𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖞𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕺𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖘/𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

Zalgo (Part 1)

Forgive the length of this message, this is the first and possibly the last time I'll have access to a computer so I thought I'd better write this all down while I can and get it to those who should know. I'm leaving town; I don't know where I'm going, I'm just getting as far away as I can. Okay so as some of you may know, I took out a loan and opened my own auto shop a little over year ago. Business has been going decently well, I can't complain, and I've always been grateful to all of my customers who would come to me exclusively when God knows there are so many already established places in town. I've been doing well enough that I was able to hire on my buddy Neil a few months ago, and he's been working hard and helping out really well, as I always knew he would. Well, I needed to take a day and go to a Lamaze class with Rebecca last month, and so I entrusted the shop to Neil for the morning and most of the afternoon. That's the day I think everything actually started, because when I got back, he seemed to be in a stupor and was covered in oil. He'd even had some smeared across his face, as if he'd tried to drink it or something. I told him to go home and clean himself up because we had no clients at the moment and I could take care of anyone who came in for the time being. He came back 45 minutes later but he was still much quieter than usual. He worked as well as he ever did, but something just seemed off about him. I asked him if anything happened while I was out and he just shook his head. I asked how many clients we had, and he just muttered something unintelligible. I asked him to repeat himself and he turned and glared at me and for the briefest moment I could've swore his eyes appeared to be completely black, no iris, no sclera, just utter all consuming blackness. I stumbled back and bumped a shelf, knocking things down. When I looked back at him, he was still looking at me, but he didn't seem to be glaring hatefully the way he had before, he just seemed kind of...out of it.

"Just a couple," he answered. 

"Some woman, and then a tattooed biker-type looking dude." I assumed one of them must've asked for an oil change and that's when he spilled it, so I asked if he had any trouble and he simply shrugged. I had looked around the garage while he was gone and I saw no traces of an oil spill, so whatever had happened he must've gotten it all on himself and none of it anywhere else, miraculously. But he seemed reluctant to talk about it, so I didn't press the issue, and we worked on throughout the day. That day and the next were relatively normal other than him still being awkward and quiet. I asked him if he'd like to go out and get us lunch while I tended the shop and he said "sure."

When he came back I was busy doing a diagnostic for a client, so he put the food on the counter in the office to wait for me and he went ahead and ate. I finished up with that customer, we'd have to keep her car over night to figure out just why it kept dying on her, so I asked Neil to give her a ride home and then I went to grab my food. He'd brought me some Chinese food and an iced tea, so I opened the soy sauce packets to pour some over my food when I noticed the strangest thing... It was as if the soy sauce was a living thing somehow...spreading out like dozens of squirming inky black maggots when it fell into the fried rice and burying itself inside. I took the fork and started to scoop out the rice to look deeper inside and small smoky tendrils would rise from the rice occasionally and dissipate. I was incredibly hungry at that point but I was way too creeped out to eat that so I chucked it and the iced tea in the garbage and decided I'd just wait 'til I got home that evening to eat something I'd prepared with my own hands. I'd never in my life seen anything remotely like that and I couldn't even fathom how I would ask Neil if he'd noticed anything similar. As cold and distanced as he'd been lately I was sure he'd look at me like I was looney tunes, so I just shut up about it. That Friday we went down to the ol' watering hole as we always do to get some drinks and watch the local bands play, and Neil was just as quiet and distanced as he had been all week. He's not a bad looking fellow, though, and so despite him not really going out of his way to speak to anyone, a woman went over to where he was sitting and started talking to him, and they ended up leaving together that night. Monday morning I tried breaking the ice by asking how his weekend went, he gave me a nod and muttered 

"alright."  

I asked him if he got lucky with that young woman I saw him with, and he gave me the smallest grin, which was quite possibly the first grin I'd seen on his face in a week, and said "it went well." I didn't pressure him for details, I knew he'd share if he chose to, and his small grin was enough to assuage my worries and lend me some hope that he might get back to his old self soon. The day was relatively busy until about 3PM, so I finally had a spare moment to sit in the office and listen to the radio while I waited on the next client. So there I was, leaning back in my chair with my feet propped up on my desk when I swiveled around and looked at my bulletin board that sits behind my head with all manner of clippings stuck to it. I had a few sunday comic strips such as Garfield and Calvin & Hobbes that I'd read maybe a hundred times since I'd opened shop there...but that day something was different. The first panel seemed normal, but in each subsequent panel, inky black tendrils crept out from the edges of the frame and from behind the characters. Blood dripped from the ears and eyes and sometimes even their noses, and in each of the strips one of the characters would say 

"HE COMES"

I sat staring in astonishment for a moment before I realized the tendrils were moving ever so slowly, and then each of the characters' heads turned ever-so-slowly towards me and I threw myself back away from the bulletin board, sliding over my desk and onto the floor. I ran out into the garage and yelled for Neil, I could not be the only one to see this! To my surprise, he had gone...and so I hesitantly walked back to the office and peered inside. The comics were still corrupted, but they no longer appeared to be moving. I crept over to it and reached out to pluck one of the comics free when I noticed the inky black tendrils starting to seep across the page towards where my fingers were at least three times as fast as they'd moved before and I jerked my hand away. Nothing good could possibly come from letting that blot of ink touch my skin. Of course I ripped the entire bulletin board down, burned it in a tin trashcan out back, and never spoke of it again. That night I went home and my wife was already in bed, fast asleep. My mind was racing and I couldn't even bring myself to eat dinner that night. With no one to vent my worries to, I fell into a restless sleep, and kept awaking to nightmare after nightmare seemingly every hour of the night until I just gave up on sleep entirely. That Friday I went to the bar again, even though my wife couldn't drink, being pregnant and all, and Neil wasn't really any fun to hang with anymore, and none of my other friends could seem to be reached. I just needed to get a good buzz and I'd start feeling better, I reckoned. After downing a couple beers I excused myself to the restroom when I noticed I was more inebriated than I'd estimated, so I leaned over the sink to splash some water onto my face and that's when I heard it. Like a sheet of fabric being dragged across a floor, a voice rasped ever so quietly out of the drain. It sounded like a prolonged exhale for the longest time until I finally recognized words hidden amongst all those vowels. 

"Heeee cooooomes"