at EJ.

The navy blue mask stares back up at you, fresh black tears oozing from the eye sockets. “Sorry,” he says again, quieter. Then he looks away, turning his attention back to dressing your wound. He applies a thick ointment, slathering it all over the area generously with a cotton swab. A thick piece of gauze is pressed to the area next, and secured with a few strategic placements of medical tape.

Once the wound is dressed, EJ stands up awkwardly, not saying anything. You don’t say anything either, looking down at the remaining crumbs on your otherwise empty plate.

“Thanks,” you manage to say.

“Yeah. No problem,” EJ replies, before retreating once more with both the empty plate and the first aid kit.

—

The system that EJ came up with for you was fairly simple. It was also fairly similar to the system that had been implemented for him whilst he was captive in the laboratory.

First, you weren’t ever to be unchained. Even when you left the bedroom to use the bathroom, your wrists and ankles were still bound. Only when you were in the shower were you unchained, and they would be put back on immediately after you were finished. It was humiliating to slowly shuffle down the hallway — which wasn’t long or vast in any sense — rather than walk, but you supposed that you could be forced to sit in your own excrement. So it could be worse — could be a lot better too, though.

You learned quickly how to adapt with your wrists and ankles bound together. Your shuffling grew faster, your ability to pick up food and eat it strengthened. It wasn’t the same as being free, but you adapted.

Second, you were fed only when EJ allowed you food. Over time you were granted more access to the building — which you came to realize was some sort of cabin in the middle of the forest — including the kitchen, but EJ was strict about accompanying you nearly everywhere.

And thirdly, EJ stressed the fact that if you tried to escape, you would be punished. He did not detail exactly what this punishment would entail, but he did insinuate that it would ensure you wouldn’t ever try again. It sent prickles up your back and a chill through your body, the way his voice dropped to a growl when he said it to you.

All in all, you supposed it made sense. For someone being held captive, you could’ve had it worse. Especially when considering the similar structure to the laboratory’s system, you understood the choices that EJ had made and the reasoning behind it. You were a pretty understanding captive.

At first you were restless. You dreamt about escaping in the night and finding your way back to town, getting EJ captured and killed once and for all. You’d be celebrated, praised for your story and for surviving to tell it yourself. It was an alluring fantasy, but the longer you spent in the cabin, the more that dream lost its luster.

You think about the illegal and inhumane ways that were normal to practice in Dr. Hellström’s lab. The paperwork and the documentation that proved just how many rules the two of you broke during your experimentation — even with the mice, disregarding EJ. You think about the proof in the office about the cover-up of Alex’s death, and the undergraduate student from the year before. You think about how Dr. Hellström escaped consequences for his actions through death, but if you were to return you’d have to face them. Not only the consequences for your actions, but for your professor’s.

You were just as guilty as he was. Maybe even more so — EJ was right, you were the one doing a lot of the paperwork behind the experiments.

Going back would only ensure the death of your career, the abandonment from peers and family and friends alike — not that you had many in the first place. Was there anything to go back to, at this point?

Besides that — you weren’t sure you wanted EJ to be captured and killed. Even after all of this.

Perhaps it was the monotony of the endless identical days that drove you to this conclusion. But at some point, you realized that you didn’t want to go back. You didn’t especially want to stay with EJ, but you couldn’t return to your old life. Not now, and not ever.

EJ himself became less mysterious by the day. Though it was obvious that there were certain things you’d likely never know about him, there was plenty that you gleaned merely by existing alongside him in the cabin.

He was a man, just as well as a creature. The only thing he liked to consume besides organs and flesh was liquor, and one night he got tipsy enough on cheap vodka to tell you that this was the only thing he remembers enjoying from his life before. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by “before,” and you didn’t ask. You just nodded, and asked if he wanted a beer from the fridge too.

At times it felt more like a roommate situation, than a captive one. After EJ granted you access to the rest of the cabin, you found yourself preferring the main room, not minding his company as the two of you watched old reruns of soap operas mindlessly, or sat on opposite ends of the room reading different novels.

You also find that EJ tends to read memoirs, often written by tortured minds that have long since passed on. There are quite a few littered around the cabin, and whenever the two of you are reading in the same room you take a peek at what he has. It’s always something along the same vein.

His interest in human stories, paired with his vague mention of a “life before,” makes you wonder. He has an extensive knowledge about medical practices as well, but you’d been under the assumption it was because of his taste for organ meat. After his dressing of your wounds and seeing the various medical textbooks alongside the memoirs, you start to piece together what kind of person EJ is, not just what kind of creature he is.

It becomes second nature to consider him as a fellow human, as a roommate, rather than a monster and your kidnapper. You settle into a routine so easily that you almost miss your chance to escape.

It begins just like any other morning. EJ unlocks your cuffs with a skeleton key that he keeps on his person at all times, once you’re in the bathroom. There aren’t any windows inside the small room, so there’s no chance of you escaping once you’re uncuffed, unless you escape the bathroom altogether.

“Shout for me when you’re done,” he says casually, pocketing the key and turning on his heel. “I’ll be reading.”

You hum out a response, closing and locking the door behind you. Nowadays, you prefer to shower in the mornings. The cabin has a certain chill that permeates your bones once the sun sets, and you don’t enjoy the feeling of the cold and the dampness at the same time. The shower itself is quite nice; EJ had asked you to make a list of necessities and he brings you more every time your supply runs out. Despite the grunginess of the bathroom as a whole, cleaning it up a bit and having your own preferred products spruced it up quite a bit. The same went for the rest of the cabin.

Once you’re done and dressed in fresh clothing (also picked up by EJ at some point, from your old apartment), you unlock the door and open it just a crack. You expect EJ to be there waiting — you’ve never had to call for him before, he always hears the water shut off and comes over to wait for you. You know it’s to make sure you don’t run off, but you’ve come to enjoy his constant company regardless. It’s almost comforting, in a way.

However, this time, he isn’t there.

In fact, the entire cabin feels eerily silent and still.

“EJ?” you call out, your voice sounding thin and afraid in the suddenly vast silence. “I… I’m ready.”

There isn’t a response to your feeble call.

Part of you wants to call out for him again, but another part of you stops yourself before you do. You fool, you murmur to yourself in your mind, this is your chance, don’t you see? He’s gone for now. Which means it’s your chance to escape.

You’re torn, wanting to escape and wanting to stay at the same time. What was waiting for you on the other side of the forest’s edge? Was there anything to return to? Yet, the thought of staying here with EJ forever gave you a peculiar feeling in your gut — not one specifically of fear, but of something much more complex.

You choose to run.

You don’t wait for EJ to come back. You book it, bare feet pattering against the hardwood floor as you approach the large window in the kitchen. It’s the biggest one in the entire cabin, and you’re almost certain that it locks from the inside — meaning you can get out.

The window comes into your view, and still no one comes to interrupt your escape. Your heart hammering in your chest, you scramble onto the countertop and reach for the lock on the window. It’s there, you were right! Your fingers fumble with the lock, unfamiliar with its specific mechanisms, but you get it after a few moments of confused scrambling. The glass slides aside with ease, and suddenly you’re faced with the forest beyond the cabin, bright and cheery from the morning sunlight. The chirps of the morning songbirds and the whooshing of the wind is so much louder now that there’s no walls separating you from it — you’d forgotten just how beautifully loud nature could be sometimes.

You begin to lean out the window, breathing in the fresh air. Your front half is now entirely outside, the warm rays of sun cascading down and gently caressing your vitamin deficient skin. You can taste your freedom.

And then you can literally taste blood.

You’re yanked back inside violently, a large hand closing around your throat roughly and making you choke on your own breath.

“Three fucking rules! I gave you three rules to follow!” EJ’s voice bellows. He releases his grip on your throat only briefly, to reposition his grasp. He makes you face him before grabbing you by your neck again, slightly looser this time. His mask is askew, pushed to the side and exposing his face. You haven’t seen his face since you were back at the lab, and it makes you pause your struggling for a moment. His expression is one of anger and concern, his thick brows knitted together with worry and his mouth curled into a wounded snarl.

“EJ…” you whimper, scrabbling at his grip on your neck. Even though he’d loosened it, you could still feel your face flushing from the lack of oxygen.

Much to your surprise, EJ loosens his grip more — completely. He lets go of you, turning to shut and lock the window before looking at you once more.

“Tell me you weren’t trying to leave,” he says, his voice as hurt as his expression. He approaches you, his massive form towering over you. With each step he takes toward you, you take one back, until your backside hits the counter and you’re forced to let EJ come as close as he wants.

“I wasn’t,” you lie hurriedly, “I… I just needed some fresh air.” It sounds stupid, even as you say it out loud. You look away, ashamed.

“You know, it’s rude to lie. I’m giving you a chance to tell me the truth here,” EJ says, annoyance flickering in his voice.

“I’m not!” you protest, your own anger flaring up in defense. It cools as soon as EJ presses you against the counter, igniting something else within you. Something you’d never expect — something you thought died long ago, when you dedicated your life to your studies and your work and nothing more.

“You’re lying again.” One of EJ’s hands grabs your chin and tilts your face upwards to force you to stare at him. His grip is tight — but in a different way this time. It’s more dominating and firm, rather than violent and desperate. “Tell me the truth. Now.”

You swallow hard, unable to look away. You stare at EJ’s face — once so monstrous, now so familiar and as human as could be.

“I… I initially was going to try and leave,” you mutter, your gaze finally flickering away from his face. You can’t handle the way his lips are trembling, the way one of his tongues darts out to wet the chapped skin in eager desperation. “but… then I really did just enjoy the fresh air. Promise.”

EJ doesn’t respond for a moment, but his thumb gently strokes your chin. His other hand grabs your hip, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of the fact that your body is pressed up against his. You can feel the heat of his flesh through all the layers of clothing that separated you from him, and it was making that fire inside you burn brighter by the second.

“Promise?” he asks, and the tone of his voice tells you that he won’t take another lie for an answer.

“Promise,” you say back, after the briefest of hesitations.

You don’t look away — you can’t look away now.

Something in EJ’s demeanor shifts slightly, and he lets out a low groan as he leans down to bury his face in your neck, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into your flesh again.

It makes you realize what he was murmuring to himself about the first time you woke up in the cabin. The way he assured himself that it would be “soon, but not yet.” He growls softly as his hand on your hip moves lower yet, claws catching on the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks again — with a very different meaning this time.

“Yeah, you can,” you hear yourself saying.

And you mean it.

EJ’s clawed hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, one of his fingers tracing over the scars of his initials. The wound had healed a while ago now, but the knotted flesh was still sensitive. The sensation of his gentle, feather light touch makes you shiver, squirming beneath him.

“… Cute,” he mumbles, before releasing his grip on you, only to scoop you up in his arms right after. You let out a surprised yelp, clinging to his shoulder tightly. Muscle ripples beneath his clothing, beneath your touch, and it makes another wave of arousal and attraction pass through your body. EJ seems to sense this; he groans and hurries his pace out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

You’re flustered, but not so much that you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings. EJ isn’t taking you back to your room — he’s taking you to the room that he always disappears to — presumably his bedroom.

Able to balance your weight with one arm, EJ shifts you to one side as he fumbles with the doorknob, managing to kick open the door and throw you onto the bed. You land on a soft mattress, and you take a moment to look around.

EJ’s room is slightly cleaner than the rest of the cabin. The walls aren’t stained with nicotine and water damage, and there was a common theme of navy blue around the room. More books, both medical textbooks and memoirs, littered the desk and the several shelves against the far wall. A small window is behind the headboard of the bed, with no curtains to shield either of you from the incoming sunlight. It washes over both of you, highlighting you in honeyed rays. It only makes EJ look more enticing to you, especially as he throws his mask aside, exposing his face fully.

It’s surprising that you once found it monstrous. In the pure golden light, each one of his features looks perfect. He looks… beautiful, as he hovers over you and leans down to capture your lips in a heated, rough kiss.

His lips are chapped and his teeth are incredibly sharp — not the best combination, especially when paired with an inexperienced owner. EJ wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but it had certainly been a while since he’d cared about the creature he was fucking. Upon your first pained groan as one of his razor sharp teeth grazes your lower lip, he pulls back slightly, one of his tongues entering your mouth instead. The long appendage tangles with your own, and you can taste stale liquor and a hint of cigarettes. You try not to think about the lingering metallic taste as he moans against your lips, knowing it’s the blood of another.

His hands are on you again suddenly, pulling at your shirt roughly, impatiently — until he loses all of his patience at once and slices through the fabric with a single claw, making you squeak and cover your bra clad breasts with your arms. EJ lets out a chuckle, gently grabbing your wrists and pressing more kisses to your swollen lips. Wordlessly, he tells you to stop hesitating — to let him in, to let go of your fear. He moves your arms aside, leaning down to inhale the scent of your sweet skin. Naturally, he can’t help but taste you too, with how delectable you smell. One of his tongues darts out from between his lips once more, this time lapping greedily at the valley between your plump breasts. He lets one of his teeth graze your supple skin a few times, the small droplets of blood only making the taste even more irresistible.

“Fuck…” he growls, pulling your bra down just enough to free your tits, his hands leaving your wrists and coming down to squeeze your chest. A shuddery moan escapes you as his rough thumbs start playing with your hardening nipples, your back arching into his touch. “That’s right, come here…” he croons, reattaching his lips to your neck, shaking from the effort of holding back his more violent tendencies. Still, he nips you a few times, just enough to make you squirm and bleed a little, not enough to actually hurt you.

“EJ…” you whine, the heat between your legs only growing harder to resist as he teases your sensitive tits. You can feel yourself leaking, soaking the fabric of your panties.

“I know, little thing… but be patient for me, hm? I wanna take my time with you.” He chuckles, almost cruelly, amused by your whimper of protest. To compensate, he slots a meaty thigh between your legs, pressing up against that aching center of your needy cunt.

The relief — and the need for more — is immediate. You let out a moan, your hips grinding and moving of their own accord, your body desperate for any satiation. EJ grins toothily, inhaling deeply — he can smell your desperation, your arousal — and he’s obsessed with it.

“So fuckin’ wet already, can’t believe it,” he coos, pressing his knee harder against your sopping cunt. He can feel the heat of your folds, the dampness of your juices, beginning to soak through your shorts as well as your panties. He doesn’t waste any more time, his own patience growing thin and overwhelming his amusement at teasing you.

His touch leaves your body, and you feel like you’ve lost him entirely. The warmth fades, and you breathily call out for EJ, despite the fact that he hasn’t really left at all. He’s preoccupied, shedding his hoodie and jeans, kicking the items of clothing aside before turning back to you. You, however, are now extremely focused on EJ’s nearly naked form.

He’s muscular but a little soft at the same time, the softness mostly centered around his thighs and gut. There’s still clearly muscle, however — you watch with great interest as his thighs clench and ripple as he walks towards you.

He grabs you by the waist, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties, pulling them off in one go. Your face flushes with heat; now you were the one being ogled.

EJ lets out a grunt of approval as you reach back to unclip your bra, gripping your thigh as he sits back down on the bed. He doesn’t give you any time to think about being embarrassed, nor does he ask before he wedges your thighs apart to reveal your glistening folds. He gets into position between your legs, his lips parting slighting to let one of his tongues free. He licks at your inner thigh, his nostrils flaring as he inhales the scent of your arousal.

“EJ, please…” you beg, wiggling your hips impatiently as he kisses and licks at your inner thigh. He lets out a low rumble, tightening his grip on your thighs.

“I told you, be patient,” he scolds, letting his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your thigh as a warning. You moan as he laps up the blood, starting to kiss closer and closer to your aching center.

Finally, his tongue licks a long stripe up your slit to your throbbing clit, eliciting a shaky moan from your trembling frame. EJ’s eye sockets narrow with lust and focus; one of his hands comes up to gently part your folds before he attaches his lips to your clit and starts sucking hard.

“E-EJ!” you cry out, hands reaching down to tangle in his messy nest of brown hair. The rough, desperate tugging only spurs EJ on further, as he sucks harder on your clit he starts teasing your leaking entrance with the pad of his calloused thumb.

He releases your swollen clit with a pop, admiring his work for a moment before one of his tongues curls around the bud, squeezing and rubbing it as his other two tongues begin to prod at your entrance. You mewl and grind against EJ’s face, your mind a haze of pleasure and need. The tongue around your clit increases its pace, and before you can properly react you feel a sudden pleasurable fullness as the other two appendages enter your tight cavern. You and EJ moan in unison; you at the feeling of a tongue prodding at your cervix and g-spot simultaneously, him at the taste of your sweet nectar coating all of his tongues at once.

You can feel your orgasm approaching steadily, unable to form proper words past babbling, as EJ works each one of your sensitive spots expertly. He lets out muffled moans and grunts, joining the cacophony of your babbles and mewls, and the lewd slick sounds of your pussy as he devours you. He tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down against the mattress as you start to buck and twitch more erratically.

“I… f-fuck, I-I’m—” you stutter, choking on your own words as you cum before you can give EJ any sort of warning.

You sob loudly, tears burning your eyes as you cum harder than you have in years, shaking uncontrollably against EJ’s solid form. He doesn’t stop, his tongues working you through your orgasm until you’re kicking and breathlessly trying to say his name, the pleasure turning to overstimulating pain.

He pulls away reluctantly, and your form slumps against the mattress tiredly as he lets go of you. You can’t help but let out a sheepish giggle as you see the state of EJ’s lower face; completely drenched in your juices. His hair is messier than before and sticking in every possible direction, from your pulling and grabbing.

“You can take more, can’t you?” he asks, his voice edged with a growl. He presses his crotch against yours, and you can feel his cock throbbing through his pants. You’d nearly forgotten about that, in your own selfish, pleasurable haze.

You nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. You do trust your body however, grinding up against EJ’s fat bulge.

God, he’s so fucking big. You’re a little terrified to see what’s underneath the thin fabric of those boxer briefs, but you’d be lying if you said you were hesitating at all. You wanted him. You needed him.

EJ — either able to sense your desperation, or just impatient himself, pushes down his boxers and kicks them aside, allowing you to get a clear view of what was between his legs.

Just like the rest of him, his cock is enormous. Thick and meaty, with dark bruise-y veins running up the girthy shaft. Naturally, it’s the same shade of gray as the rest of his body, the mushroom tip slightly darker and slick with pearly pre. He wraps a hand around his shaft, his lithe fingers closing around himself as he moans, thrusting into his own fist. You whimper, wanting to feel him thrust inside of you instead.

EJ clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, nudging your thighs further apart and on second thought, guiding your legs to loosely wrap around his waist. Suddenly, meanly, he presses his pulsing length against your weeping slit, chuckling with glee and enjoyment as you helplessly grind against him, covering his cock in your slick. “God, you’re impatient. Guess I shouldn’t make you wait any longer, hm? That’d just be mean. Downright cruel.”

He does exactly that, a fitting cruel smirk on his face as he drags his hot, hard cock up and down the length of your pussy, taking extra care to apply more pressure as his tip passes over your swollen clit.

“EJ, f-fuck!” you cry out with frustration, as his blunt tip catches on your fluttering hole for what seems like the millionth time. “P-please!”

He pauses, and you do too, waiting for his response. “Please, what?”

So this was the game he wanted to play. This was what he wanted from you this entire time.

“You asshole, fuck me! Please, fuck me!” you snap, frustrated and more aroused than ever.

His hips suddenly snap forward, burying at least a third of his length inside of your tight heat — stretching you beyond imagination. The pain is searing, burning hot; only tolerable because of the faintest hint of pleasure beneath it all. You scream, the sound between a moan and a cry, as you reach for EJ, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him on top of you.

He isn’t faring much better than you — he’s lost in the pleasure, jaw clenched and teeth gritting against each other as he resists the urge to bury himself inside you completely. It would tear you apart, and he simply couldn’t have that. No, he needed to be gentle with you. Hard enough to rough you up, have his way — but gentle enough to ensure that you wouldn’t endure any lasting damage.

But you’re just so fucking tight.

And hot. And you’re squeezing his cock like a vice, practically sucking him in. He lets out a strangled gasp, apologetic words tumbling from his lips as his hips thrust forward again.

A majority of his cock is inside you now, and it’s undeniably painful. You sob, tears and snot and spit wetting his neck as you shudder against him, your pussy stretched to its limit around his monstrous girth. “G-God, I can’t… f-fuck, I can’t…!” you babble, your nails digging into EJ’s flesh, holding him close and trying to push him away at the same time. “It hu-urts, EJ!”

He shushes you immediately, soft and crooning and sweet as one of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other gently scooping you up effortlessly by your waist. He murmurs soft nothings in your ear, all while guiding you the rest of the way down onto his cock. “Mm, just like that, little one, just like that… you’re doing so good for me.”

Finally, finally, he bottoms out, and it feels like he’s in your lungs. You gasp, one hand finally releasing EJ’s shoulder, leaving behind tiny bloodied crescent moons from where your nails cut through flesh. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, for he’s too focused on the feeling of your walls completely surrounding his aching length. His mind is spinning, his hands clammy and numb as he holds your body flush against his. He can feel every pulse, every clench, every drip from your hole as he starts slowly grinding against your cervix, your moans joining together once more.

“I’m sorry, c-can’t hold back any more. N-need… need to fuck, need to cum… need to breed…” he whines, the protective hands on the back of your head and the small of your waist suddenly leaving, reappearing as a bruisingly tight grip on your hips. He starts thrusting fast and hard, hammering into your cervix, his girthy tip dragging against your g-spot with each snap of his powerful hips. His head dips down close to your chest, his lips suddenly attaching to one of your sensitive nipples, suckling and pulling as he rapidly fucks into you.

Lewd squelches and slaps reverberate around the room, but your own moans are all that you can hear. You can’t seem to stop, each roll of EJ’s hips practically forcing a mewl or a gasp from between your lips.

His balls tighten up, swollen and full. You can feel the heat of it against your ass, as he bottoms out inside you and moves his hips in a circle, pressing into you as deep as possible. One of your hands flies up to press against your own stomach, keening as you feel the bulge of his cock moving deep inside you. “Oh, fuck, Eej…” you moan, pressing against it slightly, making EJ’s hips stutter. He suddenly starts thrusting faster and harder, making you squeal as he pushes your legs above your head, practically folding you in half as he hammers into you harder and faster.

“Fuckin’ tease… such a fuckin’ tease…” he pants, grunting as he feels your slick starting to dribble down his sensitive balls. He can feel how much you like being manhandled by him, how much it turns you on as he handles you like a fuck toy, like a doll.

Just as you were unable to warn him of your first orgasm, neither of you can find words as you orgasm together. You cum first, thrashing underneath him as you scream his name and dribble copious amounts of fluid, soaking his crotch and the navy sheets beneath the two of you. Not that he wouldn’t have cum without that, though — he was so close this entire time, he was surprised that he lasted long enough to make you cum again. Before your own orgasm is through, you’re gasping and shuddering under EJ as you feel heat flooding your cunt, filling you to the brim and starting to spill out, further soiling the bed.

EJ moans lowly, grinding his hips into yours again, the feeling of his tip rubbing against your cervix elongating his pleasurable orgasm. He releases his grip on you, allowing you to lazily, loosely wrap your legs around his waist once more, while laying flat on your back. You shiver, overstimulation starting to settle in once again as your orgasm fades. As that fades, however, something else begins to grow. You can feel a mass of some sort at your entrance, growing and throbbing against your sore folds. You shift, furrowing your brow as you feel EJ starting to try and grind that against your slippery entrance.

“EJ… what… what is that?” you murmur, your voice hoarse and feeble. The ball is bigger now, and EJ is pressing harder, his breathing ragged and uneven. He mutters something under his breath. “What? What did you say?”

“Take it… fuckin’ take it…” he repeats, louder now. He lifts his face from your breasts, his hollow sockets boring deep into your eyes.

You whimper, feeling EJ starting to press that mass — his knot — against your entrance with much more force now, one hand traveling down to try and help ease it inside. “E-EJ…” you moan, clenching around him tightly unconsciously.

“Stop clenching,” he grits out, “f-fuck, gonna knot you so good… breed you full…”

With an effortful grunt, his knot pops inside of you, making you cry out and arch against him, the burning sensation almost unbearable initially. You can feel more spurts of cum — albeit much weaker now — pumping into your womb, trapped inside by his girthy knot. He moans with satisfaction, lapping up the sweat and tears from your precious face.

The pain slowly lessens, and you eventually don’t mind the fullness. When his knot finally deflates enough for his softened cock to slip out of your abused hole, he seems to return to his normal self more than before. He looks almost sorrowful, as he takes in your bruised and battered state.

“… Sorry,” he mumbles, hesitating but eventually pulling you into an embrace. Suddenly, he sounds just like the awkward, sheepish man that asked to clean your wound.

“Don’t be.” Your voice is muffled, as your face is pressed into his chest, but he swears on what he heard. His own heart starts racing, and he holds you even closer, afraid that if he lets go your battered body might shatter into a million unfixable, unchaseable pieces.

“EJ,” you prompt. “EJ, please look at me.”

“Jack,” is all he says. “My name is Jack, not EJ.”

viii.

Your second chance to escape comes much sooner than you think. After messing up so badly the last time, you assumed that Jack would tighten things up and lock you away again.

Jack, however, has done the opposite.

You’d been learning about the sort of person he was, slowly. You’ve seen things from the surface level; his interests and passions, his habits and talents. You’ve also seen his vices, heard tidbits about his seemingly troubled past, and witnessed him in his most… “monstrous” states. Feeding, butchering, killing.

And now… you’ve seen his intimate side. You’ve seen him completely bare in the physical sense, though it hasn’t happened again since that afternoon. You sort of want it to, but you hesitate to instigate — unsure of where Jack stands with you. It seems like he’s becoming more vulnerable — quite literally — but there’s still something that makes you feel somewhat distant and disconnected from him. No matter how close you get to him, no matter if every inch of your skin is pressed against his, you have an inkling that it won’t be resolved until he chooses to resolve it himself.

Tonight, the second opportunity for freedom, is a peculiar night.

It’s nearly mid autumn now, but summer is still hanging on by its claws. It’s warm and muggy out, a little humid. The few fireflies that are left blink yellow in sparse groups. This year’s summer had been mild, most nights cooler than tonight was. In turn, autumn had been exceptionally lackluster.

It still felt like summer too, and Jack had given up on keeping all of the windows closed. The kitchen window that had once held your complicated hopes of escaping was now wide open, letting in the warm breeze of the evening. The window in the main room was open too, and you stared out into the darkness behind the cabin from your seat on the couch. Jack is sitting on the far end of the same couch, holding a book open in his lap but not really paying attention to it, instead focused on the television that’s playing a stupid advertisement for a new flavor of gum. The drone of the overly cheerful infomercial adds to the sleepy lull of the warm night, and your eyelids grow heavy as you start to nod off.

An odd shriek pierces the once peaceful night, waking you from your half asleep state immediately. By the time you jump to your feet, wobbling a little as the blood rushes to your head, Jack is already up and looking out the open window, a low rumble sounding from his chest as he surveys the area.

“Jack?” you whisper, finding the courage to creep up beside him, clutching the sleeve of his hoodie. “What was that?”

Thoughts of the various creatures from Jack’s tales come to mind; was it the Operator? The Rake? Surely, it couldn’t be Jeff, or perhaps worse one of the Proxies. All of these names were merely that to you, names. You had vague pictures in your mind that you pieced together from Jack’s descriptions, but all you really knew was what they did to the unfortunate souls that happened across their path.

Jack sniffs the air, narrowing his eye sockets in a squint before looking down at you. “It sounds like the Rake,” he says lowly, cocking his head to the side slightly. “But it doesn’t smell like the Rake.”

“What — who, does it smell like?” you ask timidly, unsure if Jack has an answer and simultaneously unsure if you want that answer.

Jack is silent. He sniffs again, before shaking his head and retracting himself back inside. He closes the window, locking it securely and sliding the blackout curtains into place. He glances at you, taking you by the wrist as he stalks over to the kitchen window and doing the same. His lack of response paired with his quick actions makes you queasy with sick curiosity and fear.

“Jack…” you pry again, anxiety creeping up on you too, making it unbearable to stay in the unknown.

“I don’t know,” he says shortly, his response not satisfactory to you in the slightest. He starts toward his bedroom, and you follow for a few steps before stopping, watching him disappear down the dark hallway. He reappears momentarily, clutching his scalpel and wearing his mask.

“Stay here. If it’s the Rake, I’m gonna go find an offering for it, make sure it stays out of my territory. It should know better.” His voice is strained, and you can tell he’s concerned.

“What if it’s… something else?”

Jack shakes his head again. “I don’t know why an unfamiliar being would approach these woods, let alone enter ‘em. I doubt…” he trails off, going quiet again. His grip on the scalpel tightens, and he starts towards the front door. “Stay here,” he repeats, before exiting without giving you a chance to respond.

You stand there for a second, unsure what to do. Then you go back over to the couch and sit down on the edge of it, a peculiar feeling washing over you now. You knew for sure that Jack was gone, and wouldn’t be back for a while. You knew how to escape from the cabin from several exits. And — you look down at your wrists and ankles — you weren’t chained up at the moment.

You’d taken a shower late that evening, simply by coincidence. After spending the afternoon cleaning your bedroom and rearranging the few pieces of furniture, you wanted to bathe.

And Jack hadn’t put the cuffs back on after.

You’d been wearing them less and less these days anyway — especially after that night. He’d let the breaks between last longer and longer, and tonight… well, in his hurry, he’d left without ensuring that you were properly captive.

You glance at the curtain covered window just beyond your reach on the near wall. Then you look over at the kitchen window. You nearly choose the latter window, but then realize that nothing’s stopping you from literally walking out the front door.

So you do.

The outside world seems so vast to you. You’d been used to it once, but now it was so foreign to be able to look up and see sky and land surrounding everything in your line of vision.

Stars twinkle down at you, guiding you and serving as a sliver of hope within the inky blackness of the never ending sky. Long, lush, unkept grass brushes against your waist, blowing in the gentle night breeze and tickling your exposed skin. Beneath your feet, you can feel the soles of your shoes sinking into the moist earth, mud caking the once pristine fabric.

You cast one last look at the cabin behind you before you break into an unsteady run, your legs not used to this sort of exercise any more. Your shoes make squelching sounds as they sink into the mud, trampling the grass in your path. You’re not sure when you’re running to — not particularly trying to find your way back to town, and not particularly trying to find help either. Just a stupid idiot, drunk on freedom and solitude.

Soon, you find yourself surrounded by trees. All sorts, with differently shaped leaves and trunks with juxtaposing textures. Old and young, tall and short, dead and alive. Despite all of these differences, you find it difficult to remember where you came from and which direction you want to keep going in. Every tree starts to blur together slowly as you wander through the thick, lush foliage.

You’re maneuvering around a dip in the pathway, scooting down a large rock rather than climbing down the rough patch of terrain, when another shriek pierces the night — much louder this time.

A chill runs up your spine, and the sound of your own breathing fills your ears as you whip around to make sure nothing is following.

The pathway is indeed empty behind you, eliciting a sigh of relief from your sore lungs. You continue on your path, breaking into a light jog to keep a quicker pace while also maintaining some semblance of stamina.

Each squish of your shoes and exhale from your lungs makes you sweat with dread; would this be the sound that gets you caught? Would this be the last word you utter before you’re killed?

The further you go, the more you regret your decision. Just like last time, you begin to wonder if there’s anything to return to, if you were to go back to town — if you should go back to town, if that. You’d brought it up to Jack once, laughing it off but curious of his reaction. He’d been firm; there was absolutely nothing to return to, and you were better off staying with him unless you wanted to be turned over to another resident of the woods. One that would be much more inclined to hurt you, he’d insisted.

Panting, you slow to a halt when you reach an old, gnarled tree stump. Using it a makeshift chair, you sit down on the edge of it and catch your breath.

Instead of a shriek that rips through the night, this time it’s a strangled shout — one that sounds eerily like Jack. It seems to come from the direction you were heading away from, and you find yourself turning around and running back, heart pounding in your ears as you will Jack to make another sound, one that’ll continue to point you in the direction towards him. You’re consumed with the question of what happened to him, and if he was okay — rather than figuring out how the hell to escape this maze of a forest, once and for all. Suddenly, your purpose for leaving the cabin becomes clear. You really weren’t trying to escape Jack, you were chasing your sense of freedom, and shockingly — staying with Jack was giving you that. Your freedom from the monotony of everyday life, your savior from your professor, was at risk the moment he left your side, left the cabin.

You needed to find him. If not because you’d come to care for the man himself, then for your own selfish thirst for freedom.

“Jack?” you whisper shout, arriving at a clearing that you definitely hadn’t been at before — telling you that you were way off course again.

Squinting and staring across the clearing, you swear you can see something white standing out against the dark wood of all of the trees. As you get closer and closer, it becomes apparent that it’s a piece of paper, attached to the trunk of one of the many trees surrounding the clearing.

You look around one last time before you reach the tree, murmuring to yourself as you read out the one repeating word scrawled messily across the note.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO —

A sharp, high pitched ringing surrounds you, enveloping your senses entirely as the sound alone warps your vision and makes you smell and taste blood. The sudden, violent tinnitus forces you to your knees, your legs suddenly feeling incredibly unstable. As you collapse feebly, weakly, there’s only one clear thing in your line of vision — that dreaded note, with a crude depiction of the exact creature that had showed up in your sleep paralysis months ago.

Monstrously tall, impossibly thin and spindly. Long, black tendrils emerging from its suit clad abdomen.

A completely smooth, blank white face.

The ringing suddenly increases sharply in pitch, the squealing making you let out a guttural gasp of pain as you feel something warm and wet dribbling down your neck. You might not have enough strength to stand on your own two feet at the moment, but you’re able to shakily bring a hand up to swipe across the front of your neck. It comes away streaked in red.

Your hearing is slightly muffled, and you can feel the wetness of blood dripping from your earlobes. So that was where the blood was coming from — it made sense.

What can only be described as static further degrades your vision, finally the paper note on the tree becoming blurred and distorted with fuzziness like the rest of your vision. Warm wetness starts leaking from other orifices; you can feel it wetting your upper lip, dribbling down your chin, coating your cheekbones and making your eyelashes sticky.

Somewhere in the distance, you think you can hear Jack’s voice. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. You’re unable to run to him now, anyway.

Your mind drifts to pleasant memories with Jack from the past few months, after things had taken a turn for the better. The meals you shared, the films and novels consumed and discussed both together and alongside one another. The all consuming, undeniable attraction that blossomed once you both let it happen.

Jack was so different than EJ, and EJ so different from the creature. As you kneel here in the rain soaked earth, choking on your own blood, you think about how it’s impossible that you once thought Jack a monster. How stupid you really were, and how this time it cost you everything. Just as you’d begun to figure out your complicated feelings about it all, too.

There was nothing to return to now, not at the laboratory, not at your own apartment, and certainly not at the cabin. Not if Jack wasn’t there.

Completely overwhelmed, you succumb to the torture and collapse fully on the forest floor.

ix.

There was one night that far overshadowed your other happy memories with Jack, one that both added to and resolved your conflicting feelings about the situation and the man himself.

It happened not so long after that other night. You remember because you were still sore and bruised, and Jack had been tending to your wounds silently as the sun went down. The windows were open just a crack, just enough to let in the warm breeze, and you were unchained.

Instead of staring out the window, or being lost in thought, you were focused on Jack. His large hands so gently cradling your leg; one hand carefully cradling the underside of your leg where it bends as the other scrupulously wipes at a healing gash on the top of your knee. His maskless face had a hardened expression, the same one he wore whenever he apologized. And he had been apologizing a lot lately, mostly for things he had done at the beginning of your stay with him. Regret was more of a proper word to describe the emotion etched into his tired features.

He hadn’t even caused this wound; you had done so yourself when kneeing the corner of a table accidentally, the sharp edge slicing through your sensitive flesh. Still, you can tell that there’s an air of guilt as his touch hesitates over healing bruises that he had indeed caused.

“I don’t like how fragile you are,” he says finally, breaking the soft silence between the two of you. “Most humans aren’t this susceptible to injury.”

You shrug. “Clumsiness?” you say nonchalantly, examining your newly dressed wound as Jack slowly removes his hands from you.

“Stupidity,” he says bluntly, his answer making you scowl.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, prodding.

“It’s… stupid that you can tolerate being around me. After what I’ve done to you. After what you’ve done to me.” He lets out a listless chuckle. “I just — I don’t get why you seem to be content here.”

“Because it’s more fun to keep me around and torture me?”

Jack lets out another hollow laugh, bringing a hand up to ruffle his own hair in disbelief. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so content with this fucked up situation.”

You almost shrug again but stop yourself, instead thinking about it more. It was a fucked up situation, undeniably — he’d laid it out for you. You were each other’s victims and captives, a reversible symbiotic relationship of predator and prey. You knew it was toxic — for lack of a better term — but you liked the rush. And it didn’t help that you liked Jack, too.

“So… just kill me then. Get rid of me.”

“No!” Jack sounds irritated now, but his tone confirms what you need to hear. He likes it just as much as you do. He’s keeping you around for a reason after all.

He pulls himself to his feet, sitting on the couch beside you. One hand gently grabs your neck, tracing over the fading bruises from where he’d both strangled and choked you, as the other guides your legs to drape over his lap. He didn’t say it aloud, but you could tell that he liked that queasy feeling of uncertainty and closeness too.

He hadn’t felt anything in a long, long time.

And he was addicted to feeling all of these things with you — never mind that they weren’t really all healthy feelings. It was enough.

—

“Breathe. Breathe, you dumbass, breathe!”

Everything is so dark. It hurts so much. I feel like I’m drowning, even though I’m not underwater.

“Fucking dumbass.”

“Never listens to what I—”

“I said, breathe!”

Everything is too bright now. It hurts more.

“Jesus, there’s so much bl—”

“Can you hear me?”

“Dumbass.”

It smells like Jack. Smells like home.

“If I wanted you dead—”

“—would’ve killed you myself—”

“—I didn’t want this, stupid, stupid idiot—”

—

The sheets are soft, and you remember them though you spent only one night tangled in them.

You can’t help but smile when you realize where you are.

“Stop smiling. Open your eyes before you get all smug.”

You listen, of course. Just hearing his voice made your heart sing with hope.

Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking wearier and thinner than you’ve ever seen him before. Your smile fades a little when you register the state he’s in. You’d never seen him look this frail and small — not even when you recall the days in the laboratory, chained up in the dog kennel.

“What happened to you?” you ask, chuckling softly. “Suddenly growing a soft spot for all humans? Can’t kill any more?”

Jack scowls, but he still moves closer to you. “No. Obviously I’ve been holed up here, taking care of your stupid ass.” He collects himself, sighing. “And obviously… I’ve been worried about you too.”

“So you have a soft spot for one human.”

“You still sound smug.”

“Can’t I be smug if that one human is me?” You sit up, wincing a little and making Jack rush in to hold you, his hands knowingly avoiding your sore spots.

“Don’t try to sit up yet.” He sucks in a worried breath, brows knitted with concern.

“I’m okay. Just sore,” you grunt, adjusting to the new position. “Anyway… I didn’t think you’d come for me. I thought the Rake got me.”

“That was the Operator,” Jack says, sternly. “The Rake ended up being… uninvolved, miles off.” He shakes his head a little. “He thought… well… I guess he knew you. He wanted you gone, though. Didn’t like that I was keeping you around, in the forest.”

“So… he spared me? Why?”

“I asked him to. He isn’t my boss, I don’t have to obey his exact orders. I just stay out of his way.” Jack looks a little uncomfortable, giving you a lot of information he never thought he’d have to divulge to anyone. “But… that’s partially why you weren’t supposed to leave the cabin. Especially not alone.”

“And I was being held captive,” you remind him, as if it were something he could forget.

He doesn’t laugh, instead seems to bite his tongue as he looks down at the floor. “If you want to leave, you can. I… I feel weird about keeping you here after everything that happened. It’s a lot, and I’ve started acting in ways that I don’t recognize.” He cringes, again having unveiled a little too much unnecessary information — this time emotional. “If… if anything, we’re even now.” He references his initial reasoning for taking you, instead of killing you back at the lab. To get back at you for keeping him captive.

You look out the window. It’s a beautiful, crisp autumn day. The leaves are finally changing color, with the first few beginning to loosen from the branches and fall to the ground in brown, crunchy droves. If you were back in town, there would be pumpkins for sale at the farmer’s market and the local farms themselves would be inviting the community to come apple picking. Your favorite coffee shop probably had their seasonal drinks back, and if you remembered correctly there was a book release you were looking forward to that was supposed to come out around this time.

Then you look back at Jack. He isn’t looking down at the floor any more, he’s looking at you. There’s a wistful, hopeful expression on his handsome face — and it looks like home, more than pumpkin spice lattes and book releases.

You could have those things anywhere.

You shake your head, a small, hopeful smile on your own face. “Nah. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

This time, Jack lets himself chuckle a little at your stupidity.

epilogue.

Despite the fact that it was late autumn, when the leaves were long dead and the chill of winter was beginning to seep its icy claws into his very bones, there was an unfamiliar but welcome warmth inside the once lonely cabin in the woods this year.

With all of that ice and snow surrounding him, Jack was glad he had something to come home to.

It had taken time, and plenty of brutal honesty between the two of you before things felt remotely normal — and even then, it was a new normal that you settled into. The shared understanding and acceptance that this was an odd and probably realistically illogical relationship helped soothe any doubts. The two of you were just happy in the moment, away from the chaos of the rest of the world.

A fire roars in the once dusty and abandoned fireplace, the brick scrubbed clean and the surrounding walls cleaned and re-wallpapered. No longer was there a lingering stench of nicotine and rot, now a warm smell of firewood and pine.

Jack sits on the couch, one arm around you as the two of you stare out the window. The first snowfall is coming, tiny snowflakes swirling in the chilly breeze. Neither of you feel the chill, warm and content inside the solid walls of the cabin, wrapped in each other’s embrace. He looks outside — not as a captive, not as an experiment — but as a free man, a free monster, with his human that chose to stay and is watching the window alongside him, just as free as he is.

For the first time in many, many years, Jack felt his old human self sighing with contentment, melding with acceptance to his new self.

The last thing he hears before he closes his eyes, drifting into a comfortable sleep, is your soft snuffles of sleep and the crackle of the fire.

petrichor-han 2026. do not translate, repost, or feed into ai.

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i'd appreciate the gesture!!

divider credits: @pixopix @kthice // photo credit: @leech-mother

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