Random Encounters: Home

A Hole Lot of Problems

Nate looks at his toes, probably the only part of him that has yet to be mangle, burned, removed, or sewn. His right eye has been sewn shut, with two large stitches going all the way through his skull, thanks to Gwen's monstrous sewing machine. He wiggles his toes, the cool summer breeze blowing against his skin. This place would be so beautiful if it weren't so dangerous. The voice is sitting next to him, inhabiting a body with no face, only wearing a teal hospital gown. Nate looks up at the stars, twinkling, and shining.

"Night is so beautiful here," the voice says, fluctuating between a female tone and a male tone.

"How long have you been here?" Nate asks.

"Oh, a month, or two... I hardly remember now, the days blur together and I lose track of time," it explains.

"How long have I been here," he asks.

"A week? Two?" The voice responds with a question.

Nate pulls his legs to sit criss-cross. He looks at the body sitting next to him as they talk.

"Who are you?" Nate asks.

The body blinks in and out of existence a few times before responding, "I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I've been here so long I've lost who I am."

Nate swallows hard, "Will I forget to? I.. I barely remember things that felt so fresh and new, am I going to lose myself?"

The body shakes its head, "No, no, don't think like that. Remember what you can, hold onto the good memories, because those are the ones that last the longest."

"What am I going up against next?" Nate asks, looking down at the grassy hill he's perched on.

"Oh, oh you don't want to know, sweetheart," the voice says sweetly, "Trust me, you don't want to know."

Nate looks at the sky again, "When will it happen?"

Everything around them falls black. Nate can feel the soft grass wilt and decompose, turning into wood, wood planks. A floor. Nate's breathing speeds up when he realizes that he's not going to get light in the room anytime soon.

"Hey, hey, hey," the voice says gently, "Calm down, it's okay."

Nate swallows, feeling around. He's near a wall, he can feel it. But there's no light switch, it's just concrete. He wants to stand up, but fears the unknown. What if there's no floor except where he sits? What if there's a person, waiting to wrap their slimy, long, slender fingers, cold as ice, around his warm, unsuspecting ankle? What if someone is standing in the corner, with a knife, waiting for the perfect moment to thrust it into his chest?

"I didn't peg you as the type to be afraid of the dark," the voice chuckles.

"This isn't funny!!" Nate yells in response.

"Sorry, sorry, you're right," the voice apologizes, "Just, don't touch your arms, yeah?"

Nate freezes. What if there's thousands of fingernails along his arms, hard and gross, covering the length of them? He shudders at the thought. Or thousands and thousands of spiders crawling all over them? He pictures the image and all of a sudden can feel millions of little legs crawling all over his skin. He screams, pushing himself into the corner of the room. The crawling stops and he calms down a bit, his breathing still uneven.

"You need to calm down," the voice warns, "You're paranoid."

"Yeah, you would be too," Nate snipes.

He's not even sure why he's so upset with the voice. It hasn't done anything. Yet. What if it's actually building up his trust to stab him in the back? Literally or figuratively, he's not quite sure, but he'd find out soon enough, wouldn't he?

There's a sharp noise of something metallic falling, hitting some form of ceramic tile. The noise pierces Nate's ear, causing his head to ache. He covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as a hand is laid on his shoulder. He reopens his eyes, although it makes no difference as the room is still pitch black.

"Nate," the voice drops the words in front of him, "Nate, it's okay. You're okay, I have to go. Don't. Touch. Your. Arms."

The hand leaves and the urge to touch his arms causes Nate's head to pound. Why couldn't he touch them? What if it was just one little tap, one little rub. He raises his left hand, hovering it over his right forearm. He slowly plants it on his arm. It's wet. Wet from what? He scrunches his face in confusion as the strong smell of something sweet fills his nostrils. Nate suddenly notices that his arm has small indents, all along the surface. Weird. He circles the rim of one with his finger. No, it's not just an indentation... It's a...

Hole.

Not just one, but thousands of them. Covering his arms. In panic, he switches hands, his right hand on his left arm. Sure enough, they're there too. Soon, he's feeling his legs and chest, his neck and face. Everywhere, all over, holes in his skin. And the icing on the cake, each one of the cretins is oozing. What they're oozing, Nate can only imagine. It couldn't be blood, it would smell metallic, this is sweet. Honey, maybe, maybe. Whatever it is, it begins to pool around him, sticking to his skin and clothes, clinging to him like a parasite. He begins to panic, no longer afraid of hands, or people, or missing flooring, he stands up. As he does, more and more of the liquid pours out and he can feel it as each drop falls from his skin. And then:

Nothing.

Light.

And nothing.

A door that Nate didn't even know existed swings open, light pouring in. He looks around, scared, frozen in terror, only able to move hs eyes and head. The walls bleed from concrete to panels, shelves building themselves up at a slow pace as cans of preserves pop into existence. Nate looks down, a glass jar falling and shattering in front of him, spilling some form of jam all over the hardwood floors. He looks up at the door, where a familiar face stands staring at him. Nate tilts his head. He knows this person, yet... can't place a finger on who they are.

"Nate, did you break a jar again?" They ask, "You know my mom's going to kill you if she finds out, right?"

Nate blinks, staring into their deep eyes.

"Well, just clean it up, okay?"

Nate nods, bending down, beginning to clean the mess he didn't even make. His legs scream in sharp pain and he realizes he has shards of glass in them. He stares at them curiously, as if his mind is boggled by the fact they hurt.

"Oh, you hurt yourself," the person rushes to him.

Nate looks up at them as they examine his legs. Then it clicks, who this person is. But he can't put a name to the face... who is it? He remembers the love. Not family love, more than that and for a split second, he can remember who they are. But as soon as it's there, it slips away.

"Jesse," he whispers the name.

The person looks up quickly, giving him a crooked smile.

"He remembers my name," they coo.

They look back down at his legs, "I'm going to go get the tweezers to remove this glass, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

They stand up slowly, turning around and heading back towards the other room. The door slams shut behind them, locking. Nate stands up, ignoring the pain in his legs. The walls begin to swirl, forming large, deep holes. Holes that funnel air into the room, with so much force Nate can hardly stand firm. The floor begins to crack open, suctioning everything towards it. Nate begins to slide into the void. He scratches at the walls, trying to find some form of texture in the wall, something to latch onto, to hold for dear life. But everything is perfectly flat, completely smooth, and Nate slides completely into the cavity. The darkness swallowing him whole.