Work Text:
- 7:48 PM — 10/21/83 -
The thrum of the engine filled the short, yet ever repeating drive. It sputtered occasionally, making it known that the car was rather old and reaching its final days.
The scent of polyester burned his nose, and a dull ache nestled below his eyes. He tried to ignore it the best he could, but as usual, it was a fruitless effort. The general, dull yet painful aches had been constant for nearly a year or two now. Long enough to drive a normal person to the hospital, but no, not Isaac. Not like they’d believe him anyways.
He caught a quick glance at himself in the rear view mirror, seeing how his long, dark brown hair was an utter disaster, and how his green and brown eyes that were once so vibrant, now bloodshot from staying awake for days on end. His face was pale, yet splotchy and red, as well as being speckled in divots and small craters from scratching his face and the ever growing acne. He wore a dark, worn out hoodie and a red jasper cross around his neck, held together with twine and wire. A personal trinket he constantly wore.
He thought about turning on the radio for some noise to dampen the dreadful silence, but remembered how the radio had been broken for a couple months now. Any attempts to use it only resulted in a sharp screeching sound that worsened the constant headaches. As if he could fix it anytime soon, considering he had no source of income. Not like his father cared or his mother had any money to spare. Something small crunched under one of the wheels. Probably a rock, he hoped. God only knows.
He just needed to get out of the house. There’s nothing wrong with that. Isaac thought to himself. Pressure built and rested behind his eyes as he struggled to keep them centered on the road. He hadn't blinked in over a minute, but truthfully this state was his normal; eyes stinging, bloodshot, and twitching. An ache in his jaw let itself be known—he needed to stop clenching his jaw—as he bit down on nothing.
He sighed. Isaac hoped Andreas would be fine with him suddenly turning up at his house again, for the fifth time this, what, month? Week? He shook his head, finally stopping to blink. Why was he doing this again? Aside from the fighting and the yelling from the man he so called his 'father', he didn't know. And that frightened him.
Isaac's beat up truck drove down the asphalt road, pulling into the driveway off to the side of the house that led to the garage. It was a quaint little two story house from the outside at least. It had a few well kept rose bushes that lined the porch with painted wooden walls, and a small path leading to the front door. The house itself was a mild baby blue that had faded over time, along with a dark tin roof, and a bit of pink that accented the windows. The windows stood out against the blue, like eyes, watching him. A looming apple tree sat off to the side of the house, rustling in the wind. It stood tall and cast a shadow onto his little beaten up truck. The sun continued to set as Isaac strained to lug the baggage of things that he no longer trusted to be left at home, out of the back of the rusted vehicle. Inside it was an assortment of things. His journal, some well worn clothes, scraps of food including empty wrappers, pens, pencils, and a sketchbook. To others, this was the worst travel bag anyone could lay eyes on. No toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash, nothing. He couldn’t care less though, even if he tried. He had to constantly remind himself to keep all of these items on him at all times. If kept at home, they'd surely be dug through by his invasive step-father which would more than likely land Isaac in the hospital, or worse, the streets.
From the corner of his eye, he could see someone looking out one of the living room windows. He saw them exhale and slump their shoulders as they headed for the door.
The door handle clicked, the worn mechanism straining as it was unlocked. The door creaked as it slowly opened to a weary young man, about the same age as Isaac. The man had curly, black hair and a darker skin complexion with freckles dotted across his face. His eyes were a dark honey-brown-like color that felt so warm and welcoming, along with a mole just above his top lip. The (nearly aged out of being a) teenager wore a black shirt and thin jeans, a casual wear for him. The two boys contrasted greatly in both looks and style, yet they were, to Isaac, close. He groaned, and continued to walk towards Isaac, like he was all too familiar with this situation.
“You know you could call instead of just showing up.” Andreas said as casually as he could, just barely managing to mask his annoyance.
“I-I know it’s just..” Isaac averted his eyes, mumbling, “needed to get out of the house.”
“Again?”
Isaac stood stilted, shaking his right hand by his side as he sighed deeply. Of course again.
“...C’mon, make sure you’ve got everything.”
Andreas moved, with Isaac coming to follow. The suitcase’s wheels scuffing on the ground as it dragged behind him. The wood groaned as Andreas stepped onto the porch, and Isaac paused for a moment, a sense of unease settled into his stomach. Turning to face him, Andreas looked at Isaac and raised an eyebrow. He offered no aid as Isaac reached the porch steps, watching him try to haul the suitcase up the steps.
Soon, a thud followed by a mechanical click signaled that the front door had been shut and locked behind them.
The inside of the house, or rather the living room at least, was dressed in wooden paneled walls. Against one of the walls was a large plaid patterned couch with the fabric worn and fraying from age in splotches. Family pictures lined the walls, all too familiar after years of visitation, yet they bothered him all the same. He didn’t know why they bothered him. A lot of the photos were of Andreas and his mother, some photos showed extended family on both sides. A common feature for all were how they all felt genuinely warm and pleasant, even the staged photos. Isaac tore his eyes away from the photos with an agitated sigh. Was he really jealous over something so small? On the other side of the room was a small, chunky CRT TV resting on a table that also held a lamp, and beside that, the source of Isaac's terror.
The grandfather clock stood disturbingly tall against everything else in the room. Intricately and beautifully carved by hand, the reddish wood obelisk stood ticking away. The pendulum swung as its hands twitched every second. Carved, wing-like protrusions stood at the top of the clock's shell, casting an ominous shadow onto the floor, like arms outstretched, ready for a hug that was meant to feel welcoming but brought no warmth. It was an odd situation to be in. Of all things, this was his fear. A grandfather clock. This was both a guttural and instinctive fear that never ceased. This was the very object that had kept him up for days. He listened to the rhythmic twitching and ticking, the same sound that echoed in his dreams if he dared to shut his eyes.
Forcing himself to look away from the artifact that haunted him, his eyes fell on an unusually empty, grey cat bed.
“...hey, where's your cat?” Isaac asked.
“Oh… yeah, gah… Juniper. We, uhm, haven't seen him.”
“What? Why?”
“We…don't know. We've been asking the neighbors but no one's seen ‘em.”
“...I'm… sorry, dude.”
“I’m sure we'll find him, it might just..” he sighed between his words. “...take a while, I guess.” Isaac saw Andreas fidget with his fraying jeans but pulled his eyes away so as to not draw attention.
Isaac moved to prop the suitcase against the couch, and as he did Andreas took a seat adjacent to the luggage, kicking his legs up into the small coffee table in the center of the room. Isaac took to leaning against the wall next to the couch instead so as to not get irritated with the uncooperative bag.
“So..” Andreas almost hissed, “It's late. Why are you here.”
“...couldn't sleep.” Isaac mumbled.
“Don't lie to me.”
Isaac bit his tongue before speaking. “Dad and I fought again. Keeps trying to bring me to church because I'm…I… just don't wanna go.”
“...when did that happen? I thought you loved church or something.”
“Yeah.. I just.. I don't know.”
Isaac shifted in place, his dilated pupils darting to every corner of the room uncomfortably. The pause in speech was palpable, near disturbing. It was enough to make Andreas question him.
"...do you even want to be here?"
Isaac held his tongue, wanting to be honest, yet afraid of the questions that would come after. Instead his eyes darted away from Andreas entirely as he drew in a shaky breath.
"If...if you don't, then why do you keep showing up at our doorstep every few days, y'know." Andreas softened his gaze so as to not provoke Isaac but still wanted answers.
Isaac’s eyes moved to his lap. This isn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now. His teeth pressed against the soft tissue of his tongue, he could see Andreas at the corner of his eye, moving his arm as he gestured to the living room in some sort of annoyance.
"...it's like you're obsessed with like, I dunno man, being here, like you…"
Andreas trailed off into the background as Isaac struggled to keep himself awake enough to process the conversation. Even if he could elaborate, it's not like he'd be believed, not by him especially. A faint ringing came to his ears as he lost all focus to what Andreas was saying.
His eyes drifted back to the clock that was still standing there, as if he’d expected it to move. The ceiling light reflected off the glass protecting its face. It stood there, on the outskirts of the room, ticking away. The pendulum swung rhythmically, clicking softly in time with his pulse. A feeling of unease and exhaustion crept into his already exhausted mind. If he paid enough attention he could somewhat feel its wooden frame quietly groan under her weight. A pulse of numbness started in the base of his skull and spread to his hands. He felt like he had begun to fall, like he was standing on the edge, trying to balance. Was he even upright at this point? Faint scratching noises followed by soft squelching echoed into his skull, starting at the base of the neck before spreading to the forehead. It sounded like tiny mites burrowing into his head. The sounds were soft enough to where it didn’t cover the ever crescendo of the ticking. Isaac instinctively reached to grasp at his cross, yet he couldn’t. His body was frozen and was forced to listen to her elusive sound. Her pendulum gently ticks evermore. The song got louder, loud enough to where it engulfed the sounds of the mites. The only thing in his mind at this point is the soft tick, tock, tick, tock,
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
T
Andreas snapped his fingers in front of Isaac's eyes. Isaac jolted as he was violently ripped from his thoughts. A sharp inhale escaped his throat before his breathing became heavy and rapid.
“DUDE.” Andreas snapped, seeming almost scared and panicked.
“huh..? Wh…what do you want?”
“Oh thank god. You've been like… spaced the hell out for, what, an hour? Do you sleep with your eyes open now?” Andreas said with a tinge of fright and annoyance lingering in his voice.
Oh. Isaac shook the sleep out from his mind. He focused his attention to the face of the clock and saw it was almost 9:30. Has it really been that long?
“but.. wh… I don't..” Isaac muttered as he looked back at Andreas, then back at the clock, feeling his heart sink further with every second.
“I tried talking to you but you just mumbled about some random shit. You didn’t even look at me.” Andreas stressed. “Isaac…you're seriously starting to worry me.” Even though he was annoyed beyond words with Isaac, he still felt a slight pity growing from within. He’s still Isaac’s friend, after all. In an attempt to comfort Isaac, to prove to him that he still cared, he tried reaching for Isaac’s arm, only for him to tear away from Andreas with a jolt.
Isaac doesn’t bother responding, only hanging his head as if he were wallowing in self pity when it was quite the opposite. Andreas, being too tired to argue, gets up and steps away from him before trudging down the hallway where his bedroom was. He gives Isaac a slight nod of his head, as if to indicate that it was late and he should get some rest as well. Isaac reluctantly nods back, but remains seated.
“You know where we keep the blankets,” he said as he turned away, heading towards his room. Before he disappeared into the shadows he muttered, “Help yourself”.
Isaac watched him leave and heard the stairs creaked under his weight, as if it was trying to wheeze out what little breath remained.
- 2:48 AM — 10/22/83 -
Isaac could still hear the ticks and tocks from the clock, no matter how hard he buried his head in the pillow. He usually took off his necklace before bed, however he found himself clutching it hard enough to leave painful indents in his palm. Isaac turned to his side and pulled the covers over himself as he closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep—
GONG.
GONG.
GONG.
And there went his progress, drowned out in the loud rings of its bell. Isaac slid his legs over the side of the couch, only to be met with the carpet wet and soaking into his socks and the scent of iron hitting his nose. It was too dark to see fully, but the stains on his socks were tinted a deep shade of red. The air, especially the floor, was humid and hot, almost damp. Isaac stumbled to the doorway to the foyer, peering around the corner, not because he was looking for something, but rather his brain screaming at him to keep his eyes peeled at all times, as if someone was there with him. Like something was there. His hand came in contact with the staircase’s railing, almost flinching at the damp texture of the wood. He slowly creeped up the stairs, cringing with each pulse of the soaked floor, nearly tripping from the unease in his step, hoping the texture of the floor would cease upon reaching the second floor. With every step he took, it felt as though the wood underneath him was sinking downward, as if it was making an imprint of his feet with every terrifying step, but when he turned around, there was nothing. No imprint, not even a sign he had been there.
As he reached the top of the stairs, that mushy and sickly wet feeling didn’t subside. The floor began to feel more and more drenched with the warmth only increasing. He continued past the stairs and felt his feet sink into the floor, no longer an illusion as he saw the imprints left behind. He looked down, eyes tracing the floor's grain as it slowly became twisted and knotted into shapes almost reminiscent of something too organic, human even.
His eyes lingered on pulsating bits that appeared far too similar to veins. He didn't want to even consider what that meant.
Isaac held his breath as he continued forward, finding himself drifting towards the door leading to Andreas’ bedroom as if he was on a set track, and, before he could realize it, he was now fumbling blindly for the doorknob in the dark. When he had finally found it, he turned it slowly and quietly, with the door letting out a pained groan as he pushed it open. Another foul stench wafted towards Isaac, forcing him to turn his head and suppress a gag. It was so potent it made his eyes water, as if it was trying to ward him away, but he persisted. He opened his mouth to call out for Andreas, yet found his words stuck in the back of his throat when he discovered that the room was completely barren. It was too dark in the room to see anything very wrong, but with what little light remained on the outside began to seep into the room. It was clear the walls were covered in a grimy dark slick that reflected what little light hit it. Isaac thought it was his eyes playing tricks on him but the longer he stared the more he realized the walls were pulsing.
Before he could turn back, he felt a sudden warmth on his shoulder, soon followed by fingers that wrapped around the soft tissue. The appendages dug deep into his skin.
He couldn’t discover what the hand belonged to, he didn’t want to know. Isaac squeezed his eyes tightly and felt his hands clasped together, shaking lightly. He opened his eyes once more, to the feeling of something staring back at him. His vision was blurred, in tune with his fogged senses, and the feeling of his knees pressed hard against the once again solid floor. Everything felt sluggish and heavy, until he tilted his head upwards, catching a glimpse of what he was kneeling under.
He jumped back from the grandfather clock, feeling his heart jolt out of his chest in terror. The clock face felt as if it was gazing into him, pressing into his very soul. Dread coiled in his stomach, a sense of nausea squirming within him and threatening to wriggle its way out of his throat. Isaac hacked, the sore feeling in his throat sharpening. He trembled as he put his hands to the carpet, weakly pushing himself off the floor. He stumbled to the doorway that led into the hallway. Up the stairs, down the hall, eventually landing himself against the door to Andreas’ bedroom once again. A horrid sense of deja vu washed over him as he reached for the doorknob. He pushed open the door, his body blocking the light from the hall. He felt the hardwood floor turn to carpet as he felt around in the dark, neglecting to turn on the light. He raised a hand over the vague blurred shape of Andreas' still, unconscious body, speaking quietly, yet urgently;
“Andreas.”
Andreas’ eyes flicked open with a sharp breath inwards.
“I…Isaac..?”
“Come with me for a second.”
Isaac’s voice was barely a whisper with his hands fidgeting by his side.
“Wh.. huh?”
“Just-” Isaac moved to grab his hand, but Andreas pulled away.
“...please.”
Andreas sighed as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then followed Isaac as he walked down the stairs unsteadily, all the way down to the Clock in the living room. Isaac’s hands trembled as he pointed towards it.
“Wh…what do you feel about.. This.” Isaac’s voice shook with a cadence as he asked.
“...what?”
“Please, just answer the question.”
“I.. don't know..?”
Silence stretched between them. Andreas staring at Isaac. He needed to understand that there was something wrong here. He wouldn’t just look at—
Andreas took a step closer.
“Did you seriously wake me up for this?”
“I-” Isaac stumbled.
“No seriously,” Andreas ranted, “You woke me up at…what, four in the morning?”
“I just.. You have to feel something. Seriously. I’m-”
“Yeah, and what it is, is I'm tired. Tired of you coming over, just to freak out.”
“I don’t-”
“Yes,” Andreas stressed, “you do-”
Another step closer.
“-and, whats worse-”
His eyes were burning holes right through Isaac.
“-What’s worse is that I'm Right.”
Andreas’s mouth hung slightly agape, as if he was finally realizing, after years of doing this, that there was something truly wrong with his friend, if he could call him that.
He huffed and put both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. “Isaac you have to be kidding me, really-”
“I TELL YOU,” Isaac growled, “EVERYTHING I FEEL. And YOU-”
Isaac stood there hunched over like a scared animal of sorts, like it could pounce at any given moment if it has to. Andreas throws his hands down to his side in defeat, not wanting to escalate the situation any further.
“Okay! Look- I’m sorry, but you just need to take a step back and realize you're Not in Danger-”
He took another step closer.
“I’m sorry for getting mad, but you're being irrational.”
An awkward and disgusting silence lingered between the two. Andreas looked at Isaac with sorrowful eyes, as if to say ‘please get help’ and not ‘I’m sorry’.
“I’m.. the irrational one. Okay.”
“You just need to calm down and-”
“You think I'm crazy. Okay then.”
Andreas felt his blood pressure rising as Isaac put words in his mouth, but he knew he couldn’t snap at Isaac, that would just prove how badly he treats his friend.
“...I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it.”
Andreas took another step, the gap between them narrowing slowly. Isaac remained crouched and kept shaking.
“...Andreas I’m asking, please just please, get away from me.”
…and another. Andreas stretched his arm out in a gentle attempt to coax him out of his churning fear.
“Isaac I didn’t mean th-”
CRACK.
Too close.
Andreas lay limp against the body of the clock, staring in shock and terror at what Isaac had done. Isaac covered his mouth in just as much shock as Andreas. He scrambled to lean down and help his last friend up.
“Oh god. Oh my god. I- …I’m so sor-”
“Get out.”
Isaac stared in horror at his hands, all before being startled out of it by a much louder, repeated sentence. His eyes jumped back to Andreas’s body, how it was crumpled over. It made him want to cry but he couldn’t.
“Get. Out. If you don't like it here, then leave.”
Despite the many words that Isaac wanted to say, he found himself unable to say a single one, choking back his anger and fear before turning away. He retrieved a few of his belongings from the couch as quickly as he could manage, not caring to double-check whether he had grabbed everything before he was already headed for the door.
After Isaac slammed the door shut behind him, Andreas rose to his feet, groaning as he rubbed his sore neck. He sighed and turned to look at the damage Isaac had caused, noticing the large crack flowing up the edges of the clock’s glass frame, squinting when he noticed the blood leaking from the glass. He double triple checked his back and neck and when he pulled his hand back he noticed a tiny amount of blood. His hand slowly traced the cracks on the glass and noticed how blood was filling the cracks. This wasn’t his blood. There was far too much blood for it to be his, yet he still believed it was his. Andreas used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sharp edges to try and remove as much blood as possible, but as he reached the part of the glass that to the largest blow, he noticed how it continued to leak an ever so slight amount of blood, no matter how many times he wiped it. Andreas huffed as he gave up and soon stumbled back to bed. Maybe this was all just a really, really, bad dream. He hoped it was. He would never yell at Isaac the way he just did. This was just a bad dream.
Isaac slammed the door of his truck as he threw the bag and other items onto the floor. His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he heard the leather squeak beneath his hands. His breathing was hard and rapid as he tried to gain his composure but to no avail. His throat tightened up, like barbed wire wrapped around his neck, as his eyes began to sting as tears filled his eyes. His cheeks were flushed as he continued to try the breathing exercises he was given to stop himself from breaking down and crying. One hand let go of the wheel to fish for his keys before he slammed it into the ignition and turned the car on, letting it run as his mind decayed with terrible thoughts. The thoughts of Andreas using his fears, insecurities and traumas against him just made him even more angry. His mind was screaming at him, belittling and degrading him for being such an idiot. Great job Isaac, his mind spoke as his head lowered and his forehead rested against the top of the wheel. You lost your last friend. Good one, just great. His eyes squeezed even tighter as tears fell from them and onto his pants. He sat up but his mind wouldn’t stop. Maybe you never needed him, he clearly doesn’t need you. Maybe you don’t even need he-
A scream tore through Isaac’s throat like a wounded animal. Hot tears continued to run down his face, as he wept like a helpless and pathetic whelp. As much as he wanted this to be a bad dream, it wasn’t. Or maybe it was. Maybe his entire life was just a bad dream.
When morning arrived, Andreas slowly awoke, being greeted by the sun shining through his half closed blinds. His head throbbed as he rolled over onto his other side to check the time.
- 11:23 AM -
He flipped over onto his back and sighed, throwing his hands over his face and rubbing like he was trying to get rid of any sleep that remained within him. Then it all came rushing back, like the memories after a night out of drinking during that hangover state. Andreas groaned as he rubbed his sore eyes and huffed out through his nose before sitting up and shifting out of bed. His back was sore, so he instinctively reached around but he didn’t feel any scabs and when he looked at his hand he didn’t see any blood either. Maybe it was a nightmare.
His feet hit the ground of that soft carpet as he reluctantly got up and stretched, however as he did, it felt like all of the blood in his body jumped up to his brain before rushing back down to the rest of his body, but this didn’t feel like a normal dizzy spell, it lingered and almost made him lay back down, but he didn’t give in and forced himself to continue sitting up before making himself stand. I never sleep this late, even if it's the weekend, what is going on, Andreas thought to himself as he made his way down the stairs with his head hung and his hair messy. He didn’t bother going to the bathroom and decided he’d do so later once he fully woke up. He grit his teeth as he remembered the damage he had done to the clock, like he was mentally preparing himself for the beating that awaited him from his mother. He turned the corner to see his mother doing the dishes, her elbows were deep in the water. She caught a glimpse of her son and smiled. Andreas looked at her with tired eyes as he moseyed his way into the kitchen.
“Good morning, mijo,” Maria said with a small and gentle smile. “I made breakfast for you.” She dried off her hands as she moved over to give her son a kiss on the cheek.
“I told you to stop calling me that…” Andreas grumbled as he moved away to avoid his mother’s love. He thought that maybe she hadn’t seen the damage yet.
She looked at him with a bit of worry as her arms crossed against her chest. “Is something wrong?-”
“No.” Andreas cut in before Maria was able to finish her sentence. He turned away from her as he felt his face getting hot and his mind becoming bothered. She looked taken aback before becoming irritated. She opened her mouth to speak before he corrected his attitude.
“I mean, no… no ma’am. It was just…I don’t know. It was just a bad dream.” Andreas huffed as he took a seat at the dining table. He scratched at his arms in discomfort, like a worm lay beneath his skin and he had to get it out. Maria’s face turned from irritation to dejection and she moved over to Andreas and gave him a half hug while rubbing his arm.
“I’m sorry dear. Breakfast is cold, but I can reheat it for you if you’d like.” Maria said with a halfhearted smile, making him tear up slightly and smile back, but he turned his gaze away from hers, as if he was embarrassed and continued to pick at his arm. “You never wake up this late…” She gave him a small kiss on the top of his head before letting him go and going back to doing the dishes.
“No…thank you, mom…” Andreas said with his head hanging somewhat low. His breath stuttered as he tried to get ahold of his mental state and calm himself down or else it would threaten him to cry.
“By the way, I’m not sure if Isaac came over last night or not but, when you get a chance could you put away the blankets that are on the couch for me, niño?” Maria tried to sound as nice as possible, hoping it would make her son feel a little better, but he kept his head down.
“I’ll do it now.” Andreas said as he stood up and pushed the chair back under the table before going into the living room.
He began to fold the blankets that were used, but he couldn’t help but continue to glance over at the grandfather clock he hit. Andreas put down the blanket he was in the middle of folding and moved over to the clock to look at the damage.
As he scanned it he saw no cracks in the glass, or blood, or anything for that matter. His hands traced over where he once saw the glass break, only to feel nothing. Nothing was wrong with it at all. But that couldn’t be right, he felt the glass break his fall as he was shoved into it, he heard the large crack and how it threatened to shatter as he cleaned the blood from it. And yet there was nothing. Maybe it was just a nightmare.
- 1:33 PM -
The uncomfortable scratching and scribbling sound of charcoal against the wall filled the room, drowning out Isaac’s raspy breathing. Small stains of dark grey dabbled against the green walls, smearing it in portions. He stopped to stare at his nonsense, only seeing the scratchily drawn hour and minute hands of a clock, sunken eyes staring back, and crude lines that vaguely resembled something far too organic.
His sketches seemed to wriggle and breathe in his bleary, bloodshot vision. The endless sprawling veins and eyes, times and antlers, intertwined within one another and layered over and through each other. It was enough that it all looked like one massive black blotch upon his wall. One scribble stood out amongst the rest. A deer of some kind, with eyes far too human. They stared, glinting with some kind of twisted recognition. Isaac looked down at his hands, only to find “ghosts” of his sketches, stained in charcoal on his skin. They, too, writhed in his sights.
The stains spread rather slowly, enough to not be noticed at first, but nonetheless continued. Patterns and shapes, crawling up his arms like blood in his veins, advancing with his quickening pulse. Even where he couldn't see the scratchy visages, he felt them creep forward. First his arms, then his neck, it felt like tiny needles and pinpricks in his skin from the inside-out, like a pencil taken to his bones, scratching and leaving marks; not painful, but viscerally uncomfortable. Eventually it reached his eyes, and just as it would have blotted out his vision—
Knock knock.
Despite the quiet and delicate nature of the noise, he jumped at the sound. He blinked his eyes and saw the stains and patterns drift against his eyelids, aside from the small ones where they should have been now gone. Right. He hasn't slept in several days.
As if noticing the pause between the knock and the lack of response, the person at the door spoke to catch his attention.
“....you haven't been out of your room in a while, are you alright..? I know you said you didn't sleep last night, but…”
It was his mother, Leah.
“...yeah. ‘m.. fine.” Isaac's voice was barely loud enough to be heard.
“Do you.. need anything.?” She asked.
“...No...”
There was a pause, almost permeating the air.
“Are you sure.?”
“Yes...” Isaac croaked. He was tired. Tired of it all, tired of talking only a few words into a conversation.
A creak sounded from the door, like something leaning against it.
“Remember to take care of yourself, hun. I love you.” her voice wavered.
“Love you too..”
After a moment of silence, the door creaked again as the weight was removed, and footsteps that faded were short to follow. After he was certain she was gone, he clambered off the bed, shakily moving to the closest to dig out a poster. It was that of a horror movie he had found interesting enough to snag a poster of, he also had a box of push pins on his cluttered desk. He stared at the black scribbled mass he had created before unrolling the poster and holding it against the wall, securing it with the tacks. If he didn't even want to see it, why would anyone else? It would only make her worry more if she saw them anyways.
Isaac opened his bedroom door after he had finished hanging the poster and was greeted with the hallway. He could see the door to his sister's room and directly across from it was the bathroom door. He stared into nothing for a moment before quietly slinking towards the bathroom door, flicking the light on, and meeting his own haunted gaze in the mirror. He gently closed the door behind him, ensuring to turn the handle as it shut so as to not make any noise. He was, for lack of better terms, in the worst state he had ever been. His hair was worse, the eyebags were worse, a few acne patches were worse—he hated it. He hated every detail. From the sunken purplish rings around his eyes, to his unkempt hair, to his bloodshot eyes, to the new splotches of acne making an appearance, to the clotted crimson streaming down his nose, nestling in his lip.
The faucet leaked, and with every little noise it made, it made him want to gouge his ears out with his nails.
Drip
Drip.
Drip.
Trip.
Trik.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
T—
SLAM.
Glass clattered to the floor and counter as Isaac stumbled back from the weight he had thrown at the mirror. His hands began to ooze blood that began to stain the short fragments that protruded outward from his knuckles. He slid down the wall, seething and loosely cradling his fist in his other hand. He heard footsteps approaching rapidly, and he knew he had no excuses to give had it been his father, and no words of comfort should it have been his mother. The door opened, hitting his foot as he rocked back and forth on autopilot. Her voice was just fuzzy static. The earsplitting ringing came to play as he was slowly coming back down from his high, but all he heard was noise and static. Static and ticking.
Like seconds counting down.
- 3:27 AM — 10/23/83 -
Isaac picked at the bandages wrapped around his hand. A dull aching pain continued to flow throughout his hand to the rest of his body, making him restlessly toss and turn in his bed. He felt sick. Sick and lost. He flopped back over to the other side with his face toward the window that was farthest from his bed. He watched the shadows of the trees dance slowly like a planned choreographic dance, it, in a way, almost enamored him. He shifted over to his other side with his shaky hands lingering over his aching stomach. Isaac curled in further as he groaned slightly, his mouth slightly parted as he released labored breaths between each inhale.
Drool slightly dribbled from the corners of his lips and onto the pillow. He felt hungry but knew that anything he shoveled down would come back up. It was as if his own inner organs were eating him from the inside out, like his stomach tore a hole through its lining with its strong acids and began to try and digest the surrounding organs. Isaac’s eyes burned and stung, he felt motion sick, but remained curled up on the bed, with the blanket barely draped over his motionless body only covering part of his leg and feet. A tentative hand traced upward to his neck to feel his pulse and soon he began to count each beat in hopes it would calm him down and allow him some sleep. One, two, three, his breathing slowed down as he counted in his head. Four, five, six, seven, his eyes remained shut as he continued to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth, like his mother had taught him. As he continued to count the more he realized it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus. As his heart beat, he felt more and more detached from his body, like whatever was once minuscule living inside it had begun to spread and take over what little control he had and is now forcing him out from it.
His breathing increased slowly, with every second he thought about this body not being his the more panic arose in his chest. Isaac soon became hyper aware of how much he was sweating and how his teeth were clamped onto the already damaged skin around his inner cheek and tearing the wound open once more. He continued to breathe heavily, with tears almost spilling from his eyes again. He started to claw at the skin on his wrists, like a dog trying to dig in the dirt. Heavy amounts of saliva accumulated in his mouth as he curled even tighter, folding himself as small as he could. He dry heaved a few times before scrambling to gain his composure. As the overwhelming pressure of his gut subsided he felt a slight tickle under his nose and above his lip. It slowly rolled downwards past his lips, seeping past and into his mouth. His mouth was filled with the bitter coppery taste of blood that lingered for far too long on his tastebuds. It made him want to gag again. Isaac tried to control his breathing yet no progress was made. That sickening feeling of saliva building up happened again and there was nothing he could do.
He could feel pulsing. Something beating within him. It was forcing his heart to beat with it. His head hurts. He could feel his skin, his muscles, contracting with the thing squirming inside him. Writhing, burning, aching like a longing for something he's never realized. Pressure built up in the back of his skull.
Pressure bubbled out from his stomach, burning his mouth as acid followed. He retched at the feeling. Tears pooled at his eyes as the gagging worsened, forcing him to his hands and knees. His nose burned, watery snot starting to drip down his face.
He choked as something more solid worked its way up his throat. The taste of bile overwhelmed him as it finally reached the crest of the back of his mouth. Tumbling out and splattering onto the carpet, Isaac retched up what little was in his stomach.
Tears blurred his vision while he gasped. Lungs heaving as they filled with as much air as they could grasp and pull in. He leaned back on his knees, away from the mess. Something warm and metallic smelling spilt down his face as he turned his head, trying not to look at the cluster of horrid things he had retched up. In the corner of his eyes, in the bowels of his throat, it pulsed evermore. His sleeve was damp from wiping everything off his face.
And yet, he needed to get up.
Isaac staggered and clung to the walls as he wandered out of his room, his face was dripping with blood. He stumbled past his sister's open door, with her still fast asleep in bed, stopping to stare longingly. He's never coming back, is he?
Eventually, as if in a daze, he drifted into the halls of the house, then out the front door to his beat up truck once more.
His keys hadn’t left his pocket since he came home, with him wearing the exact same blood-stained hoodie and pants from yesterday. He slid the key into the ignition once more and began to drive out of his neighborhood and into the long stretch of woods and road. Isaac never realized his headlights were off the entire drive as he mindlessly followed the stretch to Andreas’ home.
As his truck came to a stop in the driveway Isaac pulled the key and stumbled out like a nervous wreck. He began to scratch anxiously at his arms, long and hard enough for them to begin bleeding, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. The porch creaked as he climbed towards the front door again and put his hand on the handle. It was warm under his palm and fingers. It was calling to him, coaxing him to open the door, and so he did, and to his surprise it was unlocked. The door let out its usual groan as he slowly pushed it open. Other than a few nightlights that scattered the halls it was completely dark. The air felt humid but that didn’t stop Isaac, he just proceeded to trudge onward, letting himself inside like it was his own house. He didn’t stop to look at the clock, not once. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it anyway.
Isaac exhaled any remaining air trapped in his lungs from the cool outside into the house and slowly inhaled the thick, musky air. He began moving towards the stairwell leading upstairs, his fingers lingering above the railing before he lay his hand down on it and began moving upward. The railing was just as warm as the doorknob. Although his steps were quiet, it felt as though he was walking through a thick and sticky gunk while he continued. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours, but he wouldn’t stop. He didn’t want to be here yet there he was and now, slowly, approaching Andreas’ bedroom.
The door was left slightly ajar and Isaac took that opportunity. He didn't know why but he felt like he had to. He tried to tell himself to stop, to not disturb him, to just, for once, leave him be. He didn’t need you so why do you need him? His inner consciousness began speaking deep from within, before it began to grow in cadence and volume.
He didn’t need you so why do you need him?
The halls felt like they were swelling.
He didn’t need you so why do you need him?
The floorboard creaked as he inched closer.
He didn’t need you so why do you need him?
The world was spinning. He felt like puking again.
He didn’t need you so why do you need him?
Isaac gently pushed open the door, and as soon as he did the voice had stopped. He gazed into the bedroom, it was too dark to make out much of anything, but one thing he saw was Andreas’s sleeping body, curled up in the sheets. Isaac soon approached and stood above the body, watching the blanks that were draped over him move slightly with each breath taken. Isaac holds out a hand but stops himself from fully touching Andreas, letting it hover a few inches from his back. His hand trembled slightly as his mind focused on how Andreas’s breathing was in sync with the loud clock ticking just down the stairs. The rhythm made his skin crawl, he wanted to pull away and go back home, home to the comfort of his bed, home to the warmth of his mother's hug. Yet he stood there, unmoving.
Finally Isaac backed away and looked at his hand out of fear. He didn’t do this, this wasn’t him. Why was he here, what did this god forsaken place want from him. He squeezed his hand around the frame as he turned away. His head remained down with his posture hunched. His head was spinning, the house he once called his second home felt contorted, it felt weird; gross even.
“Isaac.”
A soft voice rings out into the hallway. It sounded playful, desperate even.
Isaac’s head shot up as he scanned the empty halls, seeing nothing down the stairs where he’d thought the voice resonated from.
“Come, quick!”
Loud clambering footsteps came after the child-like voice spoke again. The sound faded with a childish giggle that followed up towards the ceiling of the house, and then Isaac saw it. The attic was opened with the ladder erect below the dark entrance. He noticed how the attic’s ladder fell almost silently. Even though the darkness was spilling out from the attic like a murky fog laying across a field, it felt oddly welcoming despite the pit of dread forming in his stomach. And yet Isaac was drawn to it. The dark space above where the house’s two residents slept. His hand that once lingered upon the doorframe soon let go, like what little control he had that remained within him.
The attic was bigger than Isaac remembered. Wooden floors that were old and worn. Pillars connected to wooden joists above him, reaching down and around like a cr
adle .
Joints locked together with
bolts and nails.
Boxes and tubs scattered
open space.
H e felt
safe
organs in a
cage.
A sudden thud brought him back to consciousness. Something like the sound of someone hitting a baseboard behind a wall with their hand. He listened closely, hearing faint knocks from behind the wooden walls, as if something had trapped itself behind them. Isaac approached carefully, listening as the knocks grew louder, all until he placed his hand on the wall, searching for an opening. The sound was abruptly silenced, leaving Isaac alone in the quiet and dark attic. He let out a breath, realizing his mistake before he tried to remove his hand from the wall.
A tug. The wall tugged at his hand, coaxing him closer. And he foolishly did. She was coaxing him in, yet the tugging was coerced. Tug. She kept pulling. What was once a soft and tender touch now burns. It burns and burns deep beneath the skin. Her touch had slowly latched beneath his nails, and soon the pulling amplified. Slowly his nails were removed, bit by bit, finger by finger.
Isaac didn't scream. He couldn’t, like he was trapped beneath an aroma of soothing comfort that reeked of rotting flesh and restricted his vocal chords. He tried to release the painful scream trapped in the depths of his diaphragm, yet nothing arose. It hurt. It burned. Soon she pulled further, wanting more. The wall enveloped his wrist, then slowly up the arm. He stared with tears leaking from his eyes. Snot bubbled out of his nose and the corners of his mouth frothed with saliva as he did nothing to fight back. His body reeked of fear and sweat. The tender and webbed skin between each finger was ripped apart so fast, yet so smooth.
As if the trance between them was broken, but only for a moment. Isaac’s knees buckled and gave out as he crumpled to the wooden floor, falling closer to the pulsing mass that was the wall as it continued its way up his arm. All he could do was silently sob as she consumed him. Then he heard a soft muttering, like a voice whispering sweet nothings in his mind. He tore his attention towards the sound and soon understood he was the one speaking, speaking nonsense as he placed the other hand onto the wall. She felt warm. Her movements were much slower as the fumes grew and burned the glands to his sense of smell, as if trying to comfort his broken body. She was so kind to do that. Like a mother holding her child’s hands and pulling him into a hug. His head remained bowed as it continued to work its way up to his forearms, then to the edge of his shoulders. Isaac put what little strength he had towards praying, his voice no louder than a gentle murmur.
He felt his hands slowly disintegrate within the soft fleshy material, working their way beneath the soft skin of his arms as veins wriggled underneath his skin. Pulling. Burrowing. Squirming their way deeper and deeper. All inside him, his muscle, his viscera, his blood, his connective tissues. All the way down to the marrow in his bones. He was being pulled apart. She was putting him together. The black slick and sticky substance like blood oozed out of her. Blood poured out of him. Pooling into the wood and seeping into the grain. He felt his head begin to sink into the cushiony material, he felt his hair slowly become soaked along with that same dark substance staining his grey hoodie. With what little movement he had he looked to the right to see his decomposed shoulder, how it was melting the cartilage and bone, turning it into a gooey and sticky substance that followed upwards towards his collar. Isaac turns towards his other shoulder to see the exact same thing happening.
The sinking, painful realization began to seep into his trembling soul.
He was going to die. He was dying. He was dying in this god damn house and no one was going to know.
He began thrashing, his shoulders trying to wiggle free from what was once so warm now becoming a cold meaty texture that snugly wrapped around him. The numbing feeling now turned harsh, it was burning his skin, burning his muscle and bone. Isaac’s jaw clenched shut as he strained and tried pulling his arms out, but strong resistance remained as he continued to pull.
In a final attempt at getting free, Isaac squirmed helplessly as appendages that felt human in all the worst ways, leaving a sensation of chemical burns in their wake, wrapped around his throat. They burrowed deep into his tender flesh, ripping through his veins. Tendon by tendon, muscle by muscle. His neck felt as though it was on fire yet also numb. Her hands dug deeper into his flesh, burrowing like termites in nutrient rich wood, consuming it, decomposing it.
Once his head was settled deep in the wall, he could no longer see. He still felt the tendrils wriggling throughout his body as he was tugged deeper into the wall. Suddenly a force much stronger than he could ever imagine curled across his upper and lower back, like arms wrapping around him, cradling him. What felt like worms began prodding into his back and shoulderblades, digging deeper and deeper. And yet, despite the burning, the aching, the burrowing, the bleeding, he heard a soft voice humming. It wasn’t a hum of satisfaction like it had won, it was a voice of comfort, like a mother singing to Isaac. He thought it was his brain playing tricks on him, he thought the tendrils dug into his brain like worms.
He opened his mouth, trying to scream, cry out for help, anything. Nothing. He can’t make a sound.
It feels like something is blocking his throat.
His throat constricts, shifting whatever is stuck in his esophagus up towards his mouth. It dislodges with a disgusting popping sensation.
All he could taste was mucous and iron.
Isaac could only make a choked gurgling as
bubbled and leaked
can’t breathe
He doesn’t
need
He wants
breathe