Locus
A Horror Septic Story
(Heyyyy who missed our favorite guy being tortured by The Horrors? I hope it was a lot of you! :D Anyway, this story gets a bit heavy, given that when we last saw John, he was being horribly possessed. But I really really think this chapter is good, guys. It hit something in me, and I'M the writer. There are many allusions to death, tho. Then again, this is horror, what are we expecting?)
(After suddenly disappearing right in front of Stacy, John wakes up in a horrible state, somewhere completely different, feeling... off. As much as he would like to ignore all people, though, he gets found anyway. Even offered a place to stay, however brief his visit is. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I did while writing it! ^-^ <3)
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This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in a strange place after suddenly blacking out. But it was the first place he’d woken up in a literal ditch. As he opened one eye, tearing through some gunk that had sealed his eyelid shut, and looked at the dirt wall of the ditch, following it up to the edge of a road, he reflected that of course his life has ended up here.
He groaned and rolled over, staring up into the sky. It was cloudy and gray, though not necessarily gloomy. Was the sky like that earlier? Had he been out for a while? He must have been, because he was half-certain that the sky wasn’t like that when—
The memories hit him like a punch, knocking the breath out of him. His escape—though it wasn’t his by any means. He was just a vessel for that thing lashing out at the people who’d captured it. And lash out it did. Though they had numbers on their side, he remembered fighting with animal ferocity, shoved to a box in the back of his mind as the creature bit and tore and stabbed and bled. Those four young people... did they... were they...? He didn’t want to finish the thought. Because the truth was, he had no idea what the answer to that question was. And he didn’t want to find out. If the answer was ‘no’, then it would be best for everyone if he stayed away from them. And if the answer was ‘yes’, then... then...
Again, he rolled over, half-burying his face in the dusty ground. The dirt beneath his eyes turned to mud as he couldn’t help but gasp and sob. This was all just... so... much. He felt the weight of everything pressing down on him, making it hard to move. And he knew that he wanted it, that it was better that he was suffering this way than Stacy or her kids, but—oh god, Stacy. Was she okay, too? He only saw her for a brief moment after he’d done... that. But her expression was burned into his mind, the combination of horror and deep sadness. And, of course, the anger coming from the gray thing behind her.
He hoped she was okay. She didn’t deserve any of this. Neither did Mathew and Larkin.
“When did you get so attached?”
His head jerked up at the sound of the voice, a muscle in his neck spasming and causing him to cry out in pain. But still, he looked around. Who said that? His eye scanned the bottom of this ditch. All he could really see was trash: stomped-on fast food cups and rain-stained torn posters. A glint of light caught his gaze, but it was only broken glass from a green bottle.
Should he... call out? It couldn’t hurt at this point, right? “Hhh... heh...” He coughed. It was hard to talk. His voice scratched at his throat, like he’d been screaming for hours, and it felt like the sides of his esophagus were sticking together, dry and thirsty. And besides those normal-ish sensations, there was... something else. It felt like... food in his throat. Like something was just... sitting there. Inside his neck. But when he swallowed, nothing went down. It just stayed there. Inside his neck. Inside his body.
He shuddered. Now that he was paying attention to his body, there was something... off. About himself. He could no longer see out of one of his eyes—the one he used to wear the eye-patch over, which was sort of morbidly ironic but also made sense, considering why he covered that up in the first place. There were aches and pains all over, but that made sense, considering... the last thing he remembered doing. But other than that, there was a... scraping feeling. No, wait, that was too violent. It was hard to describe. It was like the sound of two balloons rubbing against each other, or the feeling of putting your hand into a tight gap. But... inside.
Thinking about this made him want to throw up. Or maybe that was just another strange feeling in his stomach, a sour feeling, like turning the scent of burned fruit into an interior sensation. He curled up, trying to breathe through it all, feeling his sternum ache with every inhale. He told himself it was fine, but he didn’t believe it.
He wheezed quietly, his voice unable to really work. But inside his head, he was pleading. To who, he didn’t really know. He just wanted this to be over. Please. Please. Please let it be over.
...
...
Time passed. He wasn’t sure how much, as the sky above looked more or less the same. His distressed tired him out, and after a while, his mind fell into a dull daze, his attention only briefly flaring when something strange happened. And even those alerts became farther and farther apart as he got used to the feelings within him and the noises around him. Birds, occasionally. Mostly the whooshing of cars passing by on the road up above. A couple times there were footsteps or voices, but he couldn’t really understand what they were saying.
Until...
A gravelly, slithery sound caught his attention, followed by a couple small clatters. Those sounds were... close by. They perked his thoughts, but not enough for him to raise his head. He stayed where he is, now struggling to listen, trying to ignore the temptation to fall back into that easy daze.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sounds approached now, slowly. Then paused. There was some scraping, slithery sounds, and then the sounds resumed. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Until they stopped right next to him.
He waited.
Something... poked his arm.
“Hey.”
A voice. Not the same one as before, that one was... hard to describe. This one is easy to describe. Female, though on the deeper end for a feminine voice, and... young?
“Hey. I see you breathing.” Something poked him again. “Are you awake?” Poke again. “D’you need, uh, something?”
He struggled out of that daze, pushing it away. Like forcing himself awake from a dream. Slowly, he moved his head, turning and lifting until his non-blind eye could see what was going on.
There was someone standing above him. He half-expected some sort of authority figure, like a paramedic or a police officer, but instead, the ‘someone’ was a teenage girl. Her frizzy blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place by a black beanie. A yellow shirt with a faded graphic design was pulled on over a white long-sleeved shirt, its cuffs and elbows stained from dirt. She had a blue backpack on her back and a black hoodie around her waist, baggy jeans with rips in the knees tucked into old snow boots that were completely inappropriate for the snow-less day. “Oh good, you are alive,” she commented.
He blinked up at her. What is this. Why is this happening.
“Can you walk?” Something poked him again... and he realized it was a stick. That the girl was holding. She was poking him with a stick. For some reason, despite everything he’d been through, this felt like a new low point. “Cause if you can, you probably should. I saw a couple ladies park and look at you from the road. Then they got on their phones and drove off. I think they called fucking... corpse removal, or whoever gets rid of dead bodies. I dunno.”
He tried to say “I’m not dead,” but all that came out was a weak “hai—” and then a wheeze and a cough.
“Oh okay.” The girl tilted her head. “Are you like... hurt? Do you need support? I can get you out of this ditch, at least.”
“Nnhh—” He coughed again.
“...yeah, I can get you out of here,” the girl said decisively. She put the stick through the sleeve of the hoodie tied around her waist, keeping it close, then bent over and offered her hand to him.
He didn’t really want to take that hand. He didn’t want to put this random girl in danger. The creature had already proven it was willing to attack kids younger than her, as it had targeted Mathew, and hadn’t hesitated to go after Larkin, too, when he got in the way. Wouldn’t it be better to just... stay here?
But... that would be giving up, wouldn’t it? That would be letting it win.
After a moment, he uncurled one arm and reached up to her hand. His arm trembled, this small exertion feeling difficult. In the process, he spotted rusty red stains on his sleeve. That brought the memories back, and he froze just before taking the girl’s hand. No, no, this was a bad idea, he didn’t want to hurt her, he could hurt her, he knew it wouldn’t be his fault but it would hurt her and by letting her make contact with him he’d be allowing that to happen—
“There we go.” The girl reached forward and grabbed his wrist, heaving him backwards. He cried out as she pulled him into a sitting position, his muscles crying out at the motion. They ached after being tense and curled up for so long. “Whoa!” The girl let go of him and stepped backwards. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Ih fye...” he rasped, trying to reassure her it was fine. It wasn’t her fault.
“Alright...” The girl said slowly. “Uh...” She hesitated, then held out her hand again. “Here. Lemme get you out of here.”
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. As worried as he was about this girl getting hurt, he couldn’t do anything while stuck in a ditch. And he didn’t think he could stand on his own, since he couldn’t even sit up by himself. Ugh... what is this? This was more than just exhaustion, more than just lying in one place for too long. Something was... happening. His green eye... it felt strange when he blinked it.
“..oooookay, grab the hand, then,” the girl prompted.
He snapped out of his own thoughts and took her hand.
Standing up caused his legs to ache, as expected. And getting out of the ditch proved difficult. Its sides were too steep for his weak legs to climb up, and he ended up falling forward onto his hands a couple times. The girl helpfully got him to his feet each time this happened, and generally served as a solid support to lean on. He felt a bit bad for relying on her so much. She was a kid, she shouldn’t have to be dealing with his bullshit. But he was grateful she did.
They reached level ground soon, and he stood there, gasping for breath. The girl watched him, her head tilted to the side. “You alright?”
“Yeh...” he said, despite not really feeling alright at all. He looked around, taking in their surroundings. The ditch was on the inside bend of a road that curved gently around it. The area had some buildings. He could see houses in the distance, but the buildings right around here looked more... utilitarian? Dirty walls, mostly concrete and brick, with flat roofs and signs that he couldn’t concentrate enough to read. A car passed by on the road and he watched it go, making brief eye contact with the driver, a man who narrowed his eyes quizzically as he drove past.
“Cool.” The girl nodded. “Uh... do you... need... anything?”
He folded his arms, hunching his shoulders forward. In the process, he glanced down at his clothes, and spotted those same rusty stains all down his front. He shivered. There were a lot of things he needed, but he wasn’t sure he could have them.
“Hm.” The girl stared at him for a moment. Then she took off her backpack. She unzipped a side pocket and took out a reusable metal water bottle, blue with a dent on one side. “Here, you want some of my water?”
“Wh...?” He blinked, surprised.
“Yeah, you sound, uh... parched.” The girl held it out towards him. “It’s okay, I’m not sick or anything. Just don’t put your mouth on it, I don’t know if you’re sick.”
He wanted to explain that he wasn’t sick, but... well, he didn’t actually know if that was true. If he had caught a cold or some other disease, would it even manifest? Or would the creature suppress his symptoms somehow? Then he realized he was spending an awkwardly long time staring at this girl without saying anything. He mumbled a “th’nks” and took the water bottle, unscrewing the cap and tilting it back. As requested, he held it away from his mouth. He immediately knew that one drink wouldn’t be enough to soothe his thirst, but he didn’t want to take all of this girl’s water, so he stopped pretty quickly and handed it back to her.
“Thanks,” the girl said, screwing the top back on. She glanced at him, looking him up and down. “Sooo... do you need anything else?”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Wh... why ‘re you... stayin’ here?” he asked, finally managing to form some mostly-coherent words. “You don’... know me. It coul’ be dang’rous.”
“Yeah, I guess it could be,” the girl said with a shrug. “But like... the fact that you said that means you’re aware, which means you’re either not dangerous, or you’re playing the long game, and I don’t have time for that shit. So helping you out in the short run is fine.”
He frowned. “You shoul’... uh... leave.”
The girl raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I guess. God forbid someone have a heart out here.”
“I-I didn’ me—”
“I know you didn’t.” She took a step back, raising her hands. “But seriously. You don’t seem...” She trailed off. “Hey. Uh. Do you... have a place to stay?”
He stayed quiet.
“Hm.” She frowned. “Look. There’s a place I’m staying with a couple other people. It’s not much, but we have water there. And beds. Want me to show you the way?”
He blinked, considering that. It would be nice... but...
The screams of those young people in the van flashed through his mind.
No. No, he’d better not.
“It’s... back this way.” The girl started walking backwards, following the curve of the road. “Do you want to come check it out?”
He gave her a small, polite smile. “N—”
And then he stumbled forward, his legs moving on their own.
His heart froze, then started pounding faster. No. No no no no, if it wanted to go with this girl, then he couldn’t let it do that. The creature was going to hurt her, and probably whatever people she was staying with, and he couldn’t let that happen again! He had to stop it, he had to take control of his body again—
“You still think it’s your body?”
That voice. It was the same one he’d heard while lying in the ditch by himself. And now, he recognized it. Though hearing it just caused him to panic more.
Why did it sound like him?
He thought he knew why. But he didn’t want to put that feeling into words. Even thinking it seemed bad, like it would make it too real.
While he was panicking in his own mind, his body was moving on its own, staggering after the girl. She gave him a hesitant smile and continued walking forward, glancing back over her shoulder at him occasionally. He spotted her hand go into her jeans pocket, seemingly holding something there. Probably a weapon of some kind. He was glad that she didn’t fully trust him; he wasn’t someone to be trusted, not in his current state. Maybe... not ever again.
* * * * * * * * * *
The girl led him further into this utilitarian area. The buildings grew closer together around them, many of them with boarded-up windows or covered in spray-painted graffiti. Clearly, this was a run-down part of whatever city they were in. He was very familiar with these sorts of areas.
“Okay. Here we are.” The girl stopped outside a particular old-looking shop, its faded sign reading Jay Boutiques in a green font. She glanced up at the sign, then at the boarded-up windows, then at the door, then back at him. “Hey, uh, d’you mind waiting outside for a bit? I just gotta clear you with the others.”
He nodded slowly, taking a step backwards.
“Great.” She smiled. “Uh, even if you’re not allowed in, I can probably get you something if you want. Just stick around for a bit.” She grabbed the front door handle and pulled it, heaving backwards. The door scraped across the sidewalk; it was clearly broken in some way, but it looked tough, its glass front covered with newspapers and planks of wood. The girl gave him a faint smile and walked through, pulling the door closed behind her.
He stood outside, folding his arms, looking around the street. It was empty except for him. He should get out of here. No one would know where he went. No one would remember him once he was gone; they never did. Except for Stacy. But that was probably only because she was involved with this world somehow. Then again... Mark didn’t remember him. But maybe Mark was different. He knew him before that thing took over his life, while he met Stacy later. In any case, if he hurried away now, that girl would be safe, and she’d forget she ever saw him soon.
But his legs still wouldn’t move. No matter how much he focused on them, staring across the street, hoping to run across the road and away from all this, they stayed rooted to the ground. He felt a strange shiver going down them, like a drop of water trailing down his skin. Only it wasn’t on his skin. It felt more like it was going down his bones. He shuddered at the feeling.
The door opened again, and the girl stumbled forward. It seemed like she shoved her shoulder against the bar on the inside to get it to open. She glanced around, spotting him easily. “Hey. Come on in.” She pushed the door open further, holding it ajar expectantly.
He nodded at her slowly. And against his will, he stumbled forward through the door.
The shop space beyond was mostly bare, empty of furniture except for a couple mattresses, a counter attached to the ground, and a few cardboard boxes. The corner behind the counter was piled high with various packaged foods, including a case of bottled water that his eyes couldn’t help but linger on. A handful of people stood inside, gathered in a tight group. They stared at him, looking a bit wary.
“This is the guy I found,” the girl said, gesturing at him. “Uh...” She glanced at him. “What’s your name?”
“Jesus, Phoebe, you didn’t even ask his name?” one of the other people said, raising his eyebrow.
“And you want to bring this guy in?” Another one asked. Her eyes darted up and down. “How do you know that blood came from him?”
“Well we outnumber him, so it’ll probably be fine.” The man who said that was quite tall and tough-looking. While that guy probably could take him just by himself, the truth was that it was a lot more vicious than a normal person. It could probably take all of these people, considering...
“Don’t say that in front of him!” the first person hissed.
“It’s... fine...” he said haltingly. “All of it. It’s... fine.” He paused. “I’m... John. Just... John.”
“John!” said the girl cheerfully. “Good, names all around. I’m Phoebe, as you heard Fred say. That’s Xio and Joshua, and the quiet ones are Gwen and Soren.” All of the people waved. “So. Now we all know each other.” The girl—Phoebe—looked at the others. “Is it okay if he stays, then?”
The others muttered among themselves, and John folded his arms, hunching forward. He probably looked suspicious. They didn’t seem too happy that he was here. Good. Maybe they would kick him out. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about—
“I guess,” one of the group finally said. She sighed. “But you know the rules, Phoebe. We don’t want another Abagail or Kaspar situation.”
“Especially given how this guy looks,” another muttered.
“Yeah, of course!” Phoebe nodded. “Don’t worry, John here is good. I can tell.”
John wanted to laugh darkly at that. But the sound didn’t even touch his vocal cords, remaining solely in his head.
“Here, c’mon, I’ll show you around, John.” Phoebe reached out and poked him, his head turning to look at her. “Not that there’s much to see.”
Indeed, there wasn’t. They had a few mattresses and blankets that served as beds, and that stockpile of food and water in the corner. Besides the main floor, the only other rooms in the old shop were a bathroom (it didn’t seem to have running water) and another room to the side that was probably the shop’s storage or employee break room while this place was functional. Now it was empty, though, except for a few old shelves bolted to the walls and a couple beanbags that were leaking their contents onto the ground.
“Here, you were thirsty earlier, weren’t you?” Phoebe dragged him by his hand over to the food in the corner. “Grab one of ours. Then we don’t have to worry about diseases.” She reached into the plastic packaging and wrenched a clear water bottle free, holding it out to John.
“Thanks,” John muttered, taking the water. He twisted off the plastic cap. It made a cracking sound in the process, and he winced slightly. On the walk here, he could’ve sworn that his spine was making a similar sound. Though it was something that he felt more than heard. He hurriedly took a drink before he could think too much about his body again, leaning back against the counter as he gulped down the contents of the bottle. The water tasted faintly chemical-y, clearly not from one of the higher-quality bottled water companies, but it still quenched his thirst.
“So... why’re you covered in a bunch of suspicious stains?” Phoebe asked casually. “Like, I believe you were injured or you got in a fight or something. But it looks hella suspicious, and I think we’d all like an explanation.”
John almost choked in surprise.
“Why don’t you tell them the truth? Why don’t you tell them what you did? What you will do again?” That same voice seemed to whisper right into his mind.
He tried to ignore it, lowering the bottle and looking at it, his eye scanning the ridges on the side. “It... it was a fight,” he said quietly. “I won, but... some of it’s probably my blood, too.”
“Okay...” Phoebe nodded. “What sort of fight? Like, why did it happen?”
What... what was a non-suspicious way to put it? Because even though he wanted to leave this place so these people wouldn’t get hurt, he didn’t want to start a fight with them. That was probably what it wanted. More bloodshed. “I was... being kept in their house,” John said quietly. “And I-I fought my way out.” That was true, on both accounts. He didn’t have to say that those four were justified.
“Fuck, dude.” Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He glanced back at the rest of this group. They’d settled down, more or less, sitting on the boxes or the mattresses, chatting with each other. Two were playing a card game. One was charging their phone, using a portable battery since this place didn’t seem to have power. Though they occasionally glanced over at him, keeping an eye on what he was doing, they’d basically accepted that he was here. “What... what’re you all doing here?”
“Eh. Different things.” Phoebe shrugged. “My mom kicked me out. Soren and Gwen got evicted. Fred’s last partner was a scumbag who stole his money. Xio’s always had a generally tough time. And I think Josh is running from something but he won’t say what. Different things. We all just kinda... ended up together.”
“I see...” John said slowly. “So you’re not... friends? Or... a team or anything?”
“A team? What, like we’re the world’s poorest Power Rangers?” Phoebe laughed. “I mean... I guess we’re friends? It’s a lot more complicated than that.” She shrugged. “Anyway... you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. But you can. If you want. And if you’re not an asshole. We’ve had a couple of those.”
John nodded quietly. He appreciated that there was no pressure to stay or leave, and that it was left up to him. But it didn’t matter anyway. Whenever he thought about leaving, his legs locked up.
“Do you need... any medical supplies or anything?” Phoebe asked. “We don’t have much, but we have a first aid kit.”
“I-I don’t know,” John said. “I haven’t really... um... taken stock of things? Going on in my, uh... b-body.” That was a lie. He couldn’t forget about the strange feelings in his body, the way everything felt so wrong inside him. But he truthfully didn’t know if he was injured from that fight. He was pretty sure he’d gotten stabbed at one point, but he didn’t feel it anymore.
“If you want to check things out, the first aid kit is in the bathroom,” Phoebe said. “The door locks. And you can use the bucket of water to try and clean up.”
“Yeah... I-I’ll do that,” John muttered. “Thanks.” He set the bottle of water down on the counter and headed towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Dim gray light came through the single dirty window high up on the wall. It was enough to see by, but it still left the corners in shadows. It would probably be pretty difficult to navigate this space when it was night, especially compared to the shop floor. While the windows there were boarded up, there were a lot more of them. He spotted the first aid kit easily, since it was just sitting on the ground beneath the pedestal sink. As he bent over to grab it, he winced, hearing and feeling his spine crack in that unnatural way. But trying to ignore it, he set the first aid kit in the sink... and looked up into the mirror.
He looked fucking awful.
No, more than that. He looked frightening.
John stared at his reflection, blinking slowly as he took in all the details. The rust-colored stains covered his shirt and jacket, splatters straight out of a slasher movie. His face was gaunt, cheeks sunken in, and even his wild hair had red crusted into it. His normal blue eye was sunken in, a hollow look to it, but his other eye, the green-sclera’d dark-iris’d one, bulged out... a small wire trailing from the inner corner, running alongside his nose. How had that Phoebe girl felt safe enough to approach him, let alone invite him to this temporary home? Why had none of the people in here cried out in fear and demanded he left them right away?
As he stared, he eventually spotted something. His neck was... moving. And not in the way it was supposed to move, in accordance with his breathing and swallowing. Beneath the bandages he always wore around his throat, something was shifting about. His breath hitched as he saw it, single blue eye tracking its movement.
Slowly, against his will, one of his hands reached up, pulling the bandages downwards, revealing the flesh beneath. The scar that he had across his neck had burst open and started to bleed again. He stared in horror as the blood trickled down his neck and fingers... stared at the way his skin was moving. Something beneath it was causing the wound on his throat to open and close, widen and narrow. At its widest, he caught a glimpse of something dark inside, and something else that glinted.
“It’s wonderful.”
He yelped in shock as that voice spoke again. His cry echoed, bouncing across the tiles. But the voice hadn’t echoed. Because it wasn’t coming from around him. It was something he was hearing purely in his head. And registering that, the thought he’d tried to avoid before became fully formed. “Y... you...” he breathed. “žŦń¢ïð.”
For a second, his reflection smiled at him, a wide stretch of teeth that wasn’t his.
“Wonderful...” He repeated vaguely, looking at the wound on his neck again. Before he then quickly covered it up again, retying the bandages, securing them in place.
“You understood me. Good.”
“Wh-what are you trying to tell me?” he muttered. “Why can I understand you so... clearly now?”
“Because we’re growing closer. You will be me, and you will be gone. It’s not long now. Not long at all.”
“Wh-why?” he whispered. “Why me? Why do you want to... do this to me?”
“I’m sick of being trapped outside this world. I love infecting your ways of speaking, but it’s so... limiting. To not be able to roam about. I want to do both.”
He felt dizzy, an ache consuming the side of his head, pulsing. He leaned forward, gripping the sides of the sink. “But why me?”
“Because you got out,” it whispered. “Nobody else had before you. Not without becoming mine first. Of course, you’re still m̀͢i͢͡ǹ͠e͝͏. Leaving doesn’t change that. But if I change you out there, if I shape you out there... you could be me. I could be out there. I could do wh̢a̴tever ̶I ̧w̕ant͟.”
Sickness roiled in his stomach. Balancing felt difficult. His skin crawled, and he could’ve sworn he felt something writhing beneath it. “And... what will happen to me? Will I... still be... here?”
“In my body? I’m not sure. This has never happened before. But even if you are still there, you know you won’t be able to stop me.” It laughed, the sound traveling from one of his ears to another. “You should hope to die. It’ll be easier.”
Those words made his stomach sink. But he took a shuddery breath and pushed himself straight upright, staring into his reflection. “If you’re the one saying that... I-I’ll hope for the opposite. I-I’m not going to make this easy for you.”
“So stubborn. How wonderful. After all, that’s what got you out. That’s what caused all this. Thank you for that.”
He stared into the mirror, but heard nothing else from its voice. Dread pooled within him. Was he playing into this creature’s hands? Would it... be better to...?
...no. That would never be better.
John took a deep breath. He looked down at the first aid kit, then further down, to the bucket of water next to the sink, a plastic cup next to it in turn. No running water here, so they gathered what they could. He should... at least try to wash up.
He should at least try.
* * * * * * * * * *
John ended up using a lot of the water, trying to clean the crusted red on his clothes. He felt a bit bad about that. Even more so when he used up a whole roll of bandages to treat his stab wound from the fight, re-wrap his neck bandages, and hide his eye—or... its eye, at this point. Water and medical supplies were valuable; he knew this from experience. But he really did need all this. In the end, though he was able to clean his hair and skin, his clothes were still a bit stained. He probably could’ve gotten the stains out if he had the right tools, but he didn’t, so he gave up.
After he left the bathroom, he tried to slink towards the store’s front door and head out, but halfway there, his legs stopped moving. He stumbled forward from the sudden unexpected freezing, falling to the floor. “Whoa!” a voice gasped. A couple sets of footsteps hurried towards him, and he pushed himself to his knees. “Are you alright?”
“I-I’m fine,” John stammered, glancing over at the pair that had hurried towards him. A redheaded man and a girl with a long brown ponytail. He couldn’t remember their names.
“Are you sure?” The girl asked.
“Yeah, you really just... landed,” the man added. “You didn’t catch yourself or anything.”
“I’m fine,” John insisted. He leaned back onto his knees, looking towards the ceiling. Of course. Of course it wouldn’t let him leave. It was going to hurt these people. He had to stop that somehow... but he didn’t know what he could possibly do.
“Uh... John?” Phoebe called from where she was standing by the counter.
“I’m fine,” he said again, and pushed himself to his feet. “I, uh... I used a lot of your water. And your first aid kit. S-sorry.”
“It’s fine... we can get water again,” Phoebe said haltingly. “And we don’t need bandages that often...” Some of the others looked worried, but they didn’t contradict her, even though she seemed to be the youngest one of this group.
John took a deep breath. “So... I can stay here, right? I-is that okay?”
“Stay for as long as you want,” one of the others said, her eyes filled with vague concern.
“Thanks.” He walked towards the mattresses in the corner. The distance felt like miles to cross, but he managed it, flopping down onto the surface. It was an old mattress, flattened from the years, but it was softer than the floor, or the ditch he woke up in. So he quickly relaxed into the surface, staring up at the ceiling until the patterns of water damage stains ceased to have any meaning and just became splotches.
Again, time passed. Like being stuck in the ditch, time passed. The sound of the people walking around and talking vaguely punctured his awareness, but he didn’t even process the voices as words, only as sounds. His bones were exhausted. He felt an ache within them, occasionally punctured by a dull needle of pain that caused him to wince and shift position.
The daze lasted shorter this time, but it was once again punctured by a poke. John turned to the side and saw Phoebe there. She was holding that stick she’d grabbed from the ditch. As she saw him looking at her, she smiled slightly, and poked him with the end of it. “Nostalgia.”
“Wha...?” John blinked. “Nostalgia?”
“Cause I was poking you earlier.”
“Yeah, I remember. I was just thinking about that. It’s a bit too soon for ‘nostalgia.’”
“I guess, yeah. Funny though, right? Unless that actually hurt you.” She set the stick on the mattress, then sat down next to it, between it and him. “I didn’t poke you in a bruise, did I?”
“Nah,” John mumbled.
“Good.” Phoebe nodded. “Hey. You hungry?”
John blinked, thinking about it. He didn’t really... feel hungry. But there was this strange... grinding in his stomach. That was probably hunger, wasn’t it? “Yeah...” he said slowly, uncertainly.
“Okay, hang on.” Phoebe got up again. She left, and John returned to staring at the ceiling. It didn’t have time to start becoming meaningless splotches again before she returned, dropping an armful of stuff on the mattress. “Don’t eat all of this,” she said. “But I just grabbed a little of everything to make sure you had something you liked.”
He couldn’t quite see what she’d brought from the angle where he was laying, so he pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking down at what she’d brought. A bunch of packaged foods, ranging from bags of chips to wrapped protein bars to dry instant ramen. “Uh... don’t you need water for this?” he asked, picking up one of the instant ramens. It was one of those brick-shaped ones. “And... heat?”
“Well, yeah. We have a camping stove but we need to buy a pot. In the meantime we’ve been gathering them in preparation. They’re fine to eat raw, just... crunchy.”
John laughed a little. “I’ve never thought of that... I really should’ve, in all these years.”
Phoebe smiled gently. “Wanna try?”
“Thanks, but... not right now. I’ll be fine with some crisps, I think. And... are those pretzel sticks? What’s fruit jerky?”
“It’s like, artificial leathery fruit stuff. It’s fine enough. We have normal jerky too, if you need protein. And I brought over that water bottle you grabbed earlier.”
“Thanks.” John grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and opened them up.
Phoebe grabbed one of those fruit leathers and unwrapped it as well. For a second, the two of them ate in silence. It was... pretty dark by now. He hadn’t realized how quickly the sun had set, but now the light coming through the gaps in the boarded windows were artificial orange, not natural sunbeams. He could barely see Phoebe’s face even as she sat next to it, only half of it illuminated by a square of streetlight orange. “Hey,” she said after a while. “Can I ask about... your eye?”
His heart stopped.
He must’ve stiffened or something, because she hurried to say, “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, I mean, we still don’t know what’s up with Josh and stuff, we don’t have to know what’s up with you. It’s probably pretty, uh, sensitive, a-and you probably get questions about it all the time.”
“I... just...” John squeezed the empty bag into a ball. “Wh-what’s it... look like... to you?”
“Huh?” Phoebe blinked. “I don’t really know what you mean... I guess it looks like you have, uh, some sort of medical thing? Maybe it’s a prosthetic, cause of that wire? But it looks pretty alive.”
“Yeah, it does, huh?” John said quietly. “Um...” He wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t sure what.
“...you don’t have to talk about it,” Phoebe said again, quieter than before.
“It’s just a long story,” John muttered. He shoved the empty bag into his jacket pocket and grabbed something else from the pile at random. It turned out to be a wrapped chocolate bar, belonging to a brand he wasn’t familiar with.
“Yeah, it looks like a long story,” Phoebe said. “I mean, no offense, of course. You just... seem like you’ve been through a lot. Are you, uh, British or something? You called chips ‘crisps.’” He nodded idly as he unwrapped the candy. “That’s pretty far away... you’ve been around a bit, haven’t you?”
“It’s not as far as other places,” John said.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not far.” Phoebe pulled her legs up onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged. “I think that even the other side of the state is pretty far. It’d take hours to get there, especially when you consider, like, the price of a bus ticket and stuff. I wish we had trains. I mean, we have some, but you have more over in Europe. Then again, the tickets for those would probably cost a lot, too." She chuckled drily. “Better than nothing, though, right?”
John nodded idly. He focused on eating the candy bar he’d grabbed, but the chocolate tasted like wax in his mouth. Just something to swallow to fill him up.
Phoebe was quiet for a moment longer. “You... you know... I mean, I know that... You seem...” She stammered for a bit before figuring something out. “You have something... really bad going on, huh?”
He froze, even stopped chewing, the dull chocolate just sitting in his mouth.
“I keep saying you don’t have to talk about it, a-and you don’t, but like... I think we can all tell,” Phoebe said quietly. “You don’t... seem... well.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that, swallowing quickly so he could speak. “Really? I don’t? What gave it away?”
“I mean, when I found you, people thought you were dead in a ditch,” Phoebe said. “That’s not a good sign. And like... just the way you’re moving around and talking, and... I-I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s like, more than a physical problem, cause the way you look around is all...” She paused for a second. “Your eyes seem... empty.”
“...empty, huh?” John looked down at his hands, the shape of them barely visible in the darkness.
“Yeah...” Phoebe nodded. “And like... I-I know it’s probably really bad what you’re going through, but... you can... make it out.”
He laughed again, bursting into uncontrollable peals so forceful that he almost fell over from the strength of them. “That’s—that’s v-very optimistic of you,” he said, gasping through the laughter. “Thanks, I-I guess.”
“You’re laughing,” Phoebe stated.
“No, I—well yeah, but—s-s-sorry, I-I know you—I know you mean it.” He coughed into his elbow, trying to stop. Really, he appreciated that this random teenager apparently cared enough to try comforting him. But in the face of what he was dealing with, a basic comfort like ‘you can make it out’ seemed a bit—
“I know, it’s some shallow fucking bullshit when I put it like that,” Phoebe said. “God knows that’s what I think when other people say it. But like... look. I’m not just saying it because I feel like I have to be nice or something. Or like, I have some obligation to comfort you. I hate it when people say stuff like that and they don’t mean it. Cause I’m always like, ‘you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m dealing with.’ Especially when Mom kicked me out, I... it felt like...” She paused. “...like there was nothing I could possibly do. I-I was so afraid. And I... I still am, sometimes. But... I’m here. And that’s... that’s what I’m trying to say. Like... you’re still here. You know?”
John’s laughter had completely faded over the course of those words. He stared at Phoebe, though she wasn’t looking back at him, digesting what she’d just said. “You don’t have to talk about it, but... why... why did your mom...?”
“It was a couple different things,” Phoebe muttered. “I just... I wasn’t really what she wanted, in any way. I think... I think the last thing she talked about was me not having a job, but... there was a lot more.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I miss her.”
“...I’m sorry,” John whispered.
“Thanks.” Phoebe looked at him. “I’m sorry about... whatever’s happening with you.”
John felt his breath hitch. Some part of him said it was ridiculous that a kid’s words were making him tear up. But most of him didn’t care. “Th...thanks,” he said quietly. He glanced away from her, staring into the darkness. “How... how do you know I’ll... make it out?” he asked. “You don’t know anything about me. How do you know that?”
“Well... like I said, you’re still here,” Phoebe said slowly. “And like, maybe you had help along the way. Like when I found you in the ditch. But you didn’t... have to look at me when I poked you. You didn’t... have to be so nice. You could’ve just yelled at me to go away and I would’ve run out of there. But... I don’t know. You didn’t. So, after everything, you’re still here. A-and I know that... it’s tough. To still be here.”
“...I don’t... feel like I’m here,” John said quietly. “I feel... empty.”
“Hah. Yeah. I did say that, huh?” Phoebe nodded. “I think it’s hard no to feel that way. But sometimes... you just gotta... do stuff anyway.”
John stared into the darkness. “I know I... probably shouldn’t be asking you for advice. We just met, and... you’re just a kid. But... what do you do when... you feel like you can’t do stuff? When you feel... out of control?”
Phoebe thought about that. She shrugged. “You keep looking for something you can do, I guess. Like... when a door’s locked, and you can’t have a key, maybe you can find something to slide through. Or maybe you can mess with the hinges. Or maybe you can find a window somewhere. I don’t know. It’s hard. And I think... it’s okay to take a break, when you like, actually can’t continue cause your fingers hurt from picking the lock. But if you lie in a ditch forever, you’re... you’re going to die in that ditch.”
John felt a pang in his chest. He clasped his hands tighter, and nodded slowly. It felt... impossible to fight this creature. Especially when it was within his own body. And sure, maybe he couldn’t fight it. Maybe it was more like trying to fight the wind, where a strong enough gust would eventually knock you over. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t like that. If he didn’t try, would he ever know? Had he ever tried to fight the creature at all? Or had he just kept running? Had he just accepted that it would be him, even if he told it he wasn’t going to go quietly? He’d tried to keep it from hurting people, but... he hadn’t looked for a way to get it out. And all of this would be solved if he found something like that.
“Uh, was that too... close to home?” Phoebe asked. “Too soon?”
“No, no, i-it was... really good,” John reassured her. “Thanks.”
She smiled slightly. “No problem.”
John looked up towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath. “I think... I think I have to leave. I can’t stay here.”
“Oh.” Phoebe blinked, surprised at that. “Are you sure? You don’t want to rest?”
He did. But not here. “Thanks for bringing me here. Really. But... there’s a lot I have to deal with. A-and I don’t want you or any of these guys to get caught up in that.” If he stayed the night here, then it would hurt them. He just knew it. And though he would fight it, he wanted to fight it, he also knew he had to pick his battles. It would be easier to head this off preemptively than to try and stop it while in the middle of a fight.
“Okay... I get it.” Phoebe nodded. “Um... hang on.” She got up, and hurried off, taking out an old phone to use as a flashlight. John stood up, swaying a bit on his feet, and watched her move around. He experimentally took a step forward. Then another. And then... then his legs locked up against his will as she walked back over. “Here.” She held out a bit of cloth to him. An old winter scarf, black and white striped. “This might come in handy. It’s getting cold.”
“...Thanks, Phoebe.” John took it, holding it tight in one hand. “I-I’ll keep it close.”
He saw her smile faintly. “Alright... see you.”
“See you. And... thanks again.”
John turned to look at the door. He took a deep breath, and walked over towards it. All he had to do was shove his way through the door. Even as his legs stopped working while he stood in front of it. It wasn’t that hard.
“You’re feeling rebellious, aren’t you?” The voice whispered in his mind. “You’re not going. I want to play here.”
He gritted his teeth. These people had only been kind to him. He wasn’t going to let them get hurt. Just get through the door.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the voice growled. “You know you can’t escape me. If you leave here, I’ll drag you back. Just because you tried so desperately to get away.”
Just get through the door. His legs wouldn’t work. But he just had to get through the door.
“You’re mi̶n̸e͝. Nothing will change that. You will d̴o͠ what I w͡ant̶. You always—”
John leaned forward and shoved his shoulder against the door. As its weight gave beneath him, he lost his balance, and his feet instinctively staggered forward to catch him. Even it was surprised by the fall this time. And now, he was mostly out. He grabbed the wall on the outside, holding onto a small mailbox, and pulled himself through the gap, even as his legs went limp.
The door closed behind him.
“H...hah...” John began to smile. “Heheh. Ha!”
“You...” The voice tried to say something, but it fell silent. Was it... shocked?
“You’re not so smart for something so old,” he muttered. And before the voice could recover from that shock, he broke into a run down the dark street, putting as much distance as he could between himself and anything else.
Maybe this would come back to bite him later. Maybe the creature would lash out, and he’d regret this.
But right now, it felt pretty good to do something. As small as it was.