by Jeremy Seals
This theory, while farfetched as hell, was all the more plausible when a cadre of men in black t-shirts and jeans came into the room. No one spoke. They placed cold, sterile hands on him, rolling Carter onto a gurney. One gingerly draped his bare groin with a white athletic towel.
Carter tried to speak to them. Whatever the injection had been, it’d effectively severed the connection between brain and mouth. A low moan was all he could manage. Maybe it was for the best. He was in enough trouble as it was. Talking could make it worse.
Goose pimples sprang up on his naked body as the men wheeled him rapidly down a cold hallway lit by caged bulbs clamped to exposed ceiling beams. This part of the parlor was all business. Cinderblock walls flowed on both sides, broken only by the occasional appearance of a cheap particle board door.
The end of the gurney rammed through a pair of swinging double doors. Carter jumped as much as the drug would allow. A heavy odor, something familiar and foreign at the same time, assaulted his nostrils, even making his eyes water a bit.
He saw the willowy man in surgical greens waiting under a bank of bright lights. Beside him was a chest high steel tray. A crude shelf was installed along one wall behind him. Large coolers, smoking with dry ice, sat neatly on it.
Dull horror crept into Carter’s mind. Simultaneously, he identified the smell; hospital antiseptic. The strong stuff used to clean operating rooms. Oh God…
“Subject is a forty year old American male,” the surgeon spoke into a small digital recorder. “Preliminary labs reveal no blood borne infectious diseases.”
Using a penlight, the doctor looked into both eyes. “No contacts. Do you wear readers? Don’t try to speak, just blink once for yes. No? Good! Too bad the color is so common. Oh well, we have to work with what we’re given, ja?
Whistling a jolly tune, the surgeon installed an IV into the crook of Carter’s arm. He then took a marker over to the coolers. The material squeaked as he wrote on them.
Sweat was pouring out of Carter. Surely this was some prank. In a moment, a camera crew would burst in. An obnoxious host would throw an arm around him and yell a slogan. Yucks for all.
“Subject has no significant other,” the doctor continued into his recorder. “Parents are deceased. One estranged half-sister. No children. I’m anticipating full viability of subject’s vitals plus the eyes.”
Clicking the device off, the surgeon picked up a syringe from the tray. He looked down at Carter, merciless green eyes devoid of any emotion.
“A pity that your baser nature led you here,” he said, inserting the syringe into the IV port. “It is good bait for our little business venture, yes, but I feel for anyone who cannot control their urges. Take solace in the fact that your organs will go on to save lives…for a price.”
“Find your happy thought, Mr. Carter. You will not wake from this.”
The surgeon depressed the plunger, sending a cold rush through Carter’s body. Blackness, tinged with numb despair, overtook him. The hard glint of the scalpel was the last image he took into the void beyond.
Nosebleed
Nosebleeds were a normal part of Markus’ life since he’d been small. His allergies were bad, and considering that most remedies caused dryness, the frequent occurrences were given very little thought.
That is, until his head began buzzing. He’d woken a little past one in the morning, thinking his cell was vibrating. This particular noise was much more consistent and notably louder than the phone. It was so insistent that it was actually making Markus’ eyes water.
A brief, distracted search of his bedroom was futile. All electronics were off. The mysterious hum was obviously coming from within. Groaning, Markus walked to his bathroom, avoiding use of the lights. Instinct told him that the illumination might make things worse.
He sat on the toilet clutching his head, leaning forward slightly. Blood began running from both nostrils. Great. That was all he needed.
Jamming both holes with tissues, Markus finished up on the loo and risked switching on a low wattage light attached to the exhaust fan. He gazed at the ghostly reflection staring back at him. It doubled momentarily, then settled.
Blood was covering his upper lip. It had even gathered on his chin and dripped onto his grey t-shirt. The toilet tissue was already soaked through. This was the worst nosebleed he’d had in a long time.
Markus gingerly pulled the useless wads out, flinging them into the sink. He expertly packed his nose with gauze. After examining his work, he spat several times into the basin to clear the coppery taste from his mouth. That was the worst part. He hated the thought of swallowing blood.
If only that damned buzzing would stop! It was increasing, growing into a body wide vibration. The double vision returned, ramping up to a hardcore level. Nausea reared its ugly head.
In preparation, Markus took a seat on his bathmat. He had time to flip the commode’s lid before his late dinner came up. The packing in his nose came free with the violence of his regurgitation, adding sickening red cheeriness to the mess.
Eternal minutes later, he flopped over onto the blessedly cool tile floor. The buzzing was slightly diminished, but unfortunately not gone. Markus took what he could get, especially since the nosebleed was dripping on.
In just a second, I’ll get up. He thought lazily. I’ll flush the pot and brush my teeth. I’ll pack up my nose again and go back to sleep.
Instead, Markus spent the next six hours on the bathroom floor. His brain had sent him into slumber shortly after this last thought.
As he slept, curled in the fetal position on the thin bathmat, something began moving under the skin of his right nostril. The nosebleed, which had been drying up, kicked off again. A small silver tail poked out for a moment, then attempted to bore back in, emitting a high pitched squeal when it failed.
The house phone woke Markus just before eight. It screamed shrilly, cutting into his aching skull, bouncing cruelly around the lobes of his brain. He moaned aloud, covering both ears. Fresh blood squirted from the right side.
Thankfully, his voicemail picked up after six rings. It was just his boyfriend, Chuck, asking if he wanted to get some lunch later. The very thought of food sent his stomach into a slow, oily barrel roll.
Executing an awkward lunge, Markus peeled himself up off the floor. His entire left side hurt. Not quite as bad as his head, though it was pretty close. He felt really disgusting. Sweat, blood, and puke stained his night clothes.
Though the bathtub was right beside him, it seemed an incredible feat to climb in. He did manage it, even leaning forward to turn the water on. This provided him with a silly sense of triumph. Hey, when you feel lousy, you take your victories where you could get them.
He was doing better after a vigorous scrub and soak. Only an occasional drip fell from his nose. The horrendous vibration was down to a dull drone. Funny though, his right nostril seemed to be twitching, like a bug had crawled up it or something.
Grabbing a towel, Markus hurriedly dried off before the spasm stopped. He cleared a spot on the foggy mirror. There was something hanging out. It was too bloody to tell exactly what it was. He touched the oddity carefully. A slight tremor went through his fingertip.
Was this the culprit? Had he snorted some object while sleeping? It was unsettling to think about, but he’d read about it happening. Supposedly, people ate spiders while they slept all the time. No matter, it was coming out.
From a drawer, Markus retrieved tweezers. They proved unable to get a good grip on the invader. Undeterred by this, he walked out to the kitchen, rummaging in a hodgepodge tool kit for a set of needle nose pliers. The slight buzz was increasing. It was as if the thing could tell he was trying to get rid of it.
Back in the bathroom now. He took a deep breath and seated his makeshift surgical device firmly on the object. Wincing against anticipated pain, Markus began to pull.
It came out easier than he’d thought it would. Soaked with gore, the foreign material clinked solidly int
o the plugged sink. His eyes watered. Pain lanced up. After a few moments spent with his eyes closed, getting a handle on the hurt, he wiped his face with his a washcloth.
While the aftermath of the procedure was unpleasant, just having that damned thing out made it worth the trouble. Markus carefully picked up the source of his torture. It was tiny, roughly the size of a small vitamin tablet, but much thinner. He began to run water over the thing, washing it gently. Each layer of goop that ran off brought with it a growing sense of unease.
The small object had a rough surfboard shape, deep pink in color. Small metal legs, six in total, jutted out on either side. They wiggled slightly. It vibrated softly against his palm. Something on its underside was pinching at the skin.
Dumping the contents of a small travel sized sewing kit, Markus brushed the thing into it. He didn’t know exactly what the plan was for it yet. Maybe taking it to his ear, nose, and throat doctor would be the best idea. Dr. Patel could send it away for testing. He needed to get his nose looked at, anyway.
He was making an appointment when the doorbell rang. Anticipating a sales person or a religious huckster, he chose to ignore it. However, his caller had a different idea. Whoever it was went from pushing the button to knocking. A rapid, professional tempo.
Deciding that the visitor might be someone more important than an Avon lady, Markus went to answer it. At the very worst, Chuck, who was prone to overreacting, may have called the police to come check on him. He gave a quick apology to the ENT receptionist and hung up.
Sure enough, the peek he took through the peephole revealed an official looking woman in a neat black suit. A badge was hanging around her neck on a lanyard. Big round sunglasses obscured everything from the nose up. Dark, curly hair bracketed an unblemished, spray-tanned face. Wherever she’d gone to get the latter done, they’d bypassed a normal bronzed flesh tone for an almost Oompa Loompa orange.
Markus opened the door. He tried to smile in spite of his rough morning. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Are you Markus Peter Sanders?” The woman asked, dictation rapid fire. In fact, the voice coming out of this petite lady was so robotic it was actually a little unnerving.
“Yes. May I ask who you are?”
Rather than answer, she stepped forward into his home, holding up her badge. He allowed this automatically, not thinking to protest.
“Turn and face the wall. Now, please.”
“Why? What did I do? What’s this about?” He was feeling somewhere in between offended and angry. “You have no right to handcuff me without explaining what’s going on first!”
The woman’s thin lips formed a heavy frown. She grabbed his shoulder, trying to spin him toward the wall. Violently, they struggled for long moments, the woman attempted the same hold over and over. Markus was no expert fighter, but the move was so amateurish that he was able to avoid it easily.
What’s more, the efforts seemed to be completely exhausting to her. She was almost panting with strain. Markus didn’t even have to put much effort into resisting. The whole time, he kept trying to talk to her, even making an effort to be as calm as possible, a nearly unthinkable feat considering the circumstances.
After one last ditch attempt at a tackle, the inept official fell face first onto the floor. Her wig tumbled off onto Markus’ feet like a spider. She rolled over, narrow chest heaving.
It was then he began to scream.
Glasses gone, the woman’s large green eyes burned up at him. They were a solid color, no pupil to speak of. The odd skin tone he’d noticed through the peephole had rubbed off during the fight, revealing a pink-grey that didn’t belong on anything human.
“Quiet, Mr. Sanders,” she breathed. “Be silent and come with me. The others will not be so kind. They are coming for you. I failed. I failed. I fai…..”
Her piece said, the woman shuddered and became still. Fluid, a deep purple slime, flowed from her ears and mouth. It hissed against the floor. Smoke poured up, triggering the hoarse cry of the disc shaped detector over Markus’ head.
The steam pouring off the corpse created a cloak that mercifully shielded him from the final stages of the woman’s deterioration. It was thankfully odorless. Nonetheless, Markus pulled his shirt up over his nose.
Too much! He thought. Too damn much! I can’t take anything else today! Enough, okay? Please no more.
A massive dark blue SUV skidded to a halt at the curb, as if in some perverse answer to his desperate plea. Four black suited people got out. Two men, two women. All wore identical wraparound sunglasses. Both ladies had similar bob haircuts. The guys were totally bald.
“Come with us, Mr. Sanders,” one of the men called, voice harsh and without emotion. “Enough is enough. Get in the vehicle and come quietly.”
“No!” Markus shouted, rushing to shut the door. The disintegrated woman’s empty clothing caught on the corner as he swept it closed, bunching up enough to prevent latching. Frantically, he kicked at it, only succeeding in missing it and slamming his foot into the metal fire door.
The two strangers in front booted it simultaneously. The door smashed against his leg, sending Markus completely off balance. A huge shove immediately after sent him crashing to the floor, vainly clawing at the wall to prevent the tumble. In a trice, he was flipped onto his belly and handcuffed.
“Where is the device?” One of the women asked, mouth inches from his ear. He could smell her breath, wet and papery, tinged with rot. Like old newspapers left in a damp basement.
“Bathroom,” Markus sobbed. “On the vanity in a plastic box, okay? Please don’t hurt me. I don’t understand any of this.”
“I’ll get it,” the other female agent said. She returned shortly with the container. It was placed in a small plastic bag and disappeared into an inside pocket of her jacket. “Secured.”
The male agents had already gathered up the stained garments of the apparently dead lady agent. He was squirting a clear substance over the faint burns on the carpet. The marks faded rapidly. “Clean up complete. Let’s get Markus Sanders out to the car.”
He was carried out to the SUV by all four agents. Two holding under his arms and the others lifting him by the ankles. Each was huffing pretty hard by the time they shoved him into the open rear hatch. Absurdly, one of the women covered him head to toe with a heavy comforter.
“There,” she said, sounding strangely pleased. “Now you won’t be cold.”
While the gesture was perhaps intended to be thoughtful or comforting, being under a thick blanket added to Markus’ panic. It became hard to breathe. His system, already stressed to maximum by blood loss, vomiting, and repeated trauma, finally overloaded. He passed out.
He woke on a cold table in a strange room. It was dark, save for a bright light coming from under the slab. A low fog floated around it. To his left, the four agents who’d kidnapped Markus stood motionless. Their heads were lowered.
“Hey,” he croaked. “Where are we?”
No answer. His voice echoed through the strange chamber.
Markus tried to sit up. Though no visible restraints were present, he found he wasn’t able to move anything below his neck. He strained, trying to do anything, even wiggle a toe. No dice.
“Hey! Someone help!”
A blinding blue light turned on above him. He cried out, turning his head and closing his eyes against it. An opening appeared in the wall to his right. Six hooded figures, four short, two tall, walked into the room. The short being in the lead carried a transparent tray shiny with silver instruments.
“Who are you?” Markus whispered. The beings were somehow familiar. This whole situation was giving him a sensation of déjà vu.
Despite the sensations creeping into his head, the sense of having experienced this before did nothing to stop the scream of terror as the six creatures threw back their hoods. The two taller beings had almond shaped black eyes, no nose. A thin slit was in place of a mouth.
The smaller beings were squat, neckless
, and fat faced. They resembled trolls from a fairy tale book. Their eyes were pure white. Oddest of all, the dwarfs had navy colored skin. The smashed shape of their faces gave them a grimacing smile.
A long, narrow finger caressed the side of Markus’ face. He jerked his head to center, looking directly into the eyes of one of the tall beings. It was speaking to him without moving its mouth.
“Why did you take out your implant?” It asked, voice gently disapproving. “Now we must perform a more aggressive tagging procedure. This will be very unpleasant. Please brace yourself.”
“What? What do you mean, tagging?” Markus screamed. “Please! Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it!”
Involuntarily, his head moved so that his gaze returned to the immobile agents. He could see one of the tall figures take an ivory colored wand, rounded at the tip, from the offered tray. A moment later, something cold touched behind his ear.
There was bearable pressure at first, followed by a sharp pinch. The instrument beeped once, then the real pain began. Sharp crunching, the racket of a potato chip addict indulging without closing his mouth, accompanied a deep burning sensation. It snaked out to the entire side of his face, bursting blood vessels in his eyes and loosening teeth from his gums.
Markus bellowed in sheer agony. This seemed to upset the beings. Rather than stop the procedure, the tall being took a second instrument from the tray. After touching it to his throat, it completely muted Markus without diminishing the torture.
The wand was withdrawn after an eternity. Slowly, the injury’s intensity diminished to a dull throb. He was still unable to move, but this was moot. Exhaustion permeated every inch of his body. Had a perfect chance to escape presented itself, the most he could’ve accomplished was a boneless flop onto the floor.
Unkind hands gripped Markus’ ankle. The tall being was now at his calf, which was held up by one of the smaller creatures. A new instrument, ending in a small, sharp scoop, was used to remove a chunk of flesh. This was surprisingly painless.