Family in Black and White

I loved old black-and-white photographs from the day my mother showed me the old photo albums of my grandparents.

These tiny images were like windows to a different time, a different world even. With fascination I marveled at the huge old farmhouse my family used to live in a century ago, and I laughed at my grandfather’s grumpy face on his first day of school.

As I grew older, I often found myself leafing through those old albums, taking in the memories they contained.

It was only natural that I used black-and-white photographs for an arts project at university. Our professor had thought it was a good idea to give us free rein over what we wanted to create, and so I decided on a collage of photographs.

For weeks I gathered any and all old photographs I could find. My favorite place to indulge in these treasure hunts was my city’s weekly flea market. The place was huge and more reminiscent of a fair than a yard sale.

I loved wandering from stall to stall and scanning all the things that were for sale. From the newest movies and games, over phones and clothes to obscure tools and forgotten family memorabilia, you could find almost anything there.

The stalls I came to stop at the most were those that sold old postcards and photographs. I didn’t care for the postcards, but I’d look through every single stack of old photographs to see if I’d be able to find something interesting.

One Sunday morning, I stumbled upon a very peculiar photograph that stood out among the rest the old man at the stall was selling. The caption on the back was as simple as could be.

Family in Black-and-White.

The backdrop of the photograph was an old farmhouse. In front of it, more than a dozen people had gathered, all standing there in a single line, next to one another, smiling brightly at the camera. Yet, as my eyes wandered from one to the other, I couldn’t help but find those smiles a bit overdrawn, almost comically happy. There was something strangely intriguing about this supposed family, and the vibe it gave off made me buy it.

I strolled the flea market for another hour, but I shouldn’t find anything else of interest.

The moment I arrived at home, I was quick to return to my work in progress. The enormous canvas was already half-filled with different photographs. My eyes wandered over them before I pinned my newest treasure to a point near the center. I put it right next to a photograph of an elderly couple and below that of a group of children playing out in the sun.

I took a step back and nodded to myself. That place there in the center was more than fitting, I decided.

For a moment I was about to continue working on the collage when I remembered I was supposed to meet up with a group of friends. So, after a quick lunch, I set out again.

When I returned it was already late evening, and I was more than tired. As I walked down the hallway of my small apartment, I stopped in front of the living room for a second. There at the back was the collage, I’d wanted to work on, but I spent all day hanging out with friends. I sighed as looked at it in the dim light of the hallway. As my eyes wandered from photograph to photograph, they came to rest on the newly added family in the center. As I stared at it from afar, I could’ve sworn I saw something. It was the smallest of movements, but it looked almost as if one of the people in it had… winked at me?

As an icy feeling washed over me, I hit the living room light switch. Quick steps led me over to it before I called myself an idiot and cursed at an imagination fueled by way too many horror movies.

“Just go to bed, you idiot,” I mumbled to myself.

Sunday went and came, and for the first time in a while I made some actual progress on the collage.

During the next week, however, there was no hope of working on it. Group projects and exam preparation already took out a sizeable chunk of my time, but there was also my new part-time job. What little free time I had left, I spent away in front of Netflix, catching up on the latest seasons of Snowpiercer.

It was only on Friday, my only weekday off work, that I could finally get back to it.

It was already late afternoon, and I could feel the toll the week had taken on me. So I prepared myself a strong, hot cup of began going through the stack of photographs I still wanted to add to the collage.

Once I’d found a few and I turned to the collage, a strange feeling washed over me. As I looked at it, I knew something about it was different, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

At first I thought one of the pinned photograph might have fallen down, but no, they were all still there, right where they belonged. Before long, my eyes found their way to the strange family at the center. This really was one extensive family, I thought. My eyes wandered from person to person before they came to rest on the youngest member of the family procession. A little boy standing in front of the rest. His smile seemed oddly different from the rest. It wasn’t as comically overdrawn as that of the rest, it was almost forced.

My eyes wandered on to the photograph of the elderly couple next to it and then to the boys playing in the field. Yet, that strange feeling was back. As I stared at it, I couldn’t help but wonder if something was different about it. Three boys playing in a field, I thought. Had there always been… three?

“All right, stop it, Laurie, you’re acting silly,” I scolded myself. “Of course it’s always been three, it’s not like a photograph can change!”

I shook my head and laughed at my silly, overactive imagination.

After a deep sip of my coffee, I went back to sorting through the remaining photographs.

I spent most of Friday evening working on the collage and continued through all the way to Saturday afternoon. That’s when my friend Lizzie dragged me to some silly dorm party.

At first I wasn’t in the mood to party, but the moment we arrived, I had to admit that I needed to unwind a little. After a few drinks though, it wasn’t just about unwinding anymore, instead it was about having a blast.

We stayed at the dorm part for a while before Lizzie and I made our way into the city and went barhopping. We hit one bar, then another, and when I was on my way home, it was already early in the morning.

When I woke up the next day, I felt terrible. Cursing at Lizzie, I lay in bed for almost another hour.

The moment the world had stopped spinning, I got up to prepare myself some coffee. As I made my way down the hallway, I stopped for a moment.

Something scratched at the back of my mind, the hint of a memory. I saw myself throwing open the front door to my apartment and almost crashing to the floor as I entered. As I stumbled down the hallway, I turned and looked at the… collage. There was a single thought, a single idea.

“Where the hell are all the people?”

For a moment I was confused, almost scared. Shit, had someone broken in and destroyed… no, they were all still there. As I stumbled toward it, I could see the smiling faces right away. No, not smiling, grinning faces, I thought. And for the first time since I’d bought the photograph, it wasn’t intriguing anymore. It was unnerving.

I reached out my hand and unpinned the photograph. For a few seconds I studied it before I cursed and threw it to the floor. First, coffee. No use thinking about, well, anything right now. This hangover was killing me.

For the rest of the day, which wasn’t much considering I stumbled out of bed at three in the afternoon, I did nothing. I wasted away on the couch and coursed at myself for agreeing to hang out with Lizzie. Why’d we even gone to that last bar? Why’d I ordered all those shots? God, what had I been thinking?

It was already evening when I finally felt like a normal human being again. As I prepared myself a cheap meal, I checked my planner, only to be remembered how busy this week would be. Instead of doing anything else, I settled in front of my laptop, put on another episode of my show and ate dinner.

It wasn’t that late yet, but after last night, I knew I could use all the sleep I could get.

I was woken up in the middle of the night. At first I didn’t know what was going on, but then I heard some strange noises. For a moment I tried to ignore it, but then I couldn’t help but listen.

I hit the light switch and got out my phone. It was two in the goddamn morning! What was even going on? As I listened, though, my anger was replaced by worry. Where were those noises coming from? It sounded almost as if they were coming from inside my apartment.

As quietly as possible, I slipped out from under my blanket before I tiptoed towards the bedroom door and listened. Once more I could hear it. It was the sound of footsteps, quiet, soft footsteps. It was over as quickly as it had started, but was enough to scare me. Clutching onto my phone, I continued listening, but all was quiet.

Finally, I opened the bedroom door inch by inch, trying my hardest to not make any noise. For a moment I stared at the darkness ahead, waiting to see movement out there, but all was still. When I hit the light switch, all was normal. There was no hint of an intruder, the front door was still locked and nothing was amiss.

For the next minutes I checked every single spot in my entire apartment, but I found nothing out of the ordinary.

As I made my way back to the bedroom, I cursed to myself about whatever neighbor must’ve caused the noise and had woken me up. Whatever they’d done in the middle of the goddamn night had just cost me a good night’s rest.

The next week started off as bad as the last one and only got worse the longer it lasted. Apart from studying and project work, I was even asked to fill in for a sick co-worker at my part-time job. Knowing how much I could need the money, I agreed, but it also meant saying goodbye to all free time this week.

My evenings comprised nothing more than getting home, preparing myself a quick meal before I fell into bed, exhausted.

What made things even worse were the damned neighbors who continued their ruckus. Multiple times during the week, I was woken up in the middle of the night by their damned footsteps. I thought about confronting them about it, but I was too exhausted to do anything. Instead, I tried my best to ignore them and go back to sleep.

I don’t know how long it had been since I’d been so excited for a weekend and to get some well-earned rest.

When I awoke on Saturday, it was already noon, but for the first time in days I didn’t feel tired. After some breakfast at one in the afternoon, I took care of some well-overdo chores around the apartment before I went for a brief walk.

I’d barely made it back home when my phone rang.

I answered and who else but Lizzie was on the other line and of course she wanted to go partying. As nicely as possible, I told her I didn’t want to go out and get drunk this weekend and instead wanted to have a quiet evening.

At first Lizzie didn’t budge, but eventually she gave up on the partying and suggested she’d come over for the evening.

I opened my mouth to say no, but I gave in. Who was I kidding? Hanging out with Lizzie was always fun.

It was not even an hour later that a bouncy Lizzie greeted me.

“Well, slowpoke, how are you?”

“I’m all right,” I said, laughing a little and invited her in.

“Look what I brought, wine!”

With that, she triumphantly held out two bottles of wine for me to marvel at.

“Eh, I think I’ll pass. Last weekend was terrible.”

“You really are no fun,” she said, pouting on her way to the living room.

“Oh wow, is that your project?”

I joined her and nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not done yet. You know, since I like old photographs, I thought to make them into a collage. Putting together all those old memories into one, giant big view of a different time.”

“That’s so cool, Laurie! It’s way more interesting than mine!”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, just a sketch of Leo.”

“A sketch of your cat? That’s your entire project?”

She shrugged and went through the photographs on the collage.

“Hey Laurie, this one’s pretty weird,” she said after a while.

“Which one?” I asked, but I was sure I knew which one she was talking about.

“This creepy family here! Just look at them! The way they smile, it’s just… weird. It’s so unnatural. Seriously, what’s the matter with them? Looks like something out of a horror movie.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of odd, but it’s because of that, that I,” my voice trailed off as I stared at the photograph. Something was wrong. This time I knew it, this time it was more than just a little feeling. My eyes wandered over it, the row of people, the four little boys in the front and the elderly couple behind. Wait, was there always an elderly couple-

“Hey, stop spacing out! So you want to watch this movie?” Lizzie called out from the laptop.

I hadn’t even noticed her moving to the couch, much less talking to me. For a moment I stared at the strange photograph again before I shook my head. Stupid thing, Lizzie was right, it was creepy!

With that, I settled down on the couch next to her and we embarked on our adventure to find a movie to watch. It took us almost half an hour before we’d settled on an art-house movie that Lizzie was dying to watch and I was sure I could suffer through.

We’d barely finished the movie when I found myself drifting off.

“Hey Lizzie, I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Oh, it’s all right Laurie, don’t worry about it.”

“You okay here on the couch? There’s a blanket over there and some pillows in case you-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I’ll figure out it, just go to bed already!”

I gave her a sleepy smile and set out on my way to bed. The moment I stretched out below the blanket, I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

What woke me up were the same strange sounds I’d heard before, the same quiet footsteps hurrying along somewhere nearby. This time, I got up, this time I’d had enough. I’d barely thrown aside my blanket and hit the light switch when I heard something else.

It was a muffled voice. No, a muffled, barely audible scream. It was Lizzie!

I grabbed the first blunt object I could find, the night lamp, and rushed toward the bedroom door. Outside the footsteps continued, but this time they were accompanied by giggling laughter, the laughter of people, of children.

What the hell was going on!?

The moment I burst from the door, the sounds had already stopped. All was quiet.

“Lizzie?” I called out. “Lizzie, are you okay?”

Nothing.

Quietly, my heart beating heavy in my chest, I made my way to the living room. In my mind I could already see her on the couch, as scared and confused about the neighbor’s weird sounds as I was.

“Lizzie, you all right?” I tried again.

When I stepped in the living room, though, there was no one there. All I could see was her blanket, on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Lizzie, where are you?” I called out, but once more I got no answer.

In sheer confusion, my eyes wandered all over the room, trying to figure out where she’d gone.

“Lizzie, if this is a joke, it’s not funny!”

Then I noticed something. Right there, on the floor, in front of the collage, I saw a black-and-white photograph.

I reached out with shaking hands, but even before I’d picked it up, I knew which one it would be.

I saw the same farmhouse, the same family, the same four boys in front, the same elderly couple in the back.

But then, furthest to the left, I saw a young woman. She wore the same antiquated attire as all the rest, but her face was entirely different. She wasn’t smiling, no she was screaming and looked utterly terrified.

But even with that expression, even in black-and-white and even in the old, grainy quality of the photograph, I recognized her instantly.

It was Lizzie.

True Terror

“Guess it’s about time,” the old man mused to himself.

After searching for a moment, he found what he was looking for. A grin showed on his face as he pocketed the tiny key.

He has to force himself to take measured steps and to relax his gait as he descended the stairs down into the basement.

The echo of his steps long preceded him, and he can already hear the rattling of chains.

When he opened the door to the small cell, a gasp reached him. It was music to his ears and for a moment he stood there, listening to the labored, ragged breathing from inside.

“The hell you waiting for you sick freak?” the man inside asked.

The old man knew it was meant to be a scream, yet all that reached him was a mere croak.

“Ah, my dear Mathew,” the old man started in a voice dripping with honey, “how are you this fine day?”

“Fuck you,” the man inside spat at him.

The old man laughed and stepped into the room with a bright smile on his face.

“Guess you’re having one of those days, aren’t you, Mathew?”

This time he got no answer, just as expected.

For a moment the old man stops, sniffed the air, and his face changed to an expression of faked shock.

“My god, Mathew, I think you’re in dire need of a bath, how about-“

“Why the hell did you come down here? To make a few more of your sick jokes?”

“Now, why’d I do that? I was going to bring you some food, Mathew. You know, I want you to be healthy. But since we’re talking about health, you might want to move those arms and legs of yours a little. It will keep your muscles from cramping and those joints from hurting.”

“You ARE hurting, aren’t you, Mathew?” he asked with an exhilarated expression and hungry eyes.

“Go fuck yourself, I’m done playing your games!”

The old man laughed.

“Then how about I ask you a question, instead. What is true terror? Is it the fear you feel when I enter this room?”

Mathew answered with nothing but a grin.

“Is it the pain of your muscles tearing and your joints dislocating?”

Nothing.

“Is it the deterioration of your mind? The fact that you don’t know what will happen to you, how long you’ve been here and that in time, you might not even know who you are anymore?”

Once again, no reaction.

Suddenly the old man’s face showed childish glee before he began laughing again. This time, it’s a throaty, hysterical laugh, one that makes Mathew cringe back.

No,” the old man brought out between bouts of laughter.

“True terror is hope.”

And with that, he placed the key to Mathew’s chains on the floor, just barely out of his reach.

Laughter

An eerie atmosphere filled the living room.

Marie sat in her chair, holding a glass of wine, staring at the TV, but barely watched.

John was in his reading chair at the other end of the room. The book wasn’t bad but wasn’t good either.

That was true for a lot of things these days.

That’s just life, he thought, turning the page.

“How’s the book?” Marie asked, slurring the last word.

He looked up, saw her tired eyes and her rosy face. He knew it wasn’t her first glass for the night, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Not bad,” he answered, focusing on his book again.

“Ah well,” she mumbled.

For a while, all he heard were the voices on TV.

When Marie spoke again, there was an edge to her voice, and, he noticed, a slight shaking.

“How long do you think this will continue? How long-“

“Why don’t you just watch your show and drink your wine, Marie?”

“I’m just-“

“Nothing we can do about it, can we?”

He heard her empty the glass, followed by her pushing herself to her feet. She tottered through the room on her way to the kitchen for yet another refill. When she returned, she came to a stop in front of him.

He put down the book and looked up at her. Her face was filled with anger, sadness, but most of all reproach.

“How can you just-?”

She broke off when laughter reached their ears, laughter from down the hall, from their daughter’s room.

Their eyes met. For a moment Marie didn’t move before she stumbled back to her chair as if struck. The glass of wine was shaking in her hand, sending a spray of red droplets to the carpet below. They weren’t even noticeable among the rest.

John watched as she sunk deeper and deeper into the cushion before she emptied the glass in a single, greedy gulp.

Outside, the sound of toys and play got louder. John knew them all; the bouncing of the ball, the shrill tweet of the whistle, the wooden blocks being stacked upon one another.

Marie didn’t look up, didn’t say a thing. Instead, her hand clutched onto the empty glass and John could already see it bursting.

“Marie,” he started, but she cut him off instantly. Her head jerked towards him, her eyes wide and half-crazy.

“Make her stop, John, please, make her stop!” she screamed at him before she sunk back, shivering and weeping.

The glass fell from her hand, clattered to the floor, and added yet another tiny red splotch to the mess on the carpet.

John didn’t say a word, didn’t do a thing. Instead, he turned to the next page of the book.

And as he focused on the words in front of him, he shut it all out. The sound of the TV, his wife’s pleas and cries, and the giggling from down the hall.

For their daughter had died a year ago.

The Thief of Worlds

A bright, glistering light woke Jake. He turned, pulled the blanket over his head, but it was useless.

“Shit, goddamn sun,” he cursed and went to pull the curtains.

This was his one free day this week, and he had the right to sleep for as long as he damn well pleased.

Squinting his eyes, he made it to the window. Why was it so damn bright? Wait a second, why were the street lights still on? Wasn’t it morning already?

As he stared outside, he noticed that the street was filled with people. There was a commotion outside. People were screaming, others laughing hysterically, and a few sat on the ground, utterly dumbfounded.

Yet, there was one thing they all had in common. They were all staring at the sky.

Shock washed over Jake. What the hell was going on? It had to be war. A bomb. An explosion. Why was everyone staring at the sky, though?

He threw open the window but had to take a step back as a gush of hot air hit his face. No, not just hot, it was scalding outside. How in the hell…? It’s the middle of December.

He leaned forward, putting his arms on the window frame, and pulled them back instantly, cursing in pain.

For a moment he rubbed his arms, then reached out again. There was no doubt, this was no illusion. The stone was hot, burning hot, as if the summer sun had shone on it for an entire day.

Fear washed over him, fear and confusion.

Outside people were still screaming, throwing themselves to the ground in despair, in terror, or in hysteric insanity.

Oh god, what the hell’s going on?

Even in this blazing heat, he started shivering. What if it’s a nuke? What if-?

He broke off when he could finally see the sky.

Above him, the sky was alight by an immeasurable amount of stars. It was nothing but a glistering sea of light and in its center a giant, blazing star.

His eyes grew wide, his mouth opened. For a moment he thought it was the Milky Way, that the stars were more visible tonight, that they were closer.

But then, he noticed that what he saw wasn’t merely the sky, not merely the stars, but some sort of entity.

Its head was a blazing, burning star, its body a terrible, endlessly twisting galaxy, and its arms comprised glittering space nebulae.

And he laughed as he saw it, laughed at the surreal hilarity at the impossibility above.

In the far emptiness of space, none of that mattered. The entity didn’t waver, didn’t care, didn’t think.

Despair, terror, insanity, and even the existence of mankind were all but meaningless.

For it had descended for one thing and one thing alone:

To steal yet another world.

Madame Laura Dechant

All merriment and conversation stopped when Madame Laura Dechant entered the room.

Every head turned towards the door she emerged from. It wasn’t because she was the banquet’s host. No, it was as if a queen had descended upon them.

Her skin was as white as marble, her hair like spun silk. Her hazel eyes wandered over each guest before a coy smile showed on her face.

With a throw of her long hair, she bid them continue and took her seat at the top of the table.

There she sat, basking in the attention awarded her. There were the longing gazes of men who wanted her and the jealous looks of the woman who wanted to be her.

A new pair had just arrived. One, a man of her retinue, the other a young thing, barely of age. She was shy and nervous as she entered.

She wore a shoddy dress, walked in a tottering way, and almost stumbled over her own feet as she approached the table.

Yet, there was something about her, and Laura noticed that some men regarded the newcomer with more than curiosity.

When she noticed this, Laura got to her feet. With swift steps, heels clattering over the floor, she approached the girl.

Standing in front of her, she stared her down with the most condescending of smiles.

“And who might you be?” Laura asked in a warm, kind voice.

“Jeanette, Miss Dechant,” the girl mumbled, eyes downcast.

Laura’s eyes wandered over Jeanette’s body and eventually came to a rest. Not on her shapely body, not on her eyes, her hair, or her face. They came to rest on the girl’s hands.

Jealousy rose and a crude smile distorted her face.

Those hands, Laura thought. They were the most beautiful, delicate hands she’d ever seen.

No one intervened when Laura took the girl’s hand.

Laura smiled at her sweetly.

“Welcome to my home, Jeanette,” she said, her voice dripping with honey.

Everyone was quiet as Laura led the girl along the table, then past it and finally to the door at the end of the hall.

“Where are we-,” Jeanette began to ask, but Laura put a finger to her lips.

“I’d like to talk with you privately, Jeanette,” Laura answers.

The young girl, embarrassed and overwhelmed by the attention, can only nod and when Laura opens the door to her personal quarters, she steps in undeterred.

Again, no one says a word, not even Jeanette’s companion.

As Laura leads her inside, she stares at those beautiful, delicate hands once more, hands so very fitting for her body.

And as the door closes behind them, her attendants are already prepared. The tools and machines are ready, the process perfected over the years.

And once morning arrives, Laura would be just a tad bit more beautiful.

For then, those small, delicate hands would be her very own.

Beyond the Stars

The line came out of nowhere.

It was a simple, vertical line dividing the sky from horizon to horizon.

People all over the world stared at it in awe.

Scientists believed it to be an atmospheric phenomenon; religious men and cult leaders alike proclaimed the end of the world.

Jeremy Wilkin’s had his own ideas.

He sat on his porch, sipping on a beer and staring at the sky. After a while, his wife joined him, looking at him, then casting her eyes upwards as well.

“What do you think it is?” she asked.

“It’s humbug, that’s what it is! A farce put up there to scare us!”

“But, Jerry, dear, who’d do something like that? I mean, it’s been up there for days!”

“Has to be that Bezos fellow or the Gates one! They with all their money and all that new technology and-“

“Oh, shush, Jerry, you’re always going on about those folks!”

“Well, they’ll always be messing around with our lives and now they’ve done this! Split the goddamn sky in half and-“

“Jerry, don’t curse like that! What if Pastor George hears about it!”

“Pah, give a rat’s ass about Pastor George! Damn him and his sermons! Been sick and tired of them for years. Only good thing about this whole Covid business is that his damned church stays closed!”

His wife Lizzy gasped in shock at his outburst.

“How can you say something like this? What’s the matter with you?”

For the first time in what must’ve been hours, Jeremy Wilkins turned his eyes from the sky and looked at her. He sighed before he took another sip of his beer.

“It’s the damned thing up there! Making me crazy! Feels like there’s something up there, almost as if-“

“Maybe you ought to stop staring at it all day, you old fool,” his wife said laughing, but it was a nervous laugh.

For a while she traced the line with her gaze, staring at the horizon and going ever higher until she had to crane her neck to see it.

Suddenly her husband got a hold of her arm. His grip was hard, yet his arm was shaking.

“Jerry, what’s-“ she started, but broke up when she saw her husband’s face. It had turned into a mask of terror. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, but all that escaped it were indistinguishable noises.

His free arm rose shakingly, pointing at the sky right ahead.

When she looked, she saw the line fizzling, saw a pair of gigantic hands pushing through it.

Then they reached out to the left and right. Fingers sunk deep into what should be nothing but empty air got a hold of the sky and started tearing.

Jeremy and Lizzy Wilkins sat on their porch, watching in a mixture of wonder and utter despair.

Slowly and steadily the line expanded as the hands tore apart the fabric of reality itself, revealing the madness that lay beyond the stars.

Daddy

Deadlines are the worst.

The customer had been clear about one thing: the new website was going online at the end of the week, and he better made sure it was ready.

Being a freelance web-developer could be tough, especially when you were buried under unrealistic expectations and a list of ever-changing features.

He hadn’t slept in days. All he’d been able to do was to nod off for a few hours at his desk.

He wasn’t sure how many cups of coffee he’d drank today.

Hell, he wasn’t sure about a lot of things anymore. This entire job was messing with his head.

“Freaking hell,” he cursed as yet another memo arrived in his inbox.

There was no freaking way he’d make it if things kept up like this. Yet, what was he supposed to do? He needed the damned money.

And so, after a few more minutes of resting, he continued his work.

He was just trying to wrap his head around a certain PHP-function and the resulting dynamic Html-block when he heard something.

For a moment the house was quiet but then he heard it again, the creaking of a door.

“Daddy, come quick,” his daughter called out from down the hallway.

In an instant, he was off his chair and out of the room. Yet, for a moment, the strangest feeling washed over him. Something about this felt wrong.

Yet, when he saw no hint of Clara and the wide-open door of her room, he pushed the feeling aside.

“Clara?” he called out but got no answer.

When he entered, the room was freezing, and the window was wide open. The window, why was it open?

Quick steps led him to it, but when he stared outside, nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Clara?” he called out again, but there was no hint of her. The bed was empty, so was the closet and the rest of the room.

He’d just crouched down to look under the bed when he heard it again.

“Daddy, come quick.”

It sounded exactly like before.

Sweat broke out all over his body as the strange feeling came back. This time he knew what it was.

Clara was with her grandparents. Marie had taken her to spend the week at their place so William could finish his project undisturbed.

Slowly, his entire body trembling, he turned to where the voice had originated from.

What he saw was a disgusting, spidery creature. Its limbs were too long, too damn long. Two of them were still holding on to the ceiling where the thing must’ve been until now.

Its head was nothing but a skull with paper-thin skin stretched over it.

Multi-faceted eyes focused on him, and when the abomination saw William’s terror, it giggled.

It’s grinning face shot forward and came to a halt mere inches in front of his own.

“Daddy, let’s play,” it whispered in his daughter’s voice.

The Bath

Cindy loved long, hot baths. They were the best part of her day. There was nothing better than to soak your body in steaming hot water after a long, tough day at work.

She considered the bathtub her happy place. It was here that she could calm down, take a step back, and spend the early evening hours with a good book.

Today had been especially bad. With Christmas around the corner, online sales were skyrocketing. To say Cindy’s department was buried in work was an understatement.

It was already early evening when she finally made it home.

After a quick meal, she decided to soak her tired body for an hour or two. After picking out one of her many bath bombs, she undressed and watched as the water was transformed into a swirling, bubbling mess. When the hot water came to a rest, it had been transformed into a deep, starry blue.

Descending into the bath was heaven. At first, the heat stabbed at her skin, but after a little while, it changed into a soothing, pleasant feeling.

Cindy leaned back, closed her eyes and for a while she just lay there, enjoying the heat and sweating away all the workday’s worries.

She’d half drifted off when she heard running water. She instinctively thought of the drain. Had she accidentally opened it?

Her hand reached out for the drain stopper and turned, but it didn’t move at all. For all she knew, it was still closed.

Maybe it was something in the pipes? Or maybe her next-door neighbor had let in an evening bath of their own.

She laughed a little and wondered what kind of person her ‘bath friend’ might be.

“Well, hope you’re having fun,” she mused on.

It was right at this point that bath water started bubbling and Cindy noticed hair in the water. Not her own, she thought in disgust. At first, it was only a few here and there, but soon, thick strands came up. Right at that time, the strange sound from the drain started again.

The pipes, there’s something wrong with the pipes. All these disgusting hairs, it had to come up from down the drain! In disgust, she cringed back from the drain, tore off strands that clung to her, and finally decided to abandon the bath.

With her hands on the side of the tub, she suddenly heard another disturbingly long gurgle.

Then something emerged from the water in front of her, right where the drain was. At first, it was only hair, a giant, wet ball of hair, but then she saw something in-between. It was a disgusting, wrinkled thing, much too thin to be a human being.

“Oh, yes, I’m having fun,” the thing cackled in a high-pitched voice.

Still in shock, Cindy felt a bony hand close around her ankle and a moment later she was pulled underwater and eventually yanked down the drain.

Love

Oh, the word love. What does it truly mean? Is it something that should be whispered easily, or should it be held back and only told during those few special moments?

Eric thought about this, but he didn’t know anymore. The word love had lost all meaning, become part of the nightmare that was now his daily life.

Today was the same as every other day. He was trapped in darkness, and entirely alone. Yet, the moment he heard something, his body tensed up. It tensed up because he heard… her.

He knew what was coming long before she entered. It was always the same, always the same every single goddamn day. Eric knew he couldn’t handle it anymore, he just couldn’t, yet he had to.

There was no other way.

When the door opened, he clenched his eyes shut with all the force he could muster.

“Do you love me?” her guttural, hard voice echoed from outside and for a moment it filled the entire small room.

“O-Of course I do,” he answered in a trembling voice.

There was a giggle, a giggle that could’ve come from the throat of a little girl, if it hadn’t been so deep, so grating. Yet, it lasts only for a mere moment.

The voice turned hard again, hard and cold.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” it demands. No, almost shrieks at him.

And so, trembling in fear, Eric finally opens his eyes.

In the dim light that entered the room, he could finally make out his disgusting, putrid prison cell. He could see his own excrements, his blood, and what remained of his fellow captives.

But the worst, by far, was her.

The thick, bloated monstrosity of her body. She was a disgusting, humongous thing, her body more that of a worm than a human. Rolls and rolls of fat slithered inside, pushed through the door before she came to a rest in front of him.

Her fat sausage fingers reached out to hold his face in her hands. For a second her tiny, button eyes rested on his before she let him go again.

She was a creature of purest disgust. Her smell was so unbearable it made Eric’s eyes water. When she brought her mouth close to his, he instinctively cringed back, his body trying to flee, but the chains made any escape impossible.

Her lips came to rest on his and when her disgusting, bloated tongue pushed into his mouth, he almost gagged.

Instantly, her face grew hard again. Her body started shaking in anger.

“What’s the matter?” the inhuman amalgamation of fat demanded of him.

“N-No, it’s nothing. You’re beautiful,” he finally pressed out, contorting his face into the semblance of a smile.

The creature giggled again before she turned from him and slithered back towards the door.

As it fell shut, he was at last able to relax. For he knew, he’d live yet another day.

The Present

James Stirling was an odd man.

He’d been married three times and fathered more than a dozen children. Yet, what love he’d shown at the outset of these relationships soon waned and went away.

He wasn’t an abusive man, no; he was an indifferent man. All he seemed to care for was to sow his seed before he’d return to his family home.

It was an old, secluded mansion deep in the mountains that had been in the Stirling family’s possession for centuries. Out there, James would spend most of his days, far away from civilization.

Only when his grandchildren were born did the old man return. His fierce interest and warm care surprised everyone.

His favorite was his grandson, Thomas.

The boy’s parents were reluctant to let old James back into their life. More than reluctant, for the old man’s obsession with their son, scared them.

Yet, Thomas adored his grandfather. The more his parents tried to cut their bond, the stronger it became.

The old man would teach Thomas many things and eventually afforded him a scholarship to enter a prestigious university.

As the years went by, James Stirling grew ever older and weaker.

One day, when Thomas visited him at his home, he bid the young man to come closer. Without another word, he handed him an old wooden box.

“What’s that grandpa?”

“A present, my dear boy,” the old man said with a weak smile.

“Thank you,” Thomas said and was about to open the box.

The old man stopped him.

“No, please wait, only open it when the day comes, when I’m about to-“

“Nonsense, grandpa! You’ll live another fifty years, I know it!”

James Stirling smiled, but he knew better than anyone.

Four months later he was admitted to a hospital, one, the doctors made clear, he wouldn’t leave again.

When Thomas visited, the old man reminded him of the present.

“I guess, my time has come,” he started. “When you get home today, you might open the box, Thomas. After all, it’s my last present.”

Tears were shed and goodbyes were whispered and the moment Thomas was home, he got a hold of the box.

“Thank you, grandpa,” he whispered as he opened it.

Inside was a gently glowing orb. As he stared at it, the warm light inside bid him to lean in closer. His eyes focused on it, and it almost seemed as if something was inside. Deeper and deeper he looked, was drawn in, and slowly faded away. A moment later, he passed out.

Hours later, the body of James Stirling drew his last breath, and at the same time, Thomas awoke.

With a wide grin on his face, Thomas closed the small box containing the orb.

“Thank you, Thomas,” he cackled.

Once more, the ritual had succeeded, and once more, the ghastly, centuries-old presence that had been James Stirling for the past seventy years would continue on, continue on for yet another lifetime.