O.S.S.

OSS #1: Zipped Lips

The time was 10:16 PM.

It read clearly on the computer screen, which was the only source of light in the dark game room of the estate. An estate with an erroneous antiquity, for the sake of imitating the architect's portrayal of "fanciness."

My name is Evelyn. I was outcast by my hometown, and now I live in a big home for kids who lack one.

I had gone down to the game room because my beloved, Scarlett, had fallen ill, and needed more rest than we normally get. I had woken up at 9:19 PM according to my watch, but I chose not to bring her back into consciousness, merely placing a kiss on her cheek before getting up and doing my nightly strolls.

So I was alone, and in the dark recesses of the game room.

In the game room, there were a collection of tables with serried rows of old computers that dated back to around the early 2000s. Only one of them was on, because someone had been using it and forgot to turn it off. Surprisingly, the culprit was still at the desk, but they were soundly asleep.

They had succumbed to the night whilst typing something. An E-Mail.

From rumors I'd heard, and from light speculation on my part, I postulated that since the computer activity was not monitored, people would use E-Mail to have secret conversations with one another, as a better alternative to passing notes, which left physical remains.

I thought it was strange, because you can just throw the notes away and no one will go fishing around in the trash for it, but then I considered maybe people just wanted to use the computers.

The culprit was hunched over, with the side of her face resting on the desk. She had blonde hair, and wore a strange outfit I couldn't make out through the darkness. Her face was extremely pale. There were white markings on the desk, so I made the assumption she was wearing makeup to appear ghostly pale, for whatever reason she may have had.

The E-Mail draft she had composed wasn't yet sent, despite having an extremely high word count. I thought the word count may have been the lead contributor to her surprise nap.

The font hadn't been changed. Size 13. It was addressed to a name I didn't recognize.

"Hey, so you know that blonde girl we were talking about with the pigtails and the overalls? I was at lunch earlier, (alone of course because you were sick) and I guess she was too since she sat next to me. Unlike some other people that differ from the crowd, she actually got a lunch and she was eating like normal, but I swear I saw something on her back, like embedded into her skin. I couldn't fully see what it was because I had to pretend like I wasn't staring at her, but it looked like a zipper. A big zipper, in her back skin kinda tucked into her shirt, but you could still make out the outline and stuff.

I was really weirded out, so I got up and moved to a different table, but in a non-weird way. When you feel better, maybe we can solve this mystery together? In secret, of course, or else we'd be complete "

That's where the draft ended. Surely she meant to say "complete and utter weirdos."

I recalled having seen a blonde girl with pigtails before. She acted erratically, like she wanted to be everyone's friend, and yet she avoided certain people that she found to be distasteful. Of course, I was one of these people, likely due to my pale complexion and emaciated appearance, though there was one day where she chose to talk to me, likely to re-evaluate her decision to avoid me.

She introduced herself as "Absinthe," or simply "Abby," and offered me her shaky, cold hand. Likely to her dismay, I had to turn it down, but I gave her a polite nod in the handshake's stead.

I felt very odd about it, because as she had introduced her to everyone else, she had never offered anyone a handshake until she impromptu beelined for me. It was as if she somehow knew of my internal struggles with physical touch.

Of course, I never actually took it into much consideration, as I was more distracted by how confusing her manner was. She made sure to always face whoever she was talking to, throwing more suspicion onto the sleeping girl's claim to have supposedly seen a zipper embedded into her skin. Like she wanted to keep it hidden.

The claim made no sense, but it did at the same time. It carefully stood on the line between reality and unreality.

It could've just been some kind of accessory, but part of me wanted to believe that the sleeping girl was right and that there was some kind of thing living amongst us kids. I couldn't figure out what this entailed. A monster? A monster wearing a well-crafted costume of a human, that could somehow speak and interpret good enough English such that nothing about it is odd upon first meeting it?

I contemplatively put my hand to my chin in a thinking gesture, and used my other hand to brush a ruffled curtain of hair out of my face. This didn't make any sense, and yet it seemed plausible. I shook my head. It would have to wait.

I would need to seek out Absinthe in the morning, and ascertain the sleeping girl's claim. For my sake. For anyone's sake.