u/BabyBeanRat

I’ve always wanted to see Sin City. Maybe Sod and I can get married whenever we're there by some man in an Elvis costume. There is a slight issue when it comes to this dream.

I'm flat broke.

Sure, you can look at things, but I can look at things anywhere! The real fun is participating in the debauchery. A place where pressing your luck and eventually winning big is guaranteed, or so I hear. Las Vegas is a city where desperation runs rampant, and I am oozing desperation, baby. Mostly because of my desire for a certain southern belle, but that’s neither here nor there.

So for the last two weeks, I've been DoorDashing in a more financially well-off area. If you've gotten your food delivered by a man in a motorhome recently, it's more than likely been me.

In this time, I've worked up the courage to question Sod about what she is exactly. When we first met, she claimed to be God and Satan. Now I've gone quite a long time without knowing what or who she is, and I decided to confront her recently as she sat in the passenger seat of Jayco.

“So Sod.”

“Yes, Mortal?”

“How come you're God and the Devil? Aren't those like contradicting ideas?”

“Your understanding of the cosmos is so rudimentary that if I were to explain it to you, your primitive brain would turn to slush.”

“Is this like a Cthulhu thing then? Like unknowable horrors beyond human comprehension?”

“What? No, don't be ridiculous. Cthulhu isn't on Earth, and he's a relatively straightforward being.”

I blinked, trying to focus on the road.

“How does that Face Guy fit into all of this then?”

Sod sighed, clearly not wanting to answer my questions.

“All you need to know about me is that I am unable to do my job because of The Man With Many Faces. Speaking of faces, the mark on yours has grown.”

“Yeah, it kind of creeps me out.”

What Sod was referring to here is that after the cornfield situation, a mark appeared on my face. It sort of looked like it wanted to be a triangle, but gave up halfway. After the Grand Canyon, the symbol grew and was now larger and a complete triangle. Some sort of writing now adorned its edge, and the shapes it formed moved very slowly in a language neither Sod nor I could comprehend.

Despite being slightly unsettling, it definitely made me look hotter.

What I got out of that conversation is that the Face Guy and Sod are coworkers, probably former lovers, which is why she gets so cagey when I bring him up. The breakup must still be fresh for her. He was kind of hot. I barely saw his face, but he was definitely giving “dark and mysterious.”

But after all my DoorDashing I’ve acquired roughly $700, and I intend to spend every penny at the casino. Plus, I am no fool. I know the only way to win money at a casino is through blackjack. Don’t worry, the first thing I did was prepare. I watched a six-minute card counting tutorial, stole a deck of cards from Walmart, and then tried to have Sod help me practice my card counting skills.

“Sod! You’re going too fast.”

“Mortal. We both saw the video. The card people deal these rectangles with tremendous dexterity!”

“But I can’t count that fast!”

“Are you even trying? That one is minus one, that one is—”

“Stop, stop. I can’t think with you yapping in my ears.”

Sod gave a disappointed look.

“Mortal, in the short time I have been chained in this Jayco, I have realized the green bills are incredibly important in your society.”

“Huh? Sorry, when am I supposed to divide again? Are we up three? Or down three? Fuck. It’s so confusing. Hey! Stop placing new cards! I haven’t decided how much I should bet yet!”

“The card people won’t wait for you, and you move your eyes too frequently. You make your deception obvious.”

That scenario played out a couple of times until I decided to watch Ocean’s Eleven to hype myself up. It was at the end of the cinematic masterpiece that I realized that maybe the problem isn't that I can't count cards, but that we don't have codenames. I studied the movie rigorously, and my codename is going to be Rusty. From here on, I will only respond to that name.

But to pull off the ultimate heist, you can't just have a bitchin' codename, you've gotta look the part. If you show up to a casino in a My Little Kitty t-shirt and khaki jorts—no one will take you seriously. To look the part, we needed to go to the second greatest place for the poor.

“You're telling me your kind has a store where you intentionally buy clothes that another human has worn? Do you not care about hygiene?”

I held a dress up to Sod, it definitely wasn't her style, or maybe more accurately, within the range of my particular taste.

“We'll head to the laundry mat after, don't worry.”

“And you wash—”

I pulled the dress down and looked disappointedly at Sod.

“We have codenames, now.”

“I am not calling you Rusty, and don't you dare call me that offensive name ever again.”

“Patricia isn't that bad.”

“My name is Alexandria, you can call me that or Sod. Not that other name.”

This was a blow to my ego. How were we going to pull off the ultimate heist if we didn't have codenames? It's like Sod isn't taking this seriously.

“What about… Destiny?”

Sod shook her head and inspected another dress on the clothing rack. 

“As I was saying. This store is unhygienic. Why did I have to get stuck with you? Why couldn't it be some handsome man with lots of currency?”

“But I am a handsome man. Also, it's not my fault that Jayco could access other dimensions. If we had it my way, you'd be on the streets.”

“Oh, whatever, Mortal.”

She hid a faint smile when I said that, which was extremely concerning because Sod never smiles. She's probably running a fever.

“Rusty.” I clarified my codename because she probably forgot. Her smile faded, which was more recognizable. “How about this dress?”

“Absolutely not.”

I collapsed to my knees, prostrating myself.

“Please, please! I'll do anything! Sod, I need this more than you know!”

Sod genuinely blushed and tried pulling me to my feet.

“Get up, Mortal! This is mortifying. Oh, don't cry, you look like an infant. Are you aware they probably never clean the floors in this filthy establishment?”

In the end, she succumbed to my charms. I know when I turned on the waterworks and snot came torpedoing from my nose, she couldn't say no.

Thrifting is the best, especially if you can't afford to go to Disney. Every time I go thrifting, there's always like a Disney cup from twelve years ago whose picture is so faded it just looks like a generic drinking receptacle. But it's a taste of the life I've never had. Only if my father loved me enough. And was around. That probably would have helped.

Childhood regrets aside, it took a while to convince Sod that the laundry mat was sanitary. I normally don't have to do laundry that often. I generally wear a shirt until the smell becomes apparent, but now that I have this baddie hanging around, I've got to like wash more regularly or whatever.

After all of our preparations, we made our way to Las Vegas. It's surprisingly easy to find a place to park an RV, believe it or not. Some casinos' parking lots are so big that you can just show up without having to worry about clearance. Jayco's a little smaller than a U-Haul, so she can go pretty much anywhere.

Sod stepped out of Jayco. She wore a black dress that clung tightly to her body. She wore red lipstick and her hair was styled, not professionally, but I couldn't tell. When she stepped off the final step, she adjusted her black dress.

“Are you sure I have to wear this?”

“If I learned anything from Ocean’s Eleven, you have to wear a suit if you're going to scam a casino.” 

She adjusted her dress three times in short succession.

“This clothing is impractical.” 

“It's just for tonight, and if you ever want to, you can take it off when we get back.”

“Over your dead body, Mortal.”

Worth a try. I adjusted my cufflinks for the second time. I thrifted a dress suit, but it was too big, but no one would notice because I'm just that dashing. I'm basically Prince Charming in this suit.

We entered the casino, and I was surprised by how noisy it was. The flashing lights of the slot machines felt like there was supposed to be an epilepsy warning posted somewhere.

Sod and I immediately exchanged all of the money I saved DoorDashing. I knew I was going to leave here rich. Like, I know they say most people lose, but I'm not most people. I prepared. I DoorDashed for two weeks to make this excursion possible. 

But to not tip off the casino to their inevitable downfall, I started on the roulette table. Sod didn't seem enamored by this plan and grew concerned quite quickly.

“I thought we discussed that you wouldn't play these types of games?”

Sod looked confused, but she failed to understand my subtle nuance of a gambling professional. 

“If we go straight to the blackjack table, we'll look suspicious,” I whispered. I then looked around for cameras.

To make a long story short. I'd love to tell you I bet it all on black and then won, but roulette is a natural loss. This phase of the plan is to build character and lower suspicions; you have to lose a couple of times in order to win big.

“Hey buddy?” I asked the dealer.

“Yes, sir?”

Sir? Finally getting the respect I've earned. 

“Do you think you can just say I won? I know I picked 3, but like… 27 kind of looks like 3, right?”

He eyed me up and down and gave me a deadpan look, and didn't respond. I swear I'm not a gambling addict, but I sort of got this rush when watching the ball spin around the roulette table. 

One more spin couldn't hurt, I convinced myself. But when I turned around to ask Sod what number we should bet on, she was nowhere to be seen.

I tried not to panic. Like, I'm a man after all. You have to be tough in these situations. Had she already found the vault? Was she seducing the casino owner? My mind ran rampant with hypotheticals. I searched briefly for Sod, but I couldn't spot her in the crowds. I decided that she'd find me if she needed me. I abandoned roulette and sat down at the blackjack table. I cracked my neck and knuckles. I was ready to clean this place out.

Is what I would’ve said if I could card count to save my life. The hands just kept coming, and they kept asking if I was going to bet. I panicked more than I like to admit. But this game was definitely rigged. Like, how do you lose fifteen hands in a row? So uh. I'd love to say I left the first casino a rich man, but by the end of this gambling session, I was down $650.

Then I realized why I was losing. No one was calling me Rusty. Also, I wasn't super paying attention, but I think that character was eating a lot? I thought about eating a shrimp cocktail, but that made me think of the cornfield hell dimension, and my stomach started to turn. I settled on ordering chicken nuggets. I did ask if they could put them in a martini glass, which they obliged. 

As I snacked, I kept looking for cameras and Patricia. I mean, Sod. I can't believe she doesn't love her nickname. When I discovered the deity, she was at a Shits table. 

“Oh! Mortal, Mortal, look!” She held out a handful of chips worth probably a thousand dollars.

I was stunned. I can't believe she won all those chips and never called me Rusty once. Maybe this name thing isn't as important as I thought. What am I saying? That can't be true.

“Wow, Patricia, you're doing great.”

“This game is easy. You just roll the dice and win! I can't believe you never mentioned Craps before.”

Silently, I was seething with anger. Not because Sod had won, no, that's fine, but she still hasn't called me Rusty. And also, who names a game “Craps”? “Shits” sounds so much better.

“Well… yeah. I didn't know that you could roll dice.”

Her face turned perplexed.

“What are you talking about, Mortal? Of course, I can roll dice.”

I was floored and a little jealous that Sod somehow won so much money with the $20 dollars I entrusted her with. I knew to quit while you were ahead, and without honoring a further request of hers, we cashed out with our earnings. Yes, I said, our earnings, because despite my losing every hand, I showed restraint and still had some chips remaining by the end of the session.

By the end of today, we will have earned $1,524. I would say my encouragement and great mentoring are the reasons for our success, but it was nice to finally have some money for once. We left the casino and made our way down to the strip, perhaps trying a restaurant along the way.

“Hey, Sod.”

“Yes…” There was a long pause in the air, like she wanted to say something, but didn't have the courage. “Rusty.”

I could barely contain my erection, but played it cool. I nearly crashed into a tree firmly planted in the center of the road. I had to swerve Jayco to avoid the impending crash.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I have a troubling feeling, Mortal.”

It was on the way to Las Vegas when I noticed how lush the city was. I didn't realize how many trees had been planted everywhere. I mean, they were literally bursting from the windows. Also, there weren't a lot of cars on the road. I assumed it was some rebranding attempt to support nature or whatever.

I was perplexed for a moment, but then looked at how densely packed with foliage the city had become. The lights of advertisements were still flashing on the sides of buildings, but now it was like there was a coniferous quota that had to be made on every city block, including the middle of the road. I drove Jayco slowly to not only avoid the towering trees, but to admire the scenery. 

I've never been to Las Vegas, yet this isn't what I was expecting. A little too green for my taste, although I guess there's probably a lot of money here, so I guess I'd be seeing green either way.

I followed the abandoned road, narrowly squeezing through the gaps between the trees that sprouted from the concrete. Eventually, the lights went out, and we were now slowly driving through a dense forest. Before long, there was a log cabin which had a flashing neon sign labeled, “Delicious” in an intense cursive lettering.

“The heart's in there,” Sod said somewhat confidently.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

Great, now she can tell where the hearts are. It's never like a sexy power or anything.

I put Jayco in park and made my way to the log cabin. The mark on my face slightly burned, but I ignored it. My curiosity about what was within this cabin was nearly made me burst. We hadn’t found the location of a heart so quickly before and without issue.

However, when we opened the log cabin door, we were immediately bombarded by the sounds of chips clattering, slot machines whirring, and people cheering. The space within was far larger than what the log cabin should have been able to accommodate. The casino seemed to go on infinitely in every direction. That, unfortunately, was the most normal thing about the casino. The entire casino was not only filled but staffed with babies and toddlers that not only sounded, but acted like adults.

We were immediately greeted by a doorman wearing a bowl for a hat. He bowed deeply, despite being around a foot tall.

“Welcome to Delicious, where gambling and nap time intertwin. May I help you exchange your tokens?” The child spoke not only eloquently, but as if they were a thirty-year-old man.

“Riiiiiiight.” I turned to Sod, who wore a visibly disgusted look on her face. 

“Mortal, I can't sense the heart any longer.”

A devilish grin crossed the host's face. “Ah, if you want the heart, you have to play.” The toddler held out their hand as if we should follow. This was clearly some sort of trap, and we'd fallen straight into it. “The Man With Many Faces awaits.”

Foreboding confession aside, I was slightly excited to start gambling, but then I remembered Sod’s special power.

“Sod, can't you snap your fingers and just switch to the spookier dimension?”

She shook her head. “I've been trying, but I don't feel my powers here.”

Great. Now we have to gamble while babysitting toddlers. This is fantastic.

It wasn't long until we started gambling, but we never received any chips. Which both Sod and I noted as odd. When we were guided through the casino, everyone was staring at me, sipping bottles or smoking cigarettes. I sat at another blackjack table, and a baby with hair like Pamela Anderson wore oversized glasses and sipped from a martini shaker.

“Hey, Sugar. I hear you're looking for a good time.”

“Sorry, my mom told me not to speak to children I didn't know.” I looked at the dealer, who was also a child in an oversized suit. “Can we start dealing the cards?”

The dealer spoke in a gruff voice, as though he had been smoking for thirty years and throat cancer had gotten to him long before I did.

“Sowwi, deez cards arrr har’ to deal.”

The infant before me fumbled with the cards for a while before tossing me my hand. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said to myself. I looked around the casino and saw Sod at another Shits table; she had several toddlers in high chairs surrounding her, several of them were slapping the plastic tray in front of them in excitement.

I looked at the dealt cards, and I had two Kings. Now is that plus two, or minus two? I thought to myself. I didn’t really understand blackjack, but I knew you had to get twenty-one, or there was a chance you could lose.

“Hit me,” I said with unwavering confidence.

The dealer raised an eyebrow, then did as I asked.

“Dats twenty-seven, sirrrr. You lowst.”

I pounded my hand on the table, frustrated by how unfair this game is. 

Just then, a baby in police clothing tapped on my ankle with a pink and oversized plastic baton.

“Mistor, if you gonna cauze problemz we gon have to frow you out.”

“Right, sorry,” I said. I felt off after that hand. Like, I don't know what it was, but my head felt lighter.

I went to confront Sod, who was losing, surprisingly. And for some reason, she was shorter than I remembered.

“Hey… Patricia—”

“Stop calling me that hideous name, Mortal!”

“That's my mother's name…” I said, sort of dejectedly.

“Ah, sorry, Mortal. I just can't seem to win this time. Haven't you found it odd that they don't let you bet chips here?”

Now that she mentioned it, I couldn't remember exchanging any actual money. We sort of played without betting, it seemed.

“I think my head hurts from the flashing lights and Cocomelon playing on repeat. Wanna get some dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

Sod stepped away from the table, and her dress nearly fell off her body.

“Woah, Sod. We can do that when we get back.”

“Shut up, Mortal. This attire is ridiculous and impractical.”

She was definitely shorter than me now that she wasn’t leaning up against the table.

“Hey, Sod, are you always this height?”

I knew she was equal to my height before, but now she is slightly shorter than me. Which I didn't mind. I finally asked her whenever we were at the casino's restaurant. They served an exclusively kid-themed menu. Which was fine, although I was disappointed they didn't have bologna.

“You are imagining things,” Sod said, snacking on apple slices.

“Right, is everything alright?”

She let out a deep sigh.

“I'm just frustrated that I lost.”

“Hey, even the mighty fall. Like Lucifer, right? So do you care to explain what that situation was like?”

“Not now, Mortal.” Sod held her head now and again, as if it were bothering her.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I want to lie down.”

Already heading to the bedroom, I see. 

I was feeling lucky tonight, so I asked about rooming accommodations after I couldn’t find the exit. The doorman from earlier showed us to an elevator, which took us to our rooms. Since the room was free, I wasn’t going to complain, but it did smell like baby powder and peanut butter, for some reason. The bathroom contained diapers, and the mini-bar was loaded with a variety of expensive-looking apple juices.

Sod quickly collapsed on the bed, shielding her eyes from the light.

“Do you need anything?”

She silently shook her head and fell asleep rather quickly. So I sat alone in the room. I wasn’t tired yet, so I practiced my card counting while I was alone. I eventually discovered that all the apple juices were alcoholic, and well, I partied by myself. At some point, I passed out and don’t really remember when.
I woke up the following morning on the floor because I respect women, and it is utterly imperative that the world is aware of this fact. But Sod wasn’t in bed, nor was she anywhere within our room. It was nice that they had accommodations in this log cabin, but I was sort of hoping that they’d have more than one bed, but apparently that’s too much to ask for.

As I made my way to the elevator, I thought about how grateful I am for these experiences. I mean, my scamming of the federal loan system, leading me to Jayco, and actually traveling is genuinely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Coupled with the fact that I have a hot babe with me, only makes the situation all the more enjoyable. Despite not actually having a genuine romantic relationship with them. I will wear Sod down, I swear to God. 

But with all the things I’ve seen, I can’t help but wonder, “Why me?” I’ve never been special. I’m a college dropout who found that my major wasn’t actually what I wanted to do a lot quicker than most college dropouts. These scenarios I keep finding myself in are terrifying in an existential way, not a “big scary monster” kind of way. Although I did get eaten that one time. Speaking of eating, I was ready to get some breakfast. 

When I reached the lobby, I took a brief scan for Sod, but didn’t find her. You think the only grown woman in this casino would stick out like mustard on a bologna sandwich, but you’d be wrong. I just made my way to the restaurant and ordered some eggs, which were fair. I mean, the chef was literally three years old, so I couldn’t really blame the kid.

Today, my goal was to search around the casino for anything that could be related to the heart and, subsequently, get the fuck out of here. I mean, in terms of the places Sod and I have been, this is a step up for sure, but I don’t know if gambling for all eternity is on my bucket list.

I walked the floor for quite some time. Gambling wasn’t exclusive to typical casino games. Various people were betting on chess, Connect 4, and even some people were playing Monopoly. After searching a bit more, I eventually discovered a hallway that led to a sporting arena. Toddlers and babies playing full-contact football. Children within the stadium awkwardly held a smartphone as they placed bets.

After exploring for quite a bit, I decided not to gamble, mostly because my head kind of hurt from last night's drinking binge, and I wanted to gamble with Sod whenever I found her. 

“Mortal!”

I heard Sod’s voice, if not higher-pitched. I looked around and couldn’t see her. I decided to keep walking whenever I felt a tug at my dress pants. There was a child who could have resembled Sod, if not being much smaller and somehow angrier looking.

“I don’t have any candy, get away from me,” I said to the tiny Sod impersonator.

“Mortal! It’s me! This place has turned me infantile!”

She yelled, clearly upset, but now that I knew this child, I basically had their consent to pick them up.

“Oh, look at you, Sod! You’re so cute, look at your little clothes! Who's a big girl, you are!” I tossed her in the air a few times and caught her. She did not seem pleased by these events.

“I will fucking kill you.”

I gently placed her back on the ground, remembering what she claims to be and that this transformation may not be permanent.

“Sorry, yeah. Got excited for a moment. Um, what the fuck happened?”

Sod’s cheeks turned a rosy red, and her eyes formed a watery glaze. 

“Well… you see. I sort of got up early to try and find the heart.”

“Uh huh.”

“Then um… I had a sort of desire to play some games.”

“I see.”

“But I started losing, and by the time I realized what had happened.” She looked down at herself. “I turned into this.”

“So, like this is a Boss Baby situation?”

“A what?” Sod shook her tiny head. “Listen, Mortal.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you are not, you keep pinching my cheeks!”

“Sod, I know you aren’t familiar with like human culture or whatever. But this is kind of like when you see your partner's baby pictures! It’s a big deal, and you are just so adorable.”

Tiny Sod looked like she wanted to kill me, but we both knew she was incapable at the moment.

“Please tell me you’ve found the heart.”

“Ah, I kind of gave up after like twenty minutes.”

She fell to the floor and started crying, which started a chain reaction, and a whole section of the casino started to wail. I picked Sod up and patted her back. She was now wearing a flowery onesie, probably provided by the staff. 

“It’s okay, Sod. We’ll find the heart and fix you up.”

I wished I believed those words. With how massive this casino was, I didn’t know if I would find anything other than more unique ways to gamble.

I held Sod, who was probably around a year and a half old. Her hair was curly, and her disappointment was even more obvious on her baby face. But we searched up and down for a heart or anything that could be perceived as one, but did not find anything. We retired for the night and, for once, I got to sleep in the same bed as Sod. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the intimate experience I was hoping for.

“Mortal.”

I hazily opened my eyes, and Sod was standing above me on the bed.

“Huh? Yeah, what do you want?”

“I have defecated my diaper.”

I shot up, immediately sobered by this confession. 

“You’re kidding.”

“I have tried changing myself, but I lack the dexterity.”

I groaned, and there were diapers in the room already, probably because every person here was a god-damned baby. I changed Sod on the counter, and now I think our relationship has evolved to the point of no return. I was really hoping to see Sod naked, but not like this. I don’t know if I will ever look at her the same again. Also, I’ve never changed a diaper before, but I think I did an okay job. Sod seemed happy with my work by the fact that she didn’t wish death upon me when I finished changing her.

“You owe me.”

“I know, Mortal.”

This confession surprised me. I expected her to have some sort of witty comeback, but she just looked dejected and ready to leave.

“We’ll find the heart in no time, Sod! Don’t you worry. As you know, I am very reliable. I suspect we won’t be here for more than a couple of hours!”

Unfortunately, I learned very quickly that you were gambling with time. Once you had gambled long enough and lost, you became nothing. I’ve watched hundreds of children turn to dust at this point, and I can’t help but wonder if escape is even possible. Until this morning, when the mark on my face burned like never before. I was already aware of the unpleasant feeling the mark was giving me, but this was something else. Luckily, traveling was much easier whenever I was able to obtain a baby sling.

She’ll never leave my side now.

“Mortal, you've been wearing a particularly pained expression today.”

I scratched at my face, trying to ease some of the discomfort. 

“It's this damn marking! It won't stop burning.”

“Burning? That's odd. Has it always done that?”

“Every now and again.”

“And when were you going to bring this up?”

“Well, I just did.”

Sod gave me her now, baby, deadpan look.

“You do realize we are in His domain, yes?”

“Uh huh?”

“And that if that marking on your face is doing something it usually doesn't, that could mean something important.”

“Yeah?”

“So did you not find it imperative to make me aware of this?”

“I did let you know. Just now.”

“I might actually kill you, Mortal.”

“I'd love to see you try.”

I pinched her cheeks again, and Sod knew better than to test me while she was a child. I had no clue what the burning meant, but I did notice, depending on the direction I followed, the pain would grow in intensity.

Sod convinced me not to avoid the pain, but follow it. Eventually it led us into to a darker section of the casino. We had to go through a labyrinth of hallways and abandoned machinery to find it. Wherever we now were was mostly abandoned. There were scuffed gambling tables and broken, old-timey slot machines. There was the occasional flickering light, and it smelled of cigarette smoke.

“I never noticed this place,” I said.

“If your head wasn't so far up your own ass, then—”

“I will throw you, Sod.”

“Please don't, it makes me nauseous. You don't want to clean up my vomit again, do you?”

“I'll pass.”

The mark on my face was now scorching. It felt as though I had the worst sunburn of my life. I gritted my teeth and pressed forward until the pain suddenly ceased. I touched my face, and my heart began to race.

I felt a presence I had felt once before. A firm hand gripped my shoulder, and a voice spoke to me in the darkness. It was The Man With Many Faces.

“Harvey, would you like to play a game?”

Sod grabbed onto the baby sling. I felt like Sod didn't get nervous often, but her fear was contagious. The Man With Many Faces towered over me, smoking a cigarette. He wore a trench coat and a detective’s cap. Stubble dotted his face. He flashed a smirk at me.

“Are you going to answer or not?”

I didn’t respond.

He continued in his arrogant tone.

“Oh, Alexandria? Is that you? I could hardly recognize you. I thought you knew better than to gamble.”

Even Sod didn’t say anything at this remark. Just who was this man in front of me, and what did he want with us?

“Harvey. I know you can hear me. I will ask one more time. Do you want to play a game?”

What could a game even entail? Would I get to choose the game? Would I even be able to win? What happens if I lose?

“I…”

“Oh, it can speak. Go on, Harvey. What do you want to do?”

Sod grabbed my shirt and then looked up at me. She was still a baby, and right now, I wish she had her magic devil powers to get me the fuck out of this situation.

“What am I playing for?”

The Man With Many Faces wagged his finger.

“Play first. Prize later.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

His smirk widened. He took the cigarette from his mouth and pushed the charred end to the mark on my face. It didn’t hurt. He leaned in close.

“You don’t want to do that.”

I swallowed, trying to compose myself.

“I’ll play…”

“Perfect!” His demeanor changed in an instant. It seemed to me that this wasn’t something that happened often, and he’s been waiting for this moment.

A light illuminated in the distance as the casino went dark. I heard gasps and yells from those who were playing the games, but apparently, this was more important, whatever it was. I slowly walked to the only thing I could see. When I reached the illuminated object, it was just a simple table. It was scratched and heavily used, but nothing was on its surface, and there wasn’t even a chair for me to sit in.

The Man With Many Faces slowly walked to the other end of the table. We stared at each other across the way. He never blinked.

“Listen here, Harvey. I know you like games, so I’m giving you an opportunity. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, in fact.”

Just then, I heard a little voice come from below.

“Don’t fall for his tricks.”

Tricks? What kind of tricks?

“Okay…” I said. It was hard to even look in the same direction as him without feeling uncomfortable. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I tried to steady my breathing, but it was pointless.

“Remember when we spoke earlier, and you told me that you wanted to see your friend more than anything? Well, here he is!”

A stagelight illuminated a man in the distance. His hair was long and black. The lighting was dramatic, like he was a solo performer in a play. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was Joseph.

“What is the point of this?”

“It’s funny how you are only asking that question now.”

Joseph stood idly, not approaching. I wondered if it was actually him or just my imagination.

“When your dear friend reaches this table. You win. That is all.”

I looked over to Joseph; he couldn’t have been a hundred feet away. From what I could see, his path was straight and unimpeded. 

“That’s it?”

The Man With Many Faces nodded.

“What do I win?”

“Well, you get to see your friend again! Isn’t that what you wanted?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, but I forgot to mention something. Something very important.”

Tall, shadowy figures walked from the darkness and started placing shot glasses on the table until the wood beneath the surface wasn’t visible. I’m not the best at counting, but it appeared to be over a hundred shots on the table.

“For every shot you take, Joseph will get closer! It's that easy!”

There were too many shot glasses to even count.  No one could consume this alcohol and live. This was suicide. I looked at The Man With Many Faces, and he eagerly awaited my response.

“Can't we do like a hot dog eating contest or something?”

He shook his head.

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

I knew exactly what he was referring to. I felt guilt build in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to do this. There were a thousand things I’d rather do than this.

“I'll do anything else…”

My voice was so small. I've never felt less confident about anything in my life. It was like I was a different person.

The Man With Many Faces narrowed his eyes.

“What was that?”

“I won't do this!”

The Man With Many Faces appeared lost in thought for a moment. Then he clapped his hands, and the shadowy figures returned. They quickly collected all of the shot glasses. I felt relief as the final drink was collected.

“Okay! Since that task isn't to your enjoyment, maybe we both can win.”

The light that illuminated Joseph was suddenly closer as Joseph was pulled across the casino and brought right to the table. He was mere feet from where I stood. My dearest friend. His long hair blocked his face, but he was frowning, and he wasn't happy to see me. And something was off about him. His chest seemed to be expanding unnaturally.

“Alright, Harvey. Since you didn't like the first game, how about this?” The Man With Many Faces reached behind his ear and manifested the very blade Sod and I have been using all this time. The blade slithered in his hands, and he extended the dagger to me. “Kill him again, Harvey.”

I stared at the blade. Its movements were hypnotizing. But I couldn't hurt Joseph, not again. I was the worst friend a person could have. I couldn't go through with this. 

But before I rejected the offer, Sod pointed something out to me.

“The heart is inside Joseph, Mortal! He is just a specter. If you go through with this, we can get out of here!”

I instinctively looked to The Man With Many Faces for confirmation, and he slowly nodded. An eager smile painted his face.

I looked to him, to the blade, to Joseph many times. Joseph never reacted to anything; it was like he was a puppet or a zombie or something. I just wanted to hear his voice. I just wanted him to say he was going to be okay. But he never spoke.

With cautious movements, I grabbed the blade. Its hilt was excruciating in my palm. Joseph stood silently as I walked around the table and up to him. Up close, I could hear the exaggerated thump of his chest. A faint red glow peered through his shirt. I knew the heart was inside of Joseph. I knew what needed to be done. 

As I passively stood, I saw a shadow creep up behind Joseph. It was The Man With Many Faces. He towered over him, looking directly at me. Waiting for it to happen. Waiting for me to kill my friend.

I raised the weapon slowly. It felt like the whole casino was watching me. I angled the dagger towards Joseph's heart. I wanted to make this quick, but my body wouldn’t let me. The fact that Joseph just stared at the ground made this ten times harder. It's like he didn't care what happened to him. But I cared. I didn’t want to do this.

The tip of the dagger reached his shirt, and I pressed into him; a slight indent formed, but did not penetrate the skin.

“Oh, come on, Harvey. You have to really want it.”

A malicious smile crossed His face. The Man With Many Faces enjoyed this. He wanted me to suffer. He wanted me to hurt my friend.

With both hands, I pressed harder, but the blade didn't budge. Joseph then grabbed the blade itself as if being startled awake, and he wanted to stop me. But his words were the opposite.

“Kill me, Harv. Kill me.”

My jaw was iron. 

“I won't do it, Joseph.” He then took a step forward. I heard the blade penetrate his skin, and he let out a grunt. “Stop, Joseph!” Another step, and now half of the blade was in his chest. “Please! I'm sorry!”

A final step, and the entire blade disappeared inside Joseph’s chest. The hilt stuck out, and I tried to step back, but I was frozen. I could hear the blade moving inside of him, tearing up his insides. He collapsed forward, coughing blood onto my body. His head rested on my shoulder, and he trembled as he whispered.

“I can't stop, Harvey.”

A burst of red light enveloped me. I wanted this to be the end of everything, but I knew this wasn't the end. There was still so much more to do. I then thought of every day Joseph wouldn't get.

And I wept.

The red faded, and Sod was back to her beautiful, not baby form. The Man With Many Faces looked pleased.

“Only two more, Harvey. I'll be waiting.”

The next thing I knew, Sod and I were in a parking lot somewhere in Las Vegas. In my hands was a single playing card. It was a king face card, but instead of the normal depiction we're all familiar with, it was The Man With Many Faces. A wicked smile crossed his face. The eyes on the card followed my movements.

I looked to Sod, who was wearing the clothing she had worn prior to entering that dimension. Jayco wasn't far from us. All I wanted to do was lie down.

Sod and I didn't speak of the events for several days. When we did speak about it, nothing came of it. Both of us had many questions, but neither of us wanted to answer them. 

One day, on our way to California, I answered a question she had about my friend Joseph.

“He was my best friend.”

Sod stopped staring out the window and looked at me.

“Hmm? What did you say, Mortal?”

“Joseph, he was my best friend. I…”

The words caught in my throat, turns out, it's a lot easier to bury your past than to confront it. Who knew?

“You say ‘was’ as if you are no longer acquainted.”

I shook my head.

“I got him killed.”

Sod was silent for a moment. I couldn't tell if she cared or not.

“How?”

“We were drinking one night. We were both in college, and we were roommates, actually. Kind of like how we are.”

“So he resented you just as I do?”

I stifled a laugh, and Sod smiled. 

“No, we did everything together. As I said, we were drinking, and we challenged each other to see who could drink more. I pushed him to his limits. I knew drinking and driving was bad, but like… we were so close to the dorm.”

Sod didn't say anything. I knew she understood.

“And I may have also had sex with the girl he liked as well. And his sister.”

“You sound like an awful friend.”

She was blunt, but she was right.

“I was.”

“Is that why he keeps showing up in His dimensions?”

I shrugged.

“Interesting tale, Mortal. I thought you were just an idiot, but there is more to you than I was aware.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

I stared at the road ahead of me. I knew we had a way to go before we reached our destination. Thanks to Sod's amazing gambling efforts, we had a fair bit of money to our name. And I figured if I was going to die chasing these hearts or The Man With Many Faces, I was going to do something that I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid.

Go to mother fucking Disneyland.

I have trouble sleeping. I have since I started living with my Uncle after my dad got a divorce and killed my mom, along with himself. A notorious would-be family killer, if I weren’t at a friend’s house that night. That is, if the police interviews knew what they were talking about, apparently, a note was left on his body, asking God for forgiveness. 

His brother, my uncle, took me in after. A heartwarming gesture, only if Uncle Tommy wasn’t a violent alcoholic with more neurological issues than I care to list here.

You can do the math.

Six years of living with him wasn’t the worst experience one could imagine. He was a narcissist, through and through. I’m still dealing with the trauma of living with him. I love how he told me that I should be grateful for his “sacrifice”. I’ve developed weird habits because of that man, and things only got really bad as I approached adulthood. He’d say, “You’re aging so nicely,” as he’d run his fingers through my hair.

That should illustrate my situation perfectly. I don't enjoy being overly gruesome and dark. But sometimes reality is reality, burying it will do no good. I'm also very particular, and I notice things most people wouldn't pick up on. So believe me when I say that I know my cat is getting heavier.

Because of Uncle Tommy, I can count the footsteps in a darkened home. Where bare feet slightly cling to the monolium or the sound of sweaty socks sticking to the floor as a towering figure stumbles drunkenly. Or keys. The jingling of keys always spikes my anxiety, but not a lot of keys like twenty. Not a few like three, but six. The sound of six keys haunts me.

I've now escaped Uncle Tommy, and I live with a coworker. He's okay. We definitely wouldn't be friends if we didn't happen to work on the same assembly line every couple of days. After explaining my situation, he’s been letting me rent out a room.

One day, when we were working at the warehouse. I recognized all the noises around me. The humming of the machine as the rollers push packaged goods down an entryway. The scanning of machines verifies the package's destination and ensures that it is being processed properly. All of this was normal and relatively easy to tune out. What wasn't normal was a high-pitched whining.

The whining was infrequent, but it was often enough that I thought maybe a roller was loose or a bolt somewhere was coming undone. Earlier in the shift, a return package was flagged for an error due to an inconsistent weight of the original item. I placed it in a bin nearby with the rest of the rejects. When I finally dropped off the bin to see what the error was, I noticed a box had several holes in it. Small holes, as if the box was punctured with a pen or something. 

The high-pitched whining was coming from inside the box.

I tore it open right away. Bile crawled in my throat as I stared at its contents. What sick mother fucker ships a cat as a fucking return? She couldn't have been older than a few weeks. Their weak “mews” broke my heart. All I wanted to do was protect her.

I cradled her in my arms as I flagged for an emergency. My supervisor came over with his prominent waddle. 

“Why are you behind on those—” He saw the tiny black cat in my arms. “Why do you have that?”

“Some sick asshole sent him as a return.”

For once, Mike was at a loss for words.

“What do you think we should do with it?”

“That's why I called you over here. I don't know what to do.”

I cradled the tiny black cat in my arms. It was barely bigger than one of my hands. It looked weak, and I figured anywhere was better than here for the kitten.

Mike looked me up and down and said, “Well, it's just a cat. Toss it outside or something.”

You know that rush of emotion that’s overwhelming? When you want to say everything but also nothing? I felt a rage that I’m sure only leads to murder. In this moment, I did the only responsible thing and walked away. Mike shouted after me, but it didn't matter what he said. I had to help this kitten, and I didn't care if it cost me my job.

A vet wasn't actually too far from where I was, and when I explained that I work at a warehouse nearby and I found the cat in a return box, the veterinarians were appalled and didn't even charge me. The cat was extremely weak. The vets held them overnight after some shots and check-ups. However, they did ask one question that caused me to pause.

“So what are you going to name her?”

I thought for a moment, but it seemed obvious, and a name came to me like lightning.

“Boxes.”

So that's how I got this fat sack of shit. She's my sweetie pie, and she always cuddles up on my chest, making it obscenely difficult to breathe.

Derrick, the coworker who's letting me stay with him, didn't even mind the pet. Buuuuuut we can't let his landlord know. Also, the landlord can't know that I live there either, but that's neither here nor there. 

I also didn't lose my job. Was I bitched at? Yeah, but what soulless mother fucker ships a mother fucking nine-week-old kitten when it was supposed to be a blender? God, I hate humans sometimes.

As I mentioned earlier, because of Uncle Tommy and a couple of bad nights with my parents, I'm very cautious when it comes to nighttime. I never sleep easily, and the slightest noise will startle me awake. Some of this tension has been alleviated due to Boxes finding the most comfortable spot in the entire world, being my upper chest, right under my chin. Whenever Boxes sleeps there and purrs or snores (Yes, she snores. She sounds like an asthmatic truck driver), I suddenly have trouble waking up once I do fall asleep, thanks to Boxes. Whether that's due to cat dander or to an undiscovered allergy, I will not bother finding out.

But two weeks ago was when the first odd occurrence began. I started my usual routine. Make sure my door is locked. Lights off. Covers on. Wait for Boxes. Boxes shows up. Curls on my chest. Pass out.

And Derrick isn't like a pervert or anything. He's made one attempt at sleeping with me, but he was drunk and won't make that mistake again. So I knew he wasn't trying to creep on me. 

But I had trouble sleeping that night, despite Boxes sounding like they needed a CPAP (I'll get that checked out at some point). It was footsteps on carpeted flooring. I've taken the time to memorize Derrick's walking pattern. He steps, then shuffles. Sometimes he gets confused and will retrace himself, so it's very inconsistent, almost random. But these steps weren't Derrick's. They came in twos, leaving a soft thud in a constant rhythm that was eerily familiar. I couldn't place it at first, but then I knew. It was exactly how my Uncle walked. 

My heart sank as I instinctively reached for the switchblade I hid under my pillow. Boxes protested as they meowed, before trying to get comfortable again during my panicked frenzy. 

“Not now, dammit!” I whisper-shouted to Boxes, who couldn't have cared less about the terror I felt.

I wondered if my Uncle had found me after all these months. I left the instant I turned eighteen. I'd been working for only three weeks before I got out of that place, and my departure wasn't exactly… mutually acceptable.

I held my breath as the footsteps continued outside my door. They were barely perceptible, but I could hear them. Whoever was walking just beyond my door was stepping back and forth like they wanted to enter the room, but couldn’t. It was exactly like how my Uncle did when I started locking my door at night. A soft knock on the door would happen now and again, then a dragging, like a hard item was sliding across the door's surface.

I listened until I couldn't listen for another second. Eventually, the snores of Boxes cured my mania, and I passed out from exhaustion. I convinced myself the following morning I'd been imagining things and that nothing was there, or maybe Derrick had a friend over who likes to sleepwalk right in front of my door for hours.

Not exactly a concrete theory, but I'm working out the kinks. That concrete theory immediately turned to Play-Doh whenever I confronted Derrick if a girl was over or something, and he only replied with, “I wish.”

I know I'm being unreasonable in my paranormal, or maybe not paranormal, assumptions. My suspicions were more or less confirmed whenever the following day nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and I was convinced my paranoid delusions were just that. Paranoid delusions. I mean, what are the odds my Uncle found where I lived and just walked back and forth in front of my room for several hours? It sounds ridiculous. I refuse to humor such blatant mania.

Life continued as usual: go to work, come home, doomscroll, go to bed. Until last week, a loud bang in the middle of the night startled me awake. Not like a gunshot bang, but like someone hit the ground hard. Like they hit their head first, then their body followed shortly after. Boxes was only startled when I was. She hopped off and found a comfortable spot elsewhere shortly after.

Meanwhile, it felt as though my heart was going to explode out of my chest. 

“Glad nothing bothers you, Boxes.”

I sleep with a nightlight. I didn't always sleep with a nightlight until, on more than one occasion, I found my Uncle sitting in the corner of my room in utter blackness. He didn't know I could see him, but I could. He was breathing erratically, like someone was choking him. I don't know if he ever knew what I saw at nighttime. I told him I was just afraid of the dark, but really, I knew it was because he watched me while I slept. After the nightlight, he didn't come into my room anymore, at least not that I noticed. So yes, I have to sleep with a nightlight. It helps me feel a crumb of security.

I stared at my door for a while, hoping that I was just imagining that “thudding” noise. Right when I closed my eyes to sleep again, I heard it. A double thud in quick succession. Louder this time. 

“Derrick?”

No response. I looked to Boxes, who I hoped would be a normal cat for once in her life and freak out at a loud noise, but she slept peacefully beside me. Their fur was soft under my fingers as I tried to calm myself by petting them. I looked to the nightlight and felt its dim lighting radiate a warmth and a comfort I desperately needed right now. 

Thud-thud.

The noise was near thunderous. It was right behind me. My eyes shifted to the door, which wasn't far from my little beacon of hope. The door was now ajar.

I wanted nothing more than to get up and scream. But it was in this moment that I wondered if I looked at the thing, if it would make it real. The air suddenly felt stale, like a hot and humid day. I buried myself beneath the covers and prayed to a god I didn't believe in. I felt the bed slowly indent from the weight of Boxes exploring my body. But something was odd; it definitely felt like a cat, but the pressure was more than I was familiar with. I wondered if whatever was on me could hear my teeth chattering. I began to hear a soft wheezing right beside my head. I did not leave from under the covers that night. 

When morning arrived, my door was now shut and locked as it had always been. I wanted to confront Derrick about the situation, but couldn't find the correct words that didn't make him sound like a creep or have him question my sanity.

The strangest detail from that night's events was the fact that I never heard any footsteps, just two thuds like a body dropping. There is no fathomable way in which I can rationalize that situation, so I didn't. I simply asked my roommate casual questions about his last night's whereabouts.

“Soooooo what did you do last night?”

Derrick leaned against the kitchen counter as the vacant look in his eyes showed a hint of consciousness.

“Cass, I was… uh… playing games… and a little exercising.”

He seemed cagey, so I pressed further. 

“What kind of exercises?”

“Yeah, like. Private exercises?”

This not only had me curious, but suspicious. 

“Like, did you have a trainer over and you were banging a drum or something? What are you doing?”

He blushed slightly.

“Just… ya know. The thing guys do.”

“Like dropping heavy weights on the floor?”

With this question, his surprise was evident.

“What? No.” Derrick looked relieved. “I thought you could hear me chasing the chicken if you know what I mean. I have a weird ritual ever since I met a Romanian girl last September, where—”

I held up my hand. I didn't need to know any further details.

“No like… You didn't hear a loud thud last night?”

He shook his head. 

“No…?”

An awkward silence filled the room as Derrick had revealed a little too much about himself.

“Well, I’m going to get ready for work.”

“Uh… Need a lift?”

I shook my head.

Although this living situation is much preferable to that of living with Uncle Tommy, if these strange events keep occurring, I will just have to take Boxes and find somewhere else to live. I trust Derrick, I think. He’s like a dude-bro, kind of, but he isn’t rude, and he respects my privacy. Plus, renting a room for $100 a month is unheard of. I just don’t know why these events started happening, and what the heck is causing them.

During my shift, I could feel Mike wandering in my area more often than I liked. I could hear his set of keys. He only had three, so this wasn’t an implicit sign of danger to my brain that would send off warning signals. I’d always hear Mike before I could see him. He just seemed to pace by my station every couple of hours as if he wanted to talk with me, not like he was actually supervising my work.

It’s annoying enough that they installed virtually a billion cameras to watch every move you make, but I prefer my supervisors in their shitty little office to on the floor with the rest of the people just trying to get through this mind-numbing work. I nearly confronted Mike after the eighth time I caught him pacing by my station, but after that, I didn’t see him for the rest of my shift.

God, I hate that asshole. I can’t believe he wanted me to just get rid of Boxes like he was nothing. I know a job is technically important, but at some point, we have to change our priorities when the situation requires. Mike was probably going to rub it in my face that I got a strike on my record, but figured he didn’t want to push his own luck, now being known as the guy who would let a kitten die.

After my eight-hour shift, I collapsed on my bed, and nothing happened for a few nights. I was convinced that the situation was over and that I was having a nightmare or something, as I often did.

But two nights ago, I fell asleep without issue, until I heard two people talking to each other. My initial assumption was that Derrick took another girl home from Bumble. But it was almost like someone was pleading. I looked towards my nightlight and expected Boxes to be on my chest or by my side or something. But she was neither. She was occasionally pawing at the sliding closet door.

“Boxes, come back here!” 

But the black cat just kept pawing at the closet door, where her food is stashed.

“You hungry? What's wrong?”

She kept pawing at the sliding door. It'd rattle with a slight intensity, as if a dog were ramming into it. That confused me, but I took it as a sign of Boxes’ desperation.

I groaned and got out from under the covers and went to close the closet door, since it was open slightly. When I approached the door, my blood turned to ice. I could hear my father’s voice inside the closet. I looked to Boxes, who was just staring up at me. I got as close as I could to the door and pressed my ear up against it. Two distinct voices I knew to be both my mother and my father were arguing.

“You can’t be here.”

“Honey, please. We can work this out.”

“You got caught, Steven. You played with my heart and our family, and you lost. I hope it was worth it. Don’t make me call the police.”

There was an intense silence. It sounded like my dad was confronting my mom about the divorce.

“I love you.” It sounded like my father’s voice.

Another long silence followed. Then I heard rustling followed by a click.

“Steven, are you serious? Put the gun down, you can—”

“Where’s Cassandra?”

“She’s not here.”

“Where’s Cassandra!”

“Fuck you!”

A deafening bang filled my ears. I stumbled backwards. My hand covered my mouth. I hadn’t heard their voices in so long, and this is when I hear them? A second, slightly less audible gunshot followed the first one. I was confused. But my dad asked where I was. Then it dawned on me. This must’ve been my mother and father’s last interaction, before he killed her, then himself.

I fell to the floor, landing on my back, then cried. Boxes walked over and trilled, then found her usual spot just above my chest, and by my neck. I could feel their purrs in my throat. For once, this was actually uncomfortable. Boxes has definitely been gaining weight. But they still looked to be the same size. I mean, they have a little sway in the belly, but I heard that’s normal for cats. The lump in my throat disappeared as I now struggled to breathe. I let out a choked compliment.

“Thanks, Boxes.”

This event was the most disturbing so far. I’m usually not that creative. My nightmares are usually just a balding man chasing me around with a belt or a knife or something. But these dreams were vivid, almost too real. I can’t imagine my mother reacting like that. She wasn’t confrontational, but for her to stand up for me… I just couldn’t see it. Maybe I can’t imagine her like I used to.

The following morning, I went to confront Derrick, but he confronted me first.

“Yo, Caddy. I need to talk to you.”

I sighed. He always seemed to have a new nickname for me every time we interacted.

“Yes?”

“I know, like, we ain’t supposed to have a cat in here. But I thought you said he’d always stay in your room?”

“She, and yes. My door is always closed.”

He didn’t seem upset, just confused.

“Yeah, well, last night, Boxes was in my room during my special exercise time and like, wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, it was late though.”

I guess what happened last night was a nightmare, then, and didn’t actually happen. It just feels so real.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

“I mean, like I don’t mind or nothin’, just like, if he’s found wandering—”

“She.”

He conked his head with his fist, clearly trying to store Boxes’ gender within his brain bank somewhere.

“If she’s found wandering about, they might kick us out… so…”

“Won’t happen again,” I repeated. “By the way. Did you hear anything strange last night?”

He shook his head, then looked concerned.

“Did you hear anything strange last night?”

I pondered for a brief moment if I should confront him about my nightmare about my parents, but I just don’t think he cares, honestly.

“Nah. Nothing to worry about.”

“A’ight. And what you feeding her,” he emphasized. “Little rascal weighs a ton.”

I laughed.

“She's not that heavy, Derrick.”

He smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. You need a lift today?”

“No. Thanks, though, Derrick.”

“You got it, Splash.”

God, I hate these fucking nicknames. 

When I got to work, Mike was pacing outside my workstation again. I must’ve been sleep deprived because it almost looked like he was worried about something. Probably something about how a quota isn’t being met, and he’s getting his ass chewed out for it. But he’s never had any problems bitching at me in the past to “work faster”. After I caught him pacing by my station the sixth time, I finally asked what the fuck he wanted.

“Mike, is something wrong?”

He was biting his lips and didn’t make eye contact with me.

“How's that little rat you found in the box?”

I normally tolerated Mike, but today just wasn't the day. I hadn't been sleeping well, and if he was going to be stalking me in front of a hundred cameras, I was going to at least see what the reason was, or I was definitely going to report him. God, I hope he isn’t checking me out.

“Surprised you cared or remembered.”

Mike did not take this sarcastic compliment in stride. He wore his trademark smug smile, as if being middle management is the peak of self-actualization. 

“Oh yeah, I actually cared about that little… black… whatever it was.”

I see he’s trying to fix his reputation as the “cat killer”.

“A kitten. It was a kitten, Mike.”

“Right, well, I forgot to tell you, but this was included in the return box. I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

He handed me a folded, lined sheet of paper and quickly walked off. I nearly discarded it instantly, but something was gnawing away at me. Why would he keep this note? Why would someone leave a cat in a box, then also leave a note? 

“Sorry, I’m a psychopathic animal abuser. Take this cat!” I sarcastically said to myself, imagining what the note read. I leaned up against my workstation and stared at the note now and again, working up the courage to open it.

What would it matter if I opened it anyway? Oh God, what if it’s a confession of his feelings for me? Nothing Mike has to say I care to hear anyway, and he won't change how I feel. I didn't open it, but I did take it home at the end of my shift. I followed my normal routine, even doing an abnormal thing, having dinner with Derrick.

“Sup, ‘Sandra.”

“Hello, Derrick.”

He plopped a bag of Chipotle on the kitchen table. It was one of those particleboard flimsy things you can buy at Walmart, but it was better than nothing.

“‘Bout to tear this up! Did you know the little green leaves are called Cilantro?” 

“...Yes. They advertise it everywhere.”

“Yo? For real? Dang, I like these little green fuckers.”

“Alright, Derrick.” I went to the fridge and took out one of my Lunchables, the pizza-flavored one. I sat back down at the table and eyed Derrick with intense judgment. “Why is there one less Lunchable in the fridge?”

I expected him to show some sign of remorse or maybe embarrassment, but it was neither; he just seemed perplexed.

“Wasn't, me C-Dawg.” I hate when he calls me that, probably in my top fifteen least favorite nicknames he has for me. “Not after last time when you flipped your shit at me. Derrick's learned his lesson.”

I eyed him suspiciously, but thought nothing of it. Whenever he’s nervous, I notice he’ll refer to himself in the third person. I haven't been getting enough sleep lately, so I may have forgotten.

“I must be mistaken then.”

“Oh.” He put down his burrito, and its contents spilled all over the wrapper. “Did you write that letter by the door?”

“Letter by the door? Oh, yeah, no. Asshole Mike gave it to me, said it was in the return package I found Boxes in.”

Derrick looked extremely unsettled. 

“You read it yet?”

I didn't want to seem weird or continue this conversation for longer than necessary, so I just nervously laughed.

 “I'm sure it's some prank by Mike, I wouldn't take it seriously.”

Derrick seemed to be relieved by that. 

“Well, I'm glad you feel that way, anyway, imma game wit’ da boys tonight.”

“As always, Derrick.”

With that, our conversation ended, and my curiosity had mounted even further about this piece of paper. But I was certain whatever it was was just a sick prank. I took the note and went to my part of the apartment. 

When I entered my room, Boxes greeted me, as usual. I went to pet them and noticed something coating their fur. It was small and brown. I guess it was dirt? But it couldn’t be dirt because Boxes stays in my room all day. Unless Derrick is letting her outside while I’m at work? I don’t know why he’d do that.

By the time I entered my room and saw my beloved cat, my interest in the note and what it could say had faded. I watched a movie on my phone, and Boxes was next to me the entire time. She even got wet food tonight for keeping me such good company. I know Boxes undoubtedly suffered for quite some time, but I was glad I found them. I’m glad we found each other.

All was normal for quite a while, until I was startled by Boxes' wheezing. She was right by my head, and the wheezing was way louder than normal. When I opened my eyes, there was no Boxes. Then I noticed my nightlight wasn’t on. I swallowed hard as I felt around for my cat, but I was alone. That was until I saw a figure standing at the end of my bed. Its outline was thin and emaciated. Its chest rose almost in an exaggerated manner, then it exhaled. Its head was ivory white. Amber eyes filled the darkness.

I couldn’t move. I just stared at the thing. With each breath, the wheezing intensified, followed by a gurgling coming from deep within. 

Then it spoke to me.

“You’re aging so nicely.”

Its words were animalistic, a pure imitation of a human's tongue. But the tone and cadence were unforgettable. It was the voice of my Uncle, if not butchered and chopped, like that thing was mimicking him. I sat isolated. It didn’t move, so neither did I. I just watched as its chest rose and fell. I made an attempt to get up, but then it growled at me. When I lay back down, the wheezing softened. Then I felt little indents pressing up the bed, like cat paws. It got closer and closer until it was on top of me. 

I cowered under the covers. It kept crawling up on me until it reached my upper chest, just below my neck. Its weight was crushing. After settling in, it purred, but it was more like a gurgle, full of phlegm. I peeked over the covers, and amber eyes stared directly at me. I stared for a moment. It didn’t break eye contact. It just kept gurgling. 

Whatever was on me certainly looked like Boxes, but it definitely wasn’t. I slowly covered myself again and tried to justify this situation as just another nightmare. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew that thing on my chest wasn’t my cat. But I was powerless to do anything. I just stared at the linen sheets as the gurgling slowly became the purrs I was familiar with. Sunlight finally penetrated my covers, and I left my bed.

“H-hey, Boxes.” 

I tried greeting my cat as if the events of last night weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t mask the shakiness in my voice. She did her normal cat stretch as I fed her the portion of Meow Mix, if not a little more than normal. She hurriedly awaited by the food bowl as I looked around the room for the sign of that thing from last night.

There was no way that was my cat; I’m just having nightmares. Really, freaking weird nightmares.

Then my eyes drifted to the plastic tote I used as a nightstand, and that note sat on it. I then remembered what Mike told me, that the note was in the package we found Boxes in. I looked to the black cat, who was happily eating their food, and grabbed the note like I was trying to steal from the cookie jar. I promptly left the room and went to the kitchen. I held the paper firmly in my hands and slowly unfolded it. The note was rather short, but its handwriting was neat.

This kitten was born out of a litter of six, and something is extremely wrong with it. I am an animal lover, and never imagined myself doing this, but there is no other way. I have to pass this demon onto someone else. She kept getting heavier and heavier, despite being of a normal size. I woke up in the middle of the night, and it tore my husband's throat open. It was eating him, yowling the entire time. I couldn't pry him from his corpse. Lord, forgive me, but I tried to kill it or get rid of it, but it would come back as a newborn, no matter how many times I tried. I don't know what else to do.

I am so sorry.