Friends in the Head

Deer of Shadows

Everybody has a little voice in their head at all times. Jonah Dyre has about two dozen, perhaps more, he had lost count long ago. For him it was different, the voices were not a symptom of any disorder or hallucinogenic mind. They were alive, as alive as a spry young man waking up in the morning for work. Every day was a nuisance, and although he never regretted housing The Horde for the gifts they gave him, he did wish they would shut up every now and then. Nothing but noise in his brain, sometimes aimless words, rarely full sentences, but mostly constant talking and chatter layered so heavily on top of one another that it sounded like white noise. Speed, strength, durability, and such were the promises The Horde swore on, in addition to all the other spectacular abilities they could give him. They made it sound like he would become the next Superman, yet mysteriously failed to enlighten him on the noticeable mutation his body would undergo.

He could never go outside without wearing a full-body outfit, he couldn't allow someone to take notice of the "darker" parts of his body. Wearing gloves every minute of the day was annoying and made it difficult to handle his day-to-day processes, but they provided an invaluable service of hiding his blackened, raven-colored hands. It's a disease, he would tell people, a disease that ate away at his fingers and requires gloves. It wasn't exactly a lie, as The Horde more often than not felt like a terrible pathogen. The only part of himself he couldn't cover properly was his right eye and neck, which had also bled over with darkened, shadowy residue. Wearing an eyepatch would call too much attention to himself, so he grew his hair down to his chin, used it to cover his eye, and prayed it would stay there. For all the might he possessed, the torturing of getting by in a day-to-day process was not worth it. He'd never tell The Horde this, but with how they were deeply connected with his brain and body, it was likely they already knew.

Jonah was lying in bed, sprawled out on his back with the blanket only haphazardly covering his ankles. Staring up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan, his face was locked in a grimace from the disgusting morning taste in his mouth. His bedroom was bathed in a dull atmosphere, the sun shining through the window blinds and illuminating his peeling wallpaper. The day had actually started long ago, and a quick glance at his bedside clock told him it was merely two hours until noon.

"You have to get up," a voice tapped his eardrum.

Jonah responded with only a grunt, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes.

"We know you're not asleep."

He snapped his eyes open, "well I won't be if you don't shut up."

"But you're thirsty, aren't you?" The voice didn't back down. "And it's cold in here, can you turn the fan off please?"

"Just shut up please," he groaned, "and what does it matter if I'm thirsty? Anything I eat or drink mostly gets absorbed by you, most of the time it never reaches my stomach."

"Hey, that's not fair!" The voice said, offended. "We're alive too!"

"Unfortunately."

The Horde was parasitic by nature, and would often absorb most nutrients from whatever Jonah ate before his body even had a chance to process it. As a result, he was forced to eat nearly twice as much as he usually would, otherwise his "friends" would go hungry. Their volume wasn't the worst thing about them though, not even close. The worst thing about The Horde was that they didn't like being contained.

A sharp pain etched through Jonah's bare chest, making him arch his body and bite back an agonizing yell. His hands gripped the mattress as his ribcage briefly opened, his skin pulling apart. A small head popped out of his chest, black as a shadow and dripping dark residue as if it was made of static liquid. It wriggled its nose and turned its large ears around as if it was tuning itself. Thankfully, this one didn't have antlers, otherwise Jonah would've likely been unable to suppress his agonized scream. The ones with antlers always hurt the most when they came and went. It scanned the room with soulless, blank eyes, before pulling its dark legs out and planting its hooves on Jonah's stomach.