[A STATEMENT LAY ON TIM’S DESK. IT WASN’T A STATEMENT THAT HAD BEEN ASSIGNED TO HIM.]
Huh. Okay, let's see then.
Statement of Johanne Keller, regarding her classmate and events surrounding his disappearance. Statement given November 12th, 2013
It happened a few years back, when I was studying at Heriot-Watt University, chemistry, up in Edinburgh. It’s hard to forget what happened, and, honestly, new job as a chemical engineer aside, the distance was just about half of the reason I moved, hoping I could get some distance from it all.
Anyway, as I was saying, it was in the middle of my time at Heriot-Watt, at the start of a new term, and I was making my way to one of my new classes for the first time. That’s when I met him. I hadn’t seen him around before, butI was new in this class, so that was kind of a given. He was my lab partner and introduced himself as Warren Ellison.
He was always a very animated character, a few years younger than me, and not shy about being heard. He would often make idle chatter during our classes together, but it’s not like I didn’t like him. I was quiet and liked to keep my head down, nose to the grindstone and all, and listening to his stories gave me a peek into parts of the world I had never been interested in exploring. Honestly, I don’t even know how he found time to study between all of his hobbies and friends. Sometimes, though, I wish I had never entertained him for as long as I did.
About halfway through the term, Warren had found a new interest he’d been sinking his teeth into over the weekend and spent most of the class telling me about the chemicals used to create stage effects, or the special effects in movies instead of doing our lab-work. I had finished our assignment early, so I was giving him more attention than I might have otherwise. He seemed oddly twitchy—like his nerves were fried—now that I was looking directly at him, but when I asked him about it, he did not seem keen on talking about it. Eventually, though, he told me about this show he had seen. Something Russian, I think? Though I can’t remember the name of it for the life of me. He had described it as “seriously twisted,” and he had seemed genuinely unsure if he had somehow been drugged before the performance or hallucinated the whole thing.
For some reason, though, he wanted to go back to this performance. “Come with me, Jo. Let’s go to the Covent Garden Theatre. I got us tickets.” I turned him down, as I had already made plans to run some errands with a friend, so he went by himself. That, and… I don’t know. Something about him didn’t seem right. I feel bad saying that, but he really unnerved me, and I definitely wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. A few other people came up to me asking about Warren. I guess they thought we were closer than we actually were. I couldn’t tell any of his friends anything they didn’t already know except for the circus he mentioned.
When he came back, he kept talking my ear off, saying something about how beautiful it had been, and how much he had admired the act. He told me that he’d been “practicing,” and that he was so close to figuring out how exactly they did their tricks. I kept my head down and my nose to the grindstone, but something seemed seriously wrong with him. I still don’t know what, but… something about the way he spoke didn’t feel right.
It was near the end of the term when… when something happened. I’m not sure exactly what it was still. I was cleaning up our equipment when he had approached me suddenly from behind. I hadn’t heard him approach and I jumped when I turned and saw him, knocking a nearby bottle of acetone over and spilling it onto his arm. It can be mildly toxic and cause a reaction if not cleaned off immediately, but Warren had a much more extreme reaction than I had anticipated, as he began to howl in pain as soon as it touched him. I grabbed his hand and lead him to the sink, spraying his arm down with water.
I looked up at him to ask him if he was okay, but almost immediately looked back down. His eyes were… not his. They were someone else’s, something else’s. They seemed too bright and too dull simultaneously, and the tears that rolled down his face were too thick, more like some sort of machining oil. Though, the sight my eyes fell on when they darted down was so much worse. The skin on his arm had begun pinching, cracking, peeling, like a harsh burn, but without the change in colour. It seemed to peel off and flake away from the muscle underneath it. My chest tightened and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t anything. I was expecting to see blood, to see so much blood, but none came out. The “muscle” underneath was too clean, too shiny, like stiff plastic.
It was then that Warren pulled his arm back and rolled his sleeve back over it. He smiled at me, but it was too wide, and his eyes were full of fear.
“He is fine, and would going to home and deal with it. Thank you for your concern, Johanne.”
His smile grew even wider, impossibly so. The skin around his mouth split and tore and revealed more of that “muscle.”
“The circus is being in town soon. Please support your friend and visit the show. Thank you, Johanne.”
Then, he left. I stood there, stunned, until someone else finally entered the room. I don’t know where they had gone in that time. I repeated what he had said, but I couldn’t tell them what I had seen.
Warren was reported missing a few days later. I felt horrible for his family, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit of a relief when I went to class and didn’t see him there. I did my best to keep my mind off of it, working late nights so I wouldn’t have to go to sleep. I kept having strange dreams, things that didn’t look right and people I didn’t know and then I was a person I didn’t know.
I was heading home from the library when I saw Warren for the last time. It was dark, and I was in a rush to get home, when I heard him call to me. Heard it call to me. It had to be Warren. I don’t know who else it could have been, but I have no idea how he could have become… that.
It seemed normal at first, in the dim light of the streetlamps.
Its intonation was strange. Flat and melodic at the same time, and almost like a breeze whistling through a pipe.
I called back, asking who was there and keeping some distance.
“Who am I? Who is you? Who are…”
“Let’s go to the Covent Garden Theatre. The performances are so beautiful, Johanne. You can finally discard that filthy rag you insist on carrying around.”
It said my name almost with contempt. But I remember Warren having mentioned this Covent Garden Theatre, and called out his name. Immediately it stood up, and I realized that it was not Warren. Its arms were asymmetrical, each the wrong size, and its legs bent and bowed strangely. Its fingers clicked and crackled as it put its hands to its head and groaned.
“I thought I did it I thought I figured it out how does she know how does she know how does she know how does she know how does she know how does-“
It suddenly straightened up completely. Hollow, glassy eyes stared at me. The skin around the eyes seemed to sag and it reached up, carefully picking at it. It came off easily enough, revealing a hard plastic faceplate. It almost looked familiar, but I couldn’t get a better look before it lifted its fingers to its face and forced them in, cracking it.
It was only then that I could breathe, could move again. I took a step back, and then another, and then I was walking, and then I was running, and I ran.
I reported it to the police, saying that I had seen someone reported missing, that I thought he had been disfigured in some way, and they took me back to where I thought he had been. There was no one there when we got back.
They took me home and asked for some contact information, but never called me to ask any more questions or give any updates. I stayed home from class for the next couple of days, a bit shaken. Then, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, there was a flyer tucked underneath. Most of it I couldn’t read, but at the bottom there was a picture of- of it. Touted as their newest performer, maybe? I moved out a week later, to the place I’m staying at right now.
I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to just- keep on after something like that happens to you? Maybe it’d be better if I never knew to begin with. Ignorance is bliss, no?
[TIM DROPS HIS HEAD TO HIS DESK AND RUNS HIS HANDS THROUGH HIS HAIR, GRIPPING IT TIGHTLY. HE LIFTS HIS HEAD, OPENS THE DESK DRAWER AND DROPS IT IN.]
/// Credit goes to @lonely--watcher!
