Work Text:
As I dragged the pen over the paperwork I was given to sign, with artificial promises wrapped in a pretty bow about the job I was going to receive; I felt hopeful about my future for the first time in a while. If I could file one complaint, however, it would be that the fine print hadn’t warned me about the horrors beyond my imagination I was about to experience first-hand.
I had gotten an office job to lead an ordinary life, daydreaming about being invited for drinks by my coworkers after work and perhaps even going to karaoke together, but it seems God had a morbid interest in me serving as his plaything instead. A toy inside a messed up, illogical dollhouse, where each room is filled with the stench of death and painted with what remains of its inhabitants.
The first time it happened, I didn’t notice immediately because the place looks nearly identical to the building. I did not walk into the room I was meant to go into, but I thought I had simply taken a wrong turn or gone to the wrong floor. That is, until I opened the door to leave and instead found myself tripping over the husk of a decapitated head.
A lot of the corpses here are from soldiers, I can tell by their uniforms and armor, but some of them are disfigured beyond recognition so that I cannot say for sure who they were. Their wounds don’t look like the work of an animal. They’re precise in what it’s meant to accomplish… whoever’s the culprit, it treats these bodies like fleshy marble to be sculpted and reconstructed into grotesque statues, making a mockery of our humanity.
I’ve never seen any monsters personally, but I know for a fact they’re here with me. I can hear them through the walls. I’d be more than happy for it to stay that way. Thankfully, whatever dropped me into this dimension doesn’t seem to want my death, but rather my survival. Whenever I arrive, a fully loaded gun is always in my pocket.
This has been happening for weeks now (but if you ask me, it feels more like months), But I still don’t know what exactly triggers it. One second, I’ll be walking down a hallway to deliver some reports, and as soon as I turn the corner, I’ll be there. The dreary gray walls, stained with decay, will greet me with corpses lying around as its guests... and then it appears.
It looks and sounds like a person, but the illusion falls apart immediately when you look at its face: A shadow so deep covers it to the point that you can’t discern any facial features besides its staring eyes, pitch black and piercing. It wears the security guard uniform characteristic of the security team in the building, an irony that it’s not lost on me as I feel anything but safe when around it. It’s uneasy to see how miserably it fails to trick me into thinking it is a human being, mostly because I don’t know what its goal is. I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried, to get answers out of the damned thing as it follows me around, but it either just mocks me in its deadpan tone or replies with sentences that make no sense. I have a hunch that this thing is the reason I’m brought here, as once it is gone, I’ll blink and be back in my office building and to the stares of my concerned coworkers.
“Why am I here?” I once asked it, my voice on the brink of breaking down. “What do you want from me?”
The creature then stared at me in silence, with pupils so dark I could see myself in their reflection.
“I want to eat you.” It simply answered, proceeded by the awful sound of tearing as its skin split apart to make way for a smile of sharp teeth.
At that moment, I understood that my blood running cold must be what a prey animal feels in the presence of a predator.
But despite its claim, it never tried to hurt me… even when I myself would hurt it. The first time I shot a bullet through its skull, it was purely out of self-preservation. I just saw a figure suddenly walk towards me from the corner of my eye, how else was I supposed to react? But what started as something fueled by fear quickly changed into being fueled by anger. The thing just... wouldn’t stay dead. I could shoot it, choke it, cave its skull in until its head was nothing but a mush of flesh and broken bones, and despite leaving a bloody mess of a body behind, every time I was brought back to that wretched place, it would be there too, as if nothing happened.
It’s even worse when it doesn’t instantly die from its wounds. It’ll be mangled and gory, missing pieces of itself, and still be as cocky as always. It doesn’t try defending itself or running away, only looks up at me quietly as I beat it senseless. I’m afraid of it holding resentment against me because of it, even if it doesn’t show it outwardly. Only God knows what a creature like that could do to me.
“It doesn’t matter what you try,” it once told me without emotion, speaking clearly despite it being impossible because its jaw was dislocated from a gunshot wound. “You cannot kill me in any way that matters.”
And it angers me to know that it is right. Sometimes, I would just sit down and sob pathetically upon arriving, not caring about my fate as long as it made this hell be over with. The creature then will sit in front of me to annoy me, poking me and mumbling about how it isn’t fun when I just sit down to cry, but would eventually stop its verbal torment. In any other situation, I would be mildly endeared by the way it pulls the sides of my mouth to force me to smile. Again, because of its lack of emotion in its tone, I am not sure if it does this to mock me or as a genuine attempt to make me feel better. But I wouldn’t bet much on the latter.
The worst part of this whole fucked up situation is that I can’t ask anyone for help. It’s distressing trying to explain what’s going on to those around you and only getting pitiful looks back in response. In a way, I don’t blame them… if I was in their shoes and someone talked nonsense to me about alternate dimensions and immortal beings, I would also chalk it up to something being mentally wrong with them. But god, I feel so alone.
I’ve started growing white hairs. I’ve picked up smoking again out of stress after years of being clean. All this supernatural nonsense has been affecting my work output, as well. I’m more prone to mistakes because of my constant paranoia and just my attitude in general has been reported as making others “uncomfortable”. I must force myself into acting like everything is fine despite the deep-rooted fear of running the risk of getting stuck in that place at any moment.
“Mr. Baker, I understand if you’ve got issues going on outside of work that are the cause of your state…” my boss told me when he called me to his office, feigning a tone of sympathy. “But the keyword here it’s outside . I don’t care if a family member has passed away or if you’re going through a breakup, you can’t let this affect neither your work nor your coworkers. Else, I’d be forced to let you go for the greater good of the company. It’s not a threat, but a suggestion.”
I knew it was futile to try explaining myself, so I simply complied with a forced smile. There really isn’t anything I can do about it, is there? Despite my many attempts, I’ve never been able to make any of my peers see the strange dimension. Maybe the stress from constantly crunching for this job these past weeks has finally made me snap, and this is just the weird way my brain has decided to respond to it. Stress-induced psychosis or something of that same vein… it would certainly explain why no one but me can see it. The thought that it is all in my head, although concerning, brings me a small sense of safety. If none of it is real, then nothing but myself can hurt me.
Yeah… it is a soothing thought. Still, I shouldn’t lower my guard while in there. There’s always the chance, even if small, that all of it is still very much real.
…
I lose track of time as I type away, eyes hurting from staring at the fluorescent screen for so long. The office is almost empty at this hour. There’s only a couple of other people still here besides me, equally plagued by unfinished business. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second to alleviate the stinging sensation, letting out a yawn. It’s late. I’m tired, but the deadline for this task was until today and I was going to take advantage of every second on the clock. Taking a quick water break should help me clear my mind, so I stand up from my desk and start walking.
As I leave the office room behind, I can already tell this is going to be harder than needed. I am not in the building anymore. The room is filled to the brim with corpses, almost to the point that I can’t walk through it. The walls are covered in hanging organs and copious amounts of blood, as if someone drained the bodies to use the resulting liquids as paint and desecrated them to use the insides as decoration. The smell alone is enough to make me gag. My attempt to escape, however, is cut short by the creature standing in the doorway. As always, it looks at me with that awfully neutral face, its eyes being the only identifiable feature.
“Please move, I don’t want to deal with this right now…” I begged, trying to walk past it to no luck.
“What’s the matter, can’t stand a little color?” It replies, glancing around the room as it stops me from going further. “You’re made out of it, what’s the problem?”
Not looking forward to arguing with it, I simply pushed it into the next room to pass, relieved to be out of that death hole. This room has fewer corpses in it, but they’re cut and sewn back together in a morbid fashion. I can’t tell if they’re supposed to be shaped like something in specific. I avert my gaze, not dwelling on the grim imagery.
“What’s your problem, man?” It speaks again.
“I should be asking you that!” I shouted back at it, agitated. “Why the hell didn’t you stand aside?”
The creature doesn’t reply, only shrugging its shoulders. I sigh with irritation.
“How do so many corpses end up here?”
“Oh, y’know,” it flicks its hand to the side, offhandedly. “From the area.”
“What does-” I stop myself mid-sentence, taking a long, deep breath.
Only two things come out of the creature’s mouth: mockery and nonsense. He should be used to it by now.
“That wasn't very nice of you,” it suddenly speaks up. “Pushing me around like that.”
It starts walking towards me and without thinking, I back off. It is a primal instinct for safety, because no amount of hate could get rid of the fear I have for that thing.
“What if I pushed you like that, huh?”
And to my surprise, it does push me. Hard . The shove is so blunt that it drops me to the floor, landing harshly on my backside. It is the first time it has come close to hurting me, I realize with a cold sweat.
I try to apologize to it immediately. “I-I’m sorry, please forgive me-”
“No.” It cuts me off. “I don’t wanna hear it. You know what I do want to hear, though?”
It kneels down on all fours in front of me, like a cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
“You. Screaming and crying as I play with your insides. I’ve tried to help you, but if you see me as a monster then I must act like one, don’t I?”
My heart is one second away from coming out of my chest. Oh god. This must have been its breaking point, the one action that ran its patience with me dry. Not with a gunshot, not with a gruesome act of violence, but with a simple shove.
My body seems to have accepted that escaping is futile, because I don’t have the force to get up and run. All I can do is scoot back, eyes wide and full of dread as it crawls closer to me, until my back hits the wall behind me.
“I’m really sorry, I mean it-”
“Keep talking,” it taunts, never breaking eye contact as it gets on top of me. “Your fear sure is a sweet melody.”
My head feels awfully light from the fear paralyzing my body, threatening to pass out. The creature moves its head to the crook of my neck, sure that it is getting ready to bite a chunk out of me. I gulp down, trying to reassure myself that none of this is real, with tears slowly filling my eyes. You won’t die. Henry, this is all in your head. It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real-
A choked yell escapes my throat when I feel its teeth come down on my flesh, but… it doesn’t hurt that much. It didn’t fully bite down. The thing chuckles quietly at my reaction as it transitions into licking my neck, turning my fear into confusion.
I don’t understand what’s going on. Is it… tasting me beforehand? Toying with me before killing me? What was this bastard doing?
“What are you-?”
Without warning, my mouth is sealed shut by the creature’s own as it kisses me. Its tongue breaches my lips, and for a second I am afraid it is going to choke me with it, but it remains simply exploring the inside of my mouth. The motions make my head swirl, my brain drowned out by conflicting feelings that have no idea how to react to the current situation. Its lips taste slightly metallic, driving me nauseous with the aftertaste of blood.
It isn’t until my hand brushes against it that I remember, with urgency, about my gun. My only way to leave whatever the hell this is. The thing tries intertwining my hand with its own to pull it away and stop me, but I don’t give it the chance to. Pulling the gun up with a shaky hand, I press it against the side of its head and pull the trigger without hesitation.
I close my eyes to spare myself the gruesome image; but I can’t prevent feeling the violent splatter of blood and viscera upon my face. When I open them again, I’m back to my own reality. I sigh with relief when I pass my hands through my face and I don’t feel gray matter or anything out of the ordinary. Thank God.
My mind still lingered on the recent memory, unsure of what to make out of it. That… had never happened before. I didn’t know why that happened in the first place. People say that your dreams have meanings and reflect things about yourself, so what exactly was this supposed to reflect about me…?
I should really start seeking professional help over this.
It’s disgusting how there’s still a phantom sensation of its slimy tongue inside my mouth. Hopefully it is nothing a couple teeth brushing sessions can’t get rid of, once I get back home and shove all this to the back of my mind, never to be dwelled on again. I go to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water and ground myself, but something in my reflection catches my eye. As I shift my shirt collar to the side, I can feel my soul drop to the ground when I see that on my neck, there are the faintest marks of teeth where the creature had bit me. A bite mark.
Fuck.