Creepy - Choices We Make

Episode Date: June 27, 2022

Every action has a consequence...***Written by: Joseph Yenkavitch***Bonus Episode: "There are Oceans Under the Sidewalk" written by JRT McMahon and narrated by Cole Burkhardt***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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for something different I have cooked up starting next week. All July, the narrators and I will continue to bring you our stories, but it will be with a slightly different twist. Grab your marshmallows and flashlights. Because the entire month will be for people who are afraid of the dark. But until then, Can you not mention anything to the narrators?

I haven't told them yet. No. Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or a... Our simply fabrications is for you to decide.

These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. He presents the choices we make. Written by Joseph Yankovic. My clothes smelled when I pulled them out from behind boards in my apartment. Not so much that they'd make you win. and maybe throw up. They smelled of a place, an instant in time when I could have gone a different way.

They smelled of a city street, of heated sidewalks deep in summer, and of droppings and garbage and sweat. Then there's that slight smell of perfume that just doesn't go away. Anyway, now I think it's safe to drag them out and toss them into a waste basket. I don't think they'd make good evidence anymore. I talked to Carl about it and he figured most of the heats off. He's still nervous, though. He still can't come to terms about Jake and has a hard time hiding it. Maybe I do too.

But what the hell? Still, the smell makes you think about things. Glory is dead. already decomposing in her grave two counties over. She shouldn't be there, and neither should Richard. Both of them happened at the wrong time, saw things at the wrong time, and told it to me. Shouldn't have confided in me.

If only they just kept their mouths shut and wandered off, happy to not be a part of something. So simple. But they had to step up and quite, question me, piecing things together as they spoke and letting the dawning of meaning appear on their faces. Right there, I knew I had to act. You could easily see everything would fall into place.

They had the inquiring look on their faces of people excited to become involved. Something was going to be solved, and they'd be a part of it. Maybe a medal someday, or at least an appreciative nod by those in the know. I had no hope that people would dismiss their eyewitness account. What they described hit every important detail squarely. You'd think they had a camera whirring in their heads the way they spat it out. I just listened, nodded, and wished I didn't have to do what I had to do. I did it.

Well, a few of us did it. Jake and Carl as much as me. Maybe if they'd taken care of a deal. properly run him down in a way that make it appear to be an accident swerved and sped away quicker Gloria and Richard wouldn't have had anything to create the damning picture of what happened but now Jake and Carl had to be driving on the other side of the street not watching out for pedestrians driving slowly and then speeding up crossing the center line and striking Deeg perfectly in the torso that part they did

well and Dieg wouldn't have lived two minutes to give his side of things. I mean, even a moron could have seen that this was premeditated. And believe me, premeditated gets you a lot of time, even a whiff of gas. So, D. Goes flying and Gloria and Richard step out from the shadows of which there weren't too many and saw the whole thing. And get this. Now that I remember, Richard pulls out a notepad and starts jotting something down. Really? Because these people have been more from central casting as the perfect eyewitnesses? Then, of course, they come up to me.

For the briefest moment, I reveled in the fact that Deegg, a guy who'd ripped me off one too many times and finally stopped being a competitor. then Barbie and Ken stroll over and lay out the incident like it was written in court documents. I couldn't believe how cool Gloria acted. I suppose killing one person is the same as killing three. But deep down, I didn't like doing it. D. get it coming. I'll bet I was on his hit list already.

But these two just happened to float into a situation at the wrong time. Anyway, I couldn't let them go. I asked them to follow me for a moment so we could get our stories straight. They hesitated, constantly looking back at Deeb's body in the road, probably because I didn't exactly look like Mr. Upright citizen. Still, they agreed to take along to the corner, although Gloria now looked at me suspiciously. Richard wanted to call the police saying he can't leave a guy,

lying on the ground, maybe dying. I assured him he was dead. Could just tell. I'd seen it before. Gloria began pulling away. That's when I saw Carl's car pulling into an alley. A small gasp from Gloria meant you recognized it. In no time, there'd be no evidence of a hit and run on it.

Jake spotted me and had a quizzical look on his face seeing me with this couple. Gloria and Richard wanted to go back, but I steered them away with some excuse I can't remember now. I could already hear metal being attacked as the car stopped becoming evidence. Stupidly, I walked too close to the alley. But Gloria continued on and peeked into the alley as I clumsily made excuses for not returning to the accident scene. At first she just stood there when she was placing the torn metal back on the wall. the car. Then her hand cautious and went to Richard's arm.

A slight tug tried to pull him away. I saw on her eyes that she'd already scanned the area for an escape route. Richard ignored her until she finally just yelled, run! But it was too late for them. I pushed them into the alley. Jake and Carl rushed over and asked what was going on. They saw it all, I told him. and they can't wait to lay it all out for the police.

I could see their minds compiling all this, trying to figure out what needed to happen. One look in my face, however, settled that. They both appeared stunned at the thought, even though they had just run down a man in cold blood. Funny, isn't it? Here we knock someone off or walking off with plenty of our drug money,

and now we worry about doing the same thing to save our skins. That is when the pleading started. But get this, it wasn't Gloria who started it. Mr. Note Taker did. For a moment there, I thought he was going to tell us that we could have our way with Gloria if we just let him go. He was easy to kill.

But when he dragged him deeper into the alley, I struck Gloria first and did her in quickly. somehow the way she didn't fall to peace immediately gave me a bit of nobility and it made it harder on Richard seeing it the little weasel needed to pay for his cringing I hate that I've been beaten up enough times and I always took it

even if it wasn't sure it would be my last moment on earth I was going to go out with some dignity I always have felt sorry for Gloria unbelievably no one ever connected us with any of the killings sure we were called into suspects we weren't exactly unknown to the police but they couldn't pin a thing on us we tossed Gloria and Richard into some garbage

that had been piling up for a month I think it was another month before they got to it and found them another nice couple visiting the city only to be brutally murdered is the way the papers put it No kids I was thankful for that It's not so odd I suppose How removing these clothes and catching the smells should bring it all back

Pretty normal I guess I think now though It's more because of what just happened to Jake Also because of something I keep shoving down like acid rising in my stomach You see when I clocked Gloria She didn't engage exactly go unconscious immediately. As she fell backwards onto the cement, which finally put her out, she said barely clearly,

you're dead. At the time, it barely registered. Only afterwards is the three of us sat around the scraps of our car that it came to me as though I was hearing her voice again. At first I didn't say anything to the guys, but it slowly became something I didn't want to possess myself. Jake just laughed. I think she got that wrong, he said, slamming down his beer can. Carl was a bit more thoughtful. Can't blame her for being mad, he said, and kicked a piece of the fender. For the next week or so, we had to hunker down since Deeg's buddies had a pretty good idea. It was us who took

him out. But there was more of us, and we had the upper hand soon enough. Still have to keep a careful watch out, though. Needed to anyway. So when I got the phone call from Jake, I could only assume someone else was playing with his mind. He was hearing weird things. He sounded off the chart frantic. So I sent a few guys over to stay with him for a few days until I calmed down.

But the thing is, that didn't really help all that much. Especially since those other dealers hadn't made any moves. As a matter of fact, I think we'd actually come to a pretty good arrangement on our territories. I almost had the feeling they weren't all that sad. Deeg was gone. I asked Jake if anyone had left a note or said something in passing. He only looked at me like I was a million miles off the mark. He took a snort and plopped in the chair and kept glancing around.

And then he said it. I think she met what she said. He spoke like someone feeling something crawling up his back. Who? I asked and quickly realized to. Yeah, I thought when you told us it just meant you, but it didn't, did it? I got angry. What? Are you buying into what some woman on her way out forever says to us? What do you think she'd say? Have a nice day?

Jake actually started to moan, took another snort. I wanted to tell him to cool it. I could see that it was a losing proposition. I heard her say those words to me again, Jake stammered. You're dead. Only now she added words. But there were no other words, I told him. Well, I heard him.

She said, I'm going to do it. I'll be here. You'll pay. I couldn't listen anymore. Told Jake to lay off the stuff and left. behind me he kept repeating don't go don't go i had no intention of listening to that crap he was actually crying as i closed the door i tried calling a few more times giving him every possible explanation i could think of including his mind rebelling against the stuff he was taking didn't matter if anything you became more convinced that

something would happen. He said the voice was real and started crying again. Some tough guy. Well, I don't need to tell you how things went. But on all the papers. They found Jake two days later in his new car. He was parked in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. Jake hated Chinese food.

He was sitting behind the wheel like someone waiting for a light to change. One of the waiters tossed no trash called to him. No answer. The guy walked over, tapped on the window. Nothing. He opened the door and gave Jake a little shove on the shoulder. First time you noticed what had happened. Not to mention all the blood.

And Jake's right hand was a knife. The fingers on his left hand had been severed and lay in his lap. An ear was gone. One eye needed. gouged out. His dick, yep, and one leg was half severed. A neat slice cut through his vocal cords almost to the spine. That one certainly did him in. But here's the thing. From what the police could tell, Jake had done this to himself. How could he have simply sat there feeling the pain, knowing what he was doing was beyond me? Almost like he was using his skill at cutting up cars.

No matter how I try to put two and two together, doesn't add up. Guilt of what he'd done to Gloria and Richard? What, Jake? He felt other people's pain like he felt the pain of a Buick being sought apart. When I told Carl the whole story, he didn't get it either. But I knew he certainly didn't dismiss it outright. For a moment, he simply gazed into the distance. Another odd fact I'd heard.

One of the policemen asked his partner if there had been a one of the policemen. asked his partner if there had been a woman in the car, detected a sleigh with a perfume. Another problem is that Carl's uneasiness hasn't lessened. I've tried to talk him down, well, partially down. Carl always had more concrete thinking, so I figured he'd know things like what happened to Jake don't usually happen that way.

By now, wouldn't all those people who'd OD on our stuff be crowding into our lives? I'm hoping we'll be settling back into our normal routine. Forget about Gloria, Jake, and the rest of it. Figure Carl will get more involved in the business and get over this touch of anxiety. Getting rid of these clothes will be a start. Anything to put this whole thing out of my mind. I was just finishing making a ham and cheese sandwich when I got a call from one of the guys on Boyle Street. As I listened, a piece of the cheese slipped out of my sandwich.

Carl, he said, was standing on the ledge outside his room in his apartment complex. Naturally, I asked him to repeat it. Not the call you get every day. Convinced, I took a bite of the sandwich and rushed over. Before I even entered the building, I could see his tiny form up on the 14th floor ledge. He just stood on that thin piece of concrete, silent. even after I arrived and tried to talk him inside. He had a look on his face as though he was listening to something.

But there weren't any earbuds in his ear as in that high up you could barely hear the traffic below. His head shook like a pitcher shaking off a sign from the catcher. Then that stopped as though the right pitch had been picked. He turned his head and gazed down at me with his forlorn look. It might have been the right pitch. but it was the one I knew he didn't want to throw. I've never seen such fear. It went beyond trembling, the clenched mouth with their eyes wide and almost pleading.

It came out of him, surrounded him, like fear becoming something real. Fight it, I yelled. None of this is true. Don't let your imagination take over. I wanted to say Jake's death was only guilt taking hold of him. but with the police standing next to me, I thought better of it. Now, in a way, came the worst part. Carl smiled.

You'd think that he'd meant he'd heard me and was coming to his senses. But the grin really wasn't his. I knew. I just knew. That grin came from something else. He turned away and took a breath. Everything about him now was fear. He had to do something and dreaded it completely.

All was pure pain. I heard him whisper. Isn't there something I can do? Everything in his face seemed to collapse. Lean forward, crying and screaming. Screaming as he fell. Screaming all the way right to the pavement. For some reason, I kept staring at the spot he'd left for.

as though something could be seen, something that gave him a final shove, a breeze blew. It shook the cheap Venetian blinds above me and carried with it a slight smell of perfume. There was only one conclusion to draw from all this, even if it's one you'd rather not. Three of us had pounded the life out of glory and our wimp friend. Two of us were dead, easy enough to pick out the next guy in line. I knew what was coming, but at the same time it felt like squeezing smoke. No matter. Even with that residue of doubt that any of this was true, I started thinking about how to cover all my bases.

What I wondered could I do to avoid any of this happening to me? Surely it wouldn't be long before I got the message. Jake and Carl were gone within a few days of each other. I wondered why I wasn't one of the first. and decided that it was the punch I gave glory before dispatching Richard. Maybe she appreciated it. I wanted it to be quick for her and not watch Richard get it. That thought died rather quickly. The truth arrived like the face of one of my old teachers letting me know every one of my excuses for doing something wrong was bogus.

Worming your way out of things didn't always work. You see, Jake and Carl looked at me when I shoved glory. and Richard into the alley. They knew what my words meant, and they followed through. And I said, rough them up a bit, let them know they better keep quiet. None of this would be happening. But I didn't. My little nod to Gloria's courage meant nothing.

When you're being killed, niceties don't mean much. Okay. This is obviously the opposite of my gesture to Gloria. I get it. Question is, how could I avoid it? Then again, maybe there's something Gloria isn't taking into account. I'm the leader of this for a bunch of reasons. My mind isn't thin as tissue.

My reasoning power could be superior and she can't get through. The next night set me straight. I left Midge, my sometimes girlfriend at her apartment early. We were always off and on depending on how much attention I paid her. Ever since Jake and Carl, I needed someone to talk to, rolling the sack with, and just not be alone. We had a couple of drinks, but the conversation never amounted to much. I suppose a lot of that was my fault. Not only because of the guys, but because I'd run into a few problems getting the product out.

Most of the time, Midge checked her hair and lipstick in a compact mirror. I took her home and went back to my apartment. I poured another scotch, sat on my leather couch, and turned on the television. The housewives of someplace appeared. It was a world of midges. I dozed off for how long I don't know. I woke with the start when I heard my name. It said, it was just enough force to wake me.

Thought at first it was a dream. But even in those first few moments, I didn't remember. I remember dreaming about Gloria. The apartment had gone dark, only the TV's glow lit the room. All front-lit items were backlit with deep shadows. The corner of the room beyond the television was the thickest darkness. And it's there I saw the movement. I mean there was enough light to barely make out the door and picture on the wall, so a person

would have stood out somewhat. No. It was more like the dark itself moved, like ripples on a murky pond. I just stared, waiting for something to happen. I felt captured by it. So much so, the drink in my hand, which had stayed upright while I dozed, tilted, and spilled. I didn't care. Frozen at the spa, waiting for the darkness to come and nestle beside me.

I had a good. done, but knew instinctively firing would only put holes in my wall. The darkness drifted, edging closer to the television. It stopped, and I swear I was looking down at me. Then the television quit. The darkness closed in like something pouncing. I flung the glass and swept my fisted hands through the air connecting with nothing. Coolness swept past me, feeling like the slightest touch from pure satin.

And just before it passed, I heard a faint but unmistakably menacing laugh. The television blinked on. Although frightened, I still realized nothing bad had happened to me. Sure, I was scared, and now felt confident Jake and Carl hadn't gone off their rockers. Then again, maybe it's true that I was too smart to be tangled with. I decided I needed to be with Midge again and get away. She and I drove out of the city the next day to a restaurant near the ocean. One of those days when the air felt clean and your whole body felt refreshed.

We ate a leisurely lunch, watching old sunbaters sit around on the sand like a herd of walruses. Afterwards, we strolled around the nearby amusement park. Midge held my arm like she'd never done before. I kind of liked it. The evening crept up with an orangey sunset when we finally had it home. The darkness was complete by the time we had the outskirts of the city. I felt completely relaxed like I hadn't in a long time when suddenly it seemed like even the dashboard and street lights had a tough time illuminating the inside of the car. The backseat practically disappeared.

Midge seemed to be behind a smoky veil, like cold spilling from an open freezer. Coolness settled on my neck. It slid down to my chest and nestled there. That tiny laugh I had heard before made me glance at Midge, but she only stared ahead at the city's lit buildings. I called her name, but the words didn't penetrate the thickening dark. That small laugh again. The cold moved back up to my face.

The barely audible voice said, and I couldn't stop it happening. The wheel turned and the car drifted over the center line. Traffic was light but trucks were approaching. Now Midge glanced at me. I saw the fear in her face. She began to reach the wheel but I suddenly had control and pulled back into my lane. She said something, but it became lost in the deadening shadows. To feel something again.

The voice returned. My grip on the wheel tightened, but the small. a laugh made me loosen it. I watched my hand leave the wheel and reach over toward mid. She did little at first but seemed more intent on my face than my hand. When my fingers curled around her neck, she began screaming, but that soon diminished to a gurgle. I kept squeezing while her hand clawed at my fingers to loosen them.

And I did remember, remember that feeling on Gloria's neck. Then I heard the quiet word. See? The cold left. My grip relaxed and I stood straight ahead tasting my own salty sweat. Midge sobbed next to me, hugging the door like she hoped to slip through it. There could be no explaining. And when we parked, Midge fled from the car crying as though something still had hold of her.

In my apartment, where I had turned on all the lights, I leaned straight-armed against a kitchen sink, staring out the window at the dying lights of the city. My fingers scraped at the aluminum like I was trying to scratch my way to something real. The sink filled with cold, like the drain was exhaling a breath from the Arctic. I jumped back, twisting around and expecting to see something creeping up behind me. Nothing. I poured a scotch, took a few sips, and stared down at the ripples in the glass from my trembling hand. finishing I let the glass fall into the sink.

I decided to make a sandwich, anything to get me off this damn roller coaster. But I stared at the knife's sharp edge as I started cutting cheese and quickly threw it down. That's the last thing I wanted to be holding. So what have you got planned? I yelled, looking around to see if she heard and swore myself for doing so. What's this? I shouted. Screwing around with me, getting your yucks, watching me squirm,

waiting to do something real bad. Maybe it caused me to OD on my stuff. Kill midge, leap off a building, or slip my throat. Or, now here's the thought. He'll just make me go crazy and I'll spend the rest of my life in a straight jacket. Oh dear, have I spoiled the surprise? This time I giggle. Angrily, I pounded the,

corner, then show yourself! A door slammed down the hall. A jet left the nearby airport. The refrigerator snapped on, breaking the silence. But the lit room remained the same. No shadows begin moving. No more laughs. Just the sameness had always been used to.

And yet, I didn't feel alone. I walked around the apartment mumbling taunts for Gloria to show herself, Do something. Nothing. Until I slumped onto the couch. Cold filled the space next to me. It nestled against me like someone just coming in from a frigid night. The wintryness worked its way under my shirt.

I jumped up, breathing heavily, and backed into the television. It precariously rocked, then righted. I didn't care what it did. All I wanted was out there. As I closed the door behind me, a tendril of cold slipped around my wrist. And that's when I felt something else. It was odd, but nothing I could put my finger on. As though something went away.

standing there in the hallway, everything seemed different. Well, not exactly. I recognized doors and pictures and the musty smell, but it didn't register the same anymore. It all registered as emptiness, I said. The words echoed in the hall. I was pissed and getting more pissed by the second. Rushing out of the building, I went to my car.

And when I turned it on, gunned it hard. Passers-by stopped. I drove away, drove through the city, expecting the cold to fill the car for something to take hold of me. And I think it did, because by the time I got to the countryside, I knew where I was gone. I had no choice. I didn't need directions.

Just knew I was going to Gloria's grave. It was a cemetery without a gate. I drove in, negotiate in the dark dirt roadway like I'd been here a million times and stopped near a clump of trees. Only one gravestone sat perched on a small hill. I didn't have to read the name, but I did anyway. Gloria Mailer, plus the usual nice words and dates. I'm here, I said, purposely standing on the grave. Nothing happened

What I expect, I thought A hand shoving out of the dirt A vaporous ghost rising up Something scampered behind me I turned in time to just make out an animal Just peering into a shrub Two eyes glinted in the moonlight Couldn't help but feel a watch to see what would happen

The warm night turned cold I stood waiting expecting the cold to enveloped me completely in some kind of embrace. But it felt like something passing by, lightly brushing me. So? I said again. I'm here. It's what you wanted.

Want me to see I'm sorry? Well, okay, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have done it. A little roughing up would have been enough for you to get the message. Immediately none of it rang true. Not a bit. Carl and Jake weren't enough. Your dead couldn't be wiped away with an apology.

Then again, I thought, obviously I'm not dead. Could have been plenty of times. I mean, dead is dead, and all the laughs and giggles never got me there. If you're not dead, you're alive. Well, I said with a confidence of practically excited. I'm here. Do what you gotta do. You can control me. I saw that. Just do it. Get it over with. I laughed. Things not working out. Maybe you're decomposing too fast. Maybe I'm just not the dip-wad you take me out to be. Or maybe I'm just not the dip-wad you take me out to be.

All the words float out of me like hot magma. hate. And yet again as before, it was suddenly that same emptiness to it. The words died just beyond my lips. That's when I felt it. As soon as I stood on the grave, I found I couldn't move. I tried lifting my feet, but they were frozen in place. When I noticed even more was that cold. The same cold I'd felt with Midge in the apartment. in the hallway. Only now it was not on my skin or even in my clothes. It had penetrated inside me, working to sway up my leg through my innards until its bitterness

swam in my head. I became cold all over, but there was nothing to show it. No ice or frost. I touched my face, and while it felt warm, I didn't. My legs began to move and I hastily backed away from the grave. stood beside my car. How, I wondered, could I be so cold and yet not be lying unconscious on the ground? I felt my face again, warm, my skin at a tan look of health, but something more unsettling registered.

Thoughts about my business, midge, scotch, enjoying things, even the quiet night itself no longer registered. They existed but died inside me. I tried thinking about rushing from here, finding a good restaurant for my favorite meal, getting on with my life. But I might as well have been thinking about staring. But I'm alive. I kept repeating. Gloria couldn't do anything to me, I told myself. She gave it all she had and came up short.

Really? The voice emerged. almost sweetly, although I quickly picked out the undertone of triumph. Instantly, don't ask me how. I knew I'd lost. I hated knowing that. I could feel it already eating away of me. Nothing else I could think of meant anything now except this.

This entire world of defeat. I sat in the car, turned it on. Switch the heater on full blast, but it couldn't eliminate the cold. I understood. That's right, Gloria said, and I knew I could only listen. You were wrong, you know, she continued. You are dead. Oh, I know you're walking around.

But you see, you're dead to everything you want and care about. Dead to love, to warm embraces. to pleasant sights, to contender dreams of any sort. You'll live your life with me and find everything, everyone, hollow. And he'll be cold. The way death has made me, Gloria's voice paused. When it resumed, it was as cold as I felt. Shall we go?

We have a lot of years to be together. drove away. I knew I might find myself in other places, but I really have nowhere to go. Real death would be my only comfort, but I know I wouldn't be allowed to do it. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, There are Oceans Under the Sidewalk, written by J.R.T. McMahon and narrated by Cole Burkart. The cosmos is infinite. Within it exists an unfathomable amount of possibilities, many of which we couldn't possibly hope of conceiving in our imaginations.

Across hundreds of planets, lit by hundreds of stars, things are happening that will never discover. Cosmic trees falling in forest comprised galaxies. We'll never hear of a strange happenstance that occurred in a solar system light years away. It only stands to reason, though, within the infinity of possibilities, within the downpour of oddities, that a raindrop would land on our little planet, that it would drop onto one of our heads. As I stood there in the middle of my room, my sock saturated in water, I pondered this, that even if there were answers for things we experience, we just might not understand them.

If some interdimensional being were to tear open the sky and pluck us like ants, we wouldn't have some sacred text to tell us why that was happening. You'd just have to accept it. There isn't anything you can do. The obscure doesn't care if it makes sense to you. So, as hard as I thought about it, I couldn't figure out why my sock had become so wet. As far as I knew, my room was dry. There were no animals in the house I hadn't left any drinks out, and it wasn't raining.

My foot felt like I had dipped it in the bathtub. even stranger when I removed my wet sock and touched the floorboards. The only water left behind was the small beads of it coming off my sock. Peculiar for sure, but it was a far cry from ripping open dimensional gateways. There was no immediate danger, so the sock was simply thrown into the hamper. No other thought was given to it as I crawled into bed. Fresh, warm socks binded my toes together than that. night's morning. Looking over in the middle of my room, I could see a small glistening, reminiscent of

the previous night's oddity. Again, the event was easily dismissed as my jaw dropped to let a yawn pass through. Dressed and ready, I walked out of the room and headed to college. I wonder at which speed the bazaar can travel. Over what stretch of time does an event stop being considered an event? The Bidbane, for example. What an odd thing to have happened, almost storybook worthy. Is it even considered strange, even after all this time? For further example, if my foot were to suddenly become thoroughly soaked the night before,

and, during the walk to school, I felt my right leg drop into the once solid pavement. Would that be considered the same event? It should be right. As I caught my balance and reflexively pulled my leg out of the sidewalk, I could see that the fabric on my pants was stained a shade darker by liquid. That would surely be the same oddity. Standing there with half of my pant light heavier than the other,

in the middle of summer was hard to process. I stared at the sidewalk for a while, expecting it to open, but nothing happened. It was weird, but it was so... so sudden that there wasn't anything for me to do about it. The concrete wasn't going to suddenly open up again. I even brought my foot down on the spot to make sure the ground wasn't loose or something. Instead, I had to move on, though I kept stealing glances back at the spot, like I expected something to change.

I don't know what I was looking for, just that I felt uneasy. The same way I believe Dezelles feel uneasy before a line, springs toward them, just knowing that something is hiding in the bushes for you. The hum of a hand dryer filled the bathroom walls for a few good minutes. Standing there with my pants under it, I watched the confused lances of the other girls as they walked in and out. None of them bothered to ask. Without knowing what I knew, it was safe to assume I just spilled something. My classes were coming up, and while the pants were definitely damp when I slid them back on, they seemed like they'd dry out before too long.

I could feel the stiff patter of liquid against my leg as I watched my professor at the front of the class, moving his arms around like a conductor for algorithms. Then a glint of light caught my eye from below. Looking down at my desk, I could see a few small drops of water had gathered together to form a puddle, just barely larger than an inch across. My focus hung there, staring at the lights above, reflected in the puddle, tilting my head a bit, though I could see the puddle clear of reflection. Within the water it was dark, nothing like the light shade of brown that my desk was.

Mind pondering that it possibly wasn't water at all. It looked more like motor oil. It was still just a liquid, though, so I went to wipe it all. way. You know those nights when you're just about to fall asleep and it suddenly feels like you're falling through your bed? That was the sensation I got when my finger dipped into the water, down to the second knuckle. My consciousness plummeted. In that moment, I saw something intangible, something my mind couldn't grasp on to. As soon as I came to terms with how bizarre it was, I pulled my finger loose from the puddle.

Instinctively, I found myself backing away from it. My chair scraped against the floor, calling attention to me. My breathing was sudden and heavy. I must have looked manic, though it's likely that I was. Looking at the professor for only a moment, I saw a nod of affirmation from him, and I grabbed my stuff and headed out of the classroom. My footsteps felt impossibly loud, like the beating of drums as I watch through the halls.

Eventually, I stopped and leaned against the wall, trying to calm my breathing, telling myself I was just confused, that I simply hadn't seen what I thought I saw. My finger was still glistening from the water that clung to it. The same finger was wrapped in my shirt and wiped dry. With my head against the wall and my hands in front of me, I tried to breathe in rhythm. My heart rate had definitely risen. I could still feel it nearly smacking my ribs. As my breath was pulled in, I felt the back of my head becoming wet. Then my clothing, and suddenly I was submerged.

I had been leaning on the wall, but I was falling through the wall. water like I had been thrown into a lake. My hands and legs moved wildly as I panicked, looking all around me to try and make sense of it. My hair kept flowing in front of my face everywhere I tried to look. I had to make an actionable thought to use my hands to pull the hair out of my face. My body and mind were so disoriented and out of sync I practically had to stream my thoughts in my head for my body to react.

Every moment felt labored and heavy. At first, I thought it was pitch black all around me, but as my eyes adjusted, visions of the area were revealed in a green and murky haze. Through small bubbles caused by my movement, I could see everything becoming clearer. There was a denial in me, something that refused to accept what I was seeing. When faced with the impossible, it seemed my mind turned its back, but, sure enough, wherever I turned, the fact remained the same.

I was submerged, underwater, in a room. A room that looked almost upsettingly, normally given the circumstances. It was hard to tell what kind of room it was supposed to be, as the place was completely devoid of furnishings. It was rather large, though it looked like it would be some kind of living room. The walls were dressed in wallpaper that looked like it was ripped right from the 80s. Patterns of leaves and twisting brown vines climbed towards the ceiling growing from the sides of the beige carpeting. There were entryways into other rooms, but as I saw them, there was an emptiness in my chest. I didn't realize how long I had been in the water for.

but my body was starting to react to a lack of oxygen. Looking around, I couldn't see anything that would help me, just a large empty room and some windows. Swimming up to the top of the room, I pressed my face against the ceiling, but the water had invaded everything. Pushing down, the bewildered horror I was feeling started becoming an unstable panic,

as I tried to consider rational options for an irrational space. My only hope was to go to the other rooms, so I dove down and started swimming through the other room, until I found a staircase leading up. Try not to burn more energy than I needed. I swam up the steps and into the hall. On the ceiling upstairs, there was crown molding on the sides, and when I swam up there and pressed my face against the top, I found space. Not much, but it was enough to putter my lips and take dreds of air like smoteing a cigarette. A few drops managed to make it into my mouth, but what was in the water was the least of my concerns. With my luns full of air, I made a note to remember the second floor. I swam around briefly but didn't find anything in any other rooms upstairs,

though I did discover some ceilings seemed to have more pocketed air. I somehow avoided having a heart attack from the sheer fear, but I only had a few minutes at a time to try and find a way out before I had to return for air. Trying to apply logic to my circumstance may have been foolish, but I did so anyways. I was underwater, but my ears felt fine, and I didn't feel dizzy, so I figured I had to be somewhere near the surface. If I was too deep, surely I would feel the pressure, especially with how suddenly I appeared. there. That was if the place was in some body of water at all. I pictured Delius ripping open the floor to drag their food into watery graves. Making my way downstairs, I took a few turns and managed to find a space that was clearly a kitchen. Unlike other spots in the house,

the kitchen had its furnishings. There were counters and drawers, though it was devoid of appliances. Swimming over to the pantry, I pulled open some drawers. and cupboards to find, big surprise, nothing. Back in the living area, I swam to the window. It was more laboring to swim with a lull of air, though.

My body kept wanting to rise up to the ceiling. Still, I managed to get there and placed my fingers under the window, still pulling down to keep my body in place. I could already feel my body telling me to go back upstairs, but I was intent on seeing my surroundings. There was just dark,

though, a great inky nothingness that made me feel alone, though somehow I was able to feel even worse when the darkness wasn't there. As I stared, what I thought was an extending infinity moved. Slowly, but with certainty, the mass exited my view. I could hear it. Maybe I had been hearing it the whole time, the low hum of something massive pushing through the water. The liquid surrounding me seemed to be moved by the Titans repositioning. When it did, when it was gone, the pressure that I thought I'd feel at deeper depths came crashing in. I thought my heart would explode, that my psyche would split straight in half. There was an infinity before me. An endless reach of loss and sorrow. Thousands, countless ropes extended from a deep,

murky bottom I couldn't make out. Those ropes climbed and climbed until they reached the house. The ropes were as plentiful as blades of grass. They made up the lawn resting outside the house. attached to those ropes hanging upside down by their necks were people. Their skins in various states of decay, some still plush with healthy flesh, others rotted away until nothing but bones and small shreds of ligaments kept them together. It was as if I was upside down, and they had all hund themselves from space. Got faces stared back at me, lifeless and twisted. with the movements of the water they would bump into each other, almost cartoonishly,

as if they were just goddamn balloons held by a child. There were patches of ropes that didn't have bodies attached to them. Large barren spaces where tattered ropes drifted upwards, waiting to serve purpose. The way the ropes were torn looked like something had swooped down and ripped them apart. I don't know the finer mechanics of throwing up under water. All I knew is I could feel my already empty body wretch and expel a plume of sickly green mist. It mixed with the water blocking my view from the grotesque yard work outside.

It was more than enough to snap me out of my fixation and feel just how badly I needed to breathe. My body nearly trembled at the thought of more air. Still hearing the movement of whatever swam by the house, I pulled myself to the stairs and started to ascend. I could already feel my body getting tired, my brain wanting to start the shutdown process. I normally thought myself a fighter,

but maybe I was in a situation that didn't seem worth fighting, a little girl stepping to a heavyweight champ, a drifting blade of grass to a lawnmower. I got to the second floor and rose to the second floor, and rose to the ceiling. My lips were about to break the surface, allowing me to get precious oxygen. Something gripped my legs and pulled me away. If I had the air left to produce such a thing, surely I could have screamed.

Frustration, fear of a lack of knowledge. I don't know, but I just wanted to scream. Looking down at what had gripped me, once again I felt, isolated. In such a weird way, seeing something with me made me feel more alone than ever, like the house wasn't there. The moving mountain outside was gone along with the people. It was just me in that darkness, I assumed, surrounded me when I first arrived. It wasn't just some person, some entity latching on to me. It was me. A vision of me. A vision of me, that I could imagine being in some haunted house,

dressed up to look like a ghastly mermaid. Though her legs were just like mine. Her skin was a dark green, and though they didn't completely cover her, there were patches of scales. I could see spots where they had chipped off and broken. It was almost as if barnacles had grown on her over time. Her eyes were a soft, luminousine white,

like the lanterns carried by anglerfish. I could see some of the stales on her neck were rising and falling, like air was moving in and out of them. I was jealous. I could see she was too, though my ire was born of a desire to breathe. Still, she pulled me away from the ceiling. Her tattered clothing drifted in the water,

revealing torn skin and deep grooves that had been carved, into her abdomen. I ticked her in the face a few times, causing her head to jerk back. Dark flowing hair, thinner than mine, blocked her vision. I was able to slip away for a moment before she grabbed me again. It was long enough, though. I was able to get some air, not a full breath by any means, but enough. Enough that I would remain conscious as she dragged me through the house. Despite how frail her body look compared to mine, she easily overpowered me. After my initial kick, nothing seemed to bother her. I got an air, sure, but my body was still failing. Nothing was running at a hundred percent. I couldn't imagine how long that version of me had been here,

how long it took her to adapt to this submerged hellscape. Before long, we were outside the house, somewhere I had a little desire to explore any further. Thrusted outside, my copy brought me with intent. We headed towards a nearby patch of empty ropes, begging for bodies. My fate looked me right in the eye. I felt the reality coming down on me, like a cosmic raindrop falling from the heavens, smacking me right on my forehead.

I never thought myself much of a fighter before. Turns out I am. Despite my fears, the rowing uncertainty, and the impossible odds, I stepped to the heavyweight. Using whatever strength I could muster, I leaned forward, and as my copy clutched a rope, I grabbed the side of her head. My fingers moved down to the sides of her neck, and I plunged my fingers with everything I had into her scales. Red started to mix with the murky green.

At first, the blood appeared from the cuts on my fingers as the jaded stales pierced my skin. Soon enough, though, Moore started pouring out, red flaring from the sides of her neck like exhaust vents. I was surprised to see she had blood in her at all, but she did. A lot of it. She was none too pleased about losing it, and her fingers clawed away at the leg she still had in her grips. Before long, we were surrounded by our own lulled. life force, but with one more kick, I managed to free myself. I swam. I'd like to say I swam with all my might, but there wasn't much of it left. My arms and legs moved weak through the water that already

resisted their advance. I was practically drifting when I saw the massive shadow around the house. My vision blurring as it got larger and larger, the water quaking in fear of its immense being. My fingers stopped showing up in my vision. I couldn't. I just couldn't move my arms anymore. There was no das in the engine. My brain was shutting down. Vignettes appeared in the corners of my eye.

The thing, I think, changed course. It was hard to tell with its size, but when it was close enough, I could see it shine. Whether or not it produced that shine, I don't know. but it was enough to see its body alter, bend and head to the space behind me. Blood still trickled out of me, but the pool of carnage behind me would have been more tantalizing for any predator. My vision drifted downward as the current caused by the massive sea creature pushed me.

I saw the bodies below me, and much like them, I started to float up, their forms getting smaller and smaller as I fell upwards. I could see it wasn't just in front of the house. There were bodies all around. A massive graveyard unlike any other. Blades of grass, heads in a field. I'd do anything to escape that place. If it meant to wait in a hundred years for someone just like me to show up that I could replace,

that's why I wasn't mad at her. the other me. She was just trying to survive as I was. She wanted to leave. I just wanted to leave. And as my eyes closed and I was lifted to whatever heaven that place offered, my mind went dark,

soft and quiet. My light went out. You can imagine my shock, then, as I felt a sudden and bone-shaked, pressure on my chest and arms. Springing my eyes open, I gasped, tating in every bit of air my lunds would allow me to hold, careless of whether or not they might burst. The chill of the linoleum floor sent a soul-shaking shiver throughout me. Blurry vision returning to me, I scrambled my limbs around trying to find traction and purchase that I could use to pull myself up. A bell rang,

and doors flung open in the hall. People walked out, and immediately, I was the center of attention. Moments ago, I looked out at a sea of people, and suddenly I was the center of attention. A few rushed over as others held their hands in front of their mouths or looked away. Everyone had questions they didn't want to ask. Without being through what I went through, What answers do they have gotten anyways?

I couldn't explain the dirty water that surrounded my flailing frame. I couldn't explain the scratches in my legs or my skin that had started to shift shades. Or how my fingers had become so ripped up, green chips of stales still clinging under my fingernails. No, I was just some crazy girl who stumbled into the halls soaking wet and injured. I told them I had fallen into a nearby lake and bashed my head. It was such an easy explanation for things. No one knows what a raindrop like that feels like. I can still feel it, slowly rolling down my face.

It's still there, just under the surface, oceans beneath the sidewalk. I think I still see them sometimes. not the puddles, the faces. I'm never too certain. Maybe sometimes I am, and I convince myself otherwise. I tell myself I never really spent much time looking at them, never bothered to remember their details. But out in the world, every so often,

I'll see a stranger pass by, and I swear that I had seen them before. There's nothing to do with that feeling, though, nowhere to take it. It's mine. I survived that raindrop. But I feel that rope around my neck every day just waiting for me. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, in that darkness behind my eyelids, I think I can see her waiting for me. telling me to come back home.

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