Friendly Author's Note!: You'll know when you've reached the end when you can see the Home Button! This story includes occasional use of large gaps for narrative effect! Also, please remember that some of the imagery will be disturbing and scary in nature and may contain chittering, wobbling, or other such affects!Happy Reading! ♡
So, how have you been these past few days?
I’ve been fine, I suppose… ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒ a little less today, so that was nice. At least I’ll have some easy days before ▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒.
I’m glad to hear that things are ▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. And I’d like to say that, once again, I’m sorry that ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. But it’s good that you ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. And now, once you ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒, you’ll be able to address your ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒.
Yeah… ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒…
Exactly when is your ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒?
Tomorrow… It’s the last day I ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ and then I’m... free.
Good, good. Do you have any plans for what to do next?
Not really, no… I plan to ▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒, you know? I haven’t been able to do something for myself for an entire ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. So for at least a little bit, I’m just gunna make do and see how I feel.
That’s a very reasonable way to handle things. Just know that if you ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. You don’t have to ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒. ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒.
Yeah, I know… I know…
… Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about?
Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Really. Thank you for all your help...
No matter what, it is as it always is. In the day, it pulses and thrives. Churns with life, as if a beating heart. But come night falls, they drift. Scatter. Leaving the implications of a sleepy little town. It’s a suburb, nothing too close to a city. But it tries, oh, does it.
Odd, considering…
It’s night; dark and cold, somewhere on the cusp between Fall and a proper Winter. If you looked, you could see one star. Just one, but it is so very bright. It has the slightest pink hue.
What is it that they say about objects in the mirror?It is close to the edge of town, leaves blowing gently in what remains of midnight air. Sometimes, depending on where you are, you simply cannot see the sky. See the star. A tragedy of the highest order. This town may not be the biggest, but it sure does attempt to be the brightest.
Brighter than the sky. Brighter than the star.
A harsh cough pierces the silence.
A hand with fingers covered in mix-match color bandaids leisurely grips a phone, the thumb moving to disconnect from another weary conversation. Worried, worried, Always worried. And for what? It is the same as it always is.
They continue onward, their phone now used as a means to light their way. It is quite necessary as darkness looms on either side, ever the imposing presence that darkness is. They seem unphased, unbothered, or perhaps it is simply that their mind is too focused elsewhere to hold concern for such things as the darkness and its many implications. The figure, bundled up as if by an over-doting mother on a wintery day, wanders off into the night. They make no attempt to head towards any of the vehicles out in the shopping center’s parking lot. No, no car, today they walked. It isn’t so bad.
Another harsh cough.
Buildings of brick and stone are replaced by a rapidly approaching wall of trees, all the while their body curls inward as if to keep whatever remaining heat from escaping. It does not work. Even as the trees slowly give way to buildings once more this journey does not seem to become any easier for them.
Yet they chose this.
Through a plain black mask the phantoms of breath, the ghostly puffs of exhales drift outwards and upwards, obscuring large round windows of glass. Booted feet crunch uncomfortably upon leaves when there is no other way to avoid them.
Another harsh cough.
Suddenly, they are not alone. A small visitor, a tiny little creature. It is an insect of some sort. It fluoresces in the light of the cellphone as it sits in the center of the pathway. The light travels no further. The person has stopped moving. For a while they simply stand there, gentle pink reflecting off their glasses, before the person finally moves. The light from the phone draws closer, and the bug closer to it. The person stoops down, as curious as the bug itself. Inquisitive little thing.
It moves like a newborn fawn, limbs struggling for purchase as it sways and clambers forwards, towards a destination inevitably unknown.
Inquisitive little things, you are.
There is a strange amount of intent in the tiny creature’s movements. The person reaches out their hand, finger gently poking at the stranger. At the bug. It does not seem to mind. It lifts its limbs and attempts to clamber upwards.
No fear in the unknown. A solid, overwhelming determination.
Another harsh cough.
The person picks up the bug, looking about even as it makes its way ever forwards. It does stop for a moment to poke gently at one of the many bandaids on one partially gloved fingers. The stop is momentary. Temporary. The awkward scuttling continues, though it does not manage to climb much further before the person has found what they are looking for. The strange little thing is placed delicately onto a leaf before it can make much progress.
A finger extends, and the tiny bug receives a gentle pat upon its head. This gives it pause. It stares upwards with many pink eyes, watching as the person turns and begins to move forwards once more.
Another harsh cough.
The air is getting colder. The person shivers, perhaps regretting the choices they have made that have led them to this moment. They turn a corner, walking by homes with windows alight with warmth.
Their stare is uncomfortable.
They continue to walk, turning several more corners, until finally they are at the end of the road. A house sits there, dark and still as the night around it. The yard before it is filled with flowers, dead or dying. There are no lights from this house. No warmth from its windows.
Yet there is comfort in this darkness, clearly. For just a moment, shoulders relax.
Another harsh cough.
While the phone still offers its beam of light, they gently tap the screen. It comes to life, reflecting more light off of their round frames. They begin to scroll.
Behind them, gently floating, small flecks of pink. Twinkling, dancing in the darkness, yet seeming to disappear in the direct light of the moon. The more the person walks the more they appear.
In their wake the dead flowers lift their heads. They begin to glow. Petal and stem both seem to grow tiny little cracks.
Another harsh cough.
Another harsh cough.
Suddenly, as if wished into being, the air behind them is full. Pink, purple, blue; Moths fading in and out of existence as if dancing in the moonlight. Not guides, but being led. Eagerly awaiting their destination.
A hand reaches out.
Before their hand can reach the knob the door bursts open, drowning them in an explosion of pink and purple lights, with floating blue orbs and dancing yellow stars. In the wake of this explosion of color, of pure light, all the moths behind them become white and almost ashen in comparison. Now moving their arms away from their face, they find themselves standing there no longer. They’re floating amidst a swirling abyss of neon pink, blue, purple. White. All around them drift strange moths, ethereal tendrils long and floating like a maiden’s veil.
They do not know what it is upon which they gaze. It is impossible. Awe inspiring and fear inducing, beautiful and mind-rending. Their mouth is open. Are they speechless, or has speech been taken from them?
The silence is deafening, but there is a question.
A question with many answers, but they are all the same.
The front door slams open with a crack, loud enough to mask the sound of someone crashing down to the floor, just barely inside the place that they are supposed to call their safe place. They are writing in agony, clawing at their face as if it offended them.
Trying to reach in, as if to pull something out.
Their body bucks against cold wood, legs flailing blindly, making contact with everything and anything around them. Skin and clothing both are torn near to shreds.
One…
They are covered in eerie incandescence, awash in their own oddly dripping radiance. It should be blood, but it shines. It glistens like gems in the moonlight from the open doorway.
Has the moon always been so flushed in hue? Has it always been so large? Strange winged things the size of birds sit perched outside in a willow tree.
Their body twists and turns in unnatural ways, skin rippling with that which lies beneath. And then, the air is filled with squelching, sickening,
Pop…
Pop…
Limbs thrash about in the air, more than before, but theirs all the same. But as quickly as it all starts, it stops. The heap struggles no more.
The silence is deafening.
Had there ever been any sound at all?
The light that shines through the open doorway is brighter than before. High up in the sky, arms locked with the moon, the star shines Pink and Purple.
What was it they say about objects in the mirror?Finally, a sound.
The door clicks shut.
Time passes, as it always does.
Sunlight. Moonlight. Sunlight again. Each light caught upon the fallen cellphone. Surprisingly, it is not shattered. Scuffed and cracked, but never shattered. Occasionally it chimes in with light of its own. Funny little bubbles, filled with text.
Worry, worry, worry.
Sunlight. Moonlight. Sunlight, again.
Suddenly, movement.
Another harsh cough.
The heap unfolds itself, revealing it to still be very much a person. Perhaps. Their moments are stiff, painful. How long had they been lying there, self-tangled into a knot? Their body is blackened. Blackened, but not bruised. Much. Dark hues give way to something even darker.
Eventually, inevitably, they force themselves to stand. They move like a newborn fawn, limbs struggling as they sway and fight to keep upright. They move. There is intent in their struggling.
Shadows do not hide them as they move forward.
Limbs bend at unnatural angles as bones creak and joints pop. Foot, over foot, over hand, over foot, over hand, over hand, over hand -
There’s too many. There’s far too many hands.
Did you always have so many?
The only thing that moves as it should is a long, slick tendril of black that sways along with the clumsy movements. It moves as it should, but it should not be there.
Foot, over foot, over hand, over foot, over hand, over hand, over hand. They are surrounded by what is familiar, bathed in a hazy pink glow. The light barely helps them stumble up the stairs. Over hand, over foot, over foot, over hand, over hand, over foot. Hands that reach out and cling for balance, leaving blackened stains that crack paint and turn wallpaper.
Over foot, over hand, over foot, over hand, over hand, until finally they reach their destination. Stumbling forwards, hands gripping the edges of a sink. The only thing that manages to keep them steady.
A head lifts, but Your face is obscured. The mirror is blurry.
A dark hand moves, dragging itself across the mirror. It helps. When did the house get so hot?
You stand before the mirror with Your eyes closed. You reach up to touch Your face. One hand, and then another. And then another. And then another. Cracks appear in the flesh beneath Your eyes, cracks that split open. Cracks that bleed. Your eyes open. Two of them. Followed by the first set. Your eyes were supposed to be brown. But they’re not anymore. Sickening, spinning, purple and green mix into the brown, seeping inwards. You see stars. You see edges of spider-silk. You stand motionless in front of the mirror. There is only the soft Tap, Tap, Tap of blood dripping from Your face. Landing on the edge of the sink, between blackened handprints. Slowly, Your mouth opens. Far too long, and far too wide. Rows of teeth are razor sharp, and something tap, tap, taps against them from the inside. You open Your mouth further, black tongue riggling and segmented falling free. Dark mandibles slip forth, clicking against each other before it all retreats back inside.
You release a sound, trill and chittering. Buzzing. An endless drone.You stand proud before the mirror that continues to crack and warp around its edges. Weak images, broken slivers, desperately try to break through the glass.
more to come
🐾Vaguely Cats🐾
You can mostly find me on...
All my script-related stuff can be found...
But you can Also find me...