r/scarystories

The scent of sterilized linoleum and dying lilies was the first thing that Elias Thorne learned to hate.

Elias didn’t start out as a monster; he started out as a man with a heart too big for his ribs. As a trauma counselor in the city’s grittiest district, he spent his days absorbing the jagged shards of other people's broken lives.

He believed, with a naive and shining fervor, that no soul was beyond repair. He believed in the inherent light of humanity and in the steady hand of a watchful God.

The collapse began with the "Tenement Fire." Elias had been working with a family of five—bright-eyed children who drew him pictures of angels. When the building went up in flames, the exits had been chained shut by a landlord looking to save on insurance.

Elias stood behind the police tape, listening to the screams of the people he had promised to save. He watched the smoke turn from gray to a greasy, suffocating black.

When the screaming stopped, something in Elias’s mind audibly cracked. It sounded like dry tinder snapping in the wind.

He went to his church that night, seeking the "peace that passes understanding." Instead, he found the doors locked for renovation. He sat on the stone steps in the rain, whispering prayers into the dark. There was no answer—only the rhythmic dripping of water and the distant, mocking siren of an ambulance.

The tragedy didn't stop. Within a month, his wife left him, unable to bear the "hollow man" that he was becoming. Then came the diagnosis: a degenerative neurological condition that would slowly strip away his motor functions and his memory.

"Why?" he screamed at the ceiling of his empty apartment,

The silence that followed was heavy, wet, and final. Elias realized then that the universe wasn't cruel—it was indifferent, and to Elias, indifference was the ultimate sin.

He stopped eating. He stopped sleeping. He began to experiment with the "fringe" sciences he had once mocked—ancient rituals of self-mutilation and sensory deprivation designed to "peel back the veil." He wanted to find the God that had abandoned him and drag Him down into the mud.

His physical form began to warp under the pressure of his decaying mind. His skin grew grey and translucent, clinging to his bones like wet parchment. His fingers elongated, the nails sharpening into obsidian needles. His eyes, once warm and brown, recessed into his skull, leaving only glowing, amber embers that burned with the heat of the fire that took his hope.

He was no longer Elias. He was the manifestation of the Void—the thing that fills the gap when faith disappears.

He became Hono.

Hono does not hunt the strong, nor does he hunt the wicked. He hunts the hollow. He is drawn to the vibration of a heart that has given up.

 If you believe in yourself, he is invisible. If you believe in a higher power, he is a shadow in the corner of your eye; but if you look into the mirror and see nothing worth saving, Hono is already standing behind you.

His first victim was the landlord who had chained the doors. The man was found in a locked room, his body turned inside out, his face frozen in a mask of such absolute terror that the coroner quit the next day. 

The only thing that the neighbors heard before the end was a choked, guttural cry that sounded like a plea, a curse, and a name all at once:

"Hono!"

He moves through the city now, a tall, spindly distortion in the air. He feeds on those who give up. He drinks the tears of those who have stopped praying. To see him is to realize that you are already lost.

This was the dreaded birth of Hono, and he is just getting started.

The End.

Class was already hurting my head. 

Some girl I barely knew, Nora, leaned over my desk, whispering, “So, your bf is kinda freaky, huh?” 

“What do you mean, “freaky?” I whispered back, keeping my gaze glued to the Professor’s presentation. I was already in a shitty mood. My boyfriend wasn't answering his phone, and the last time I talked to him just so happened to be an argument over his lack of “spice”.

I felt guilty. He declined my offer of trying bondage, and I was drunk and sexually frustrated, and yelled at him. 

“You don't think it's working,” he'd said, hurt bleeding into his tone. “Because I don’t want to have wild sex with you every night?”

“No!” I kissed him, and he kissed back. He was a great kisser. Which made his lack of interest in intimacy that more frustrating. Alex was attractive. Kind. Everything I wanted in a man. I just wanted that little bit of more of him. “Well, yeah, it's annoying, but I want to be with you.”

He curled his lip, arms folded. “You know I'm not that kind of person.”

I shrugged. “Well, maybe lighten up a little!”

I regretted my words ten seconds after saying them. 

I'd texted him an apology, which he'd ignored. 

Nora leaned closer, her breath grazing my ear. “It was dark, so I couldn't see you, but don't think I didn't clock you two! The collar and leash? Babe, you were walking your man in the park and didn't think I'd see?” 

I almost choked on my response. “What are you talking about?” I hissed. 

My thoughts whirred, something inside me snapping in two.

I hadn't seen Alex for nearly a week.

Nora blinked, her eyes widening.

“Wait.” she said, “That wasn't you?” Nora leaned back, her cherry lips curving into a grin. “Huh! Maybe he found someone else to satisfy those filthy kinks.” 

I texted Alex again, my hands clammy. 

“Hey, where are you?” 

To my surprise, the text appeared as delivered.

And in front of me, a girl’s bag vibrated.

I texted him again, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Alex???”

Another vibration.

The girl grabbed her bag quickly, shoving it under the table. 

“Ew.” Nora hummed next to me. “That's kinda gross.” 

“What?” 

Nora frowned. “Hm?” She pointed to the girl with the vibrating bag— who had my boyfriend’s phone. 

“Polly lost her golden retriever, Luna, like a week ago when the poor baby was hit by a car. If she’s replaced her precious pup with your boyfriend, that’s SO weird. You should slap her.” Nora cocked her head. “Also, dump the boyfriend. If he’s that freaky, the least he could’ve done is, like, tell his girlfriend. Not find a grieving woman to play walkies.”  

“Where does she live?” I demanded, the words tumbling out before I could choke them back. 

“Uhh, five minutes away?” Nora typed the address in my notes app. “Like I said! Dump his ass.” 

Leaving classes early, my heart was lodged in my throat.

I texted Alex, just to throw her off. 

“Okay, whatever. We’re done.”

If Alex wanted to “prove” he COULD be spicy, this was a funny fucking way of showing it. 

I jumped in an uber to the address. 

The gate was locked, so I vaulted over it. I knocked. “Alex?” I knocked again. “Alex, open the fucking door! I know you're here.”

To my shock, the response was a human-like bark.

“AROOF!”

Alex.

I knocked again, bile crawling up my throat. 

“Are you serious, right now?” I yelled. 

He barked again, louder, growling. I could hear him throwing his hand against the door. I gave up, and opened it myself.

The door swung open, and I found myself staring down at my boyfriend on his knees in front of me with wide, vacant eyes, lips stretched into a grin. He was filthy, his clothes glued to him, hair a floppy sweaty mess stuck to his forehead.

“Alex.” I dropped to my knees, my trembling hands finding the collar choking him. I fumbled for my phone to call the police, but he butted my head, licking my face.

Fuck. 

I left it in the Uber. 

“Alex, what did she…” 

My words were suffocated, drowned, when my fingers traced dark red staining his temple. 

Slowly, I pushed his hair out his eyes. 

Not sweat, I thought, dizzily, my thoughts screeching. Alex’s head tilted, a low growl rumbling in his throat when my fingers traced the top of his head. Blood.

And then I was seeing it everywhere, and yet nowhere. 

Traces of deep dark red stained the collar of his shirt. 

His socks. 

His jeans.

I swallowed when he curled up across my lap, whimpering.

I held up his hands, his fingernails, bloodied from scratching.

“Alex.” I whispered, bringing his face to mine. “What did she do?” 

When he didn't respond, skulking away on his hands and knees, dragging himself across the floor, I ran upstairs to find a phone. There was blood all over the bathroom door. I pushed it open, finding myself face to face with red.

Something visceral sent me stumbling back. 

The bathtub was soaked, seeping with red.

But as I got closer, as I saw what streaked pale porcelain, reality slammed into me like an icy wave. Sitting in a pool of blood that had long since dried into coagulated goo, a bulging mass of grey and pink.

I knew what it was straight away. I knew what I was staring at.

Taking slow steps back, I screamed.

Only for gentle hands to wrap around my waist.

“I didn’t want another dog, I was happy with just Luna. But I take in all breeds.” Polly stood behind me, Alex peeking behind her. He whined softly, eyes wide, butting her legs. The girl swung a bright pink collar back and forth with a smile as she stepped towards me, whistling. 

“Now, who’s a good girl?”

The clock has an empty space. I don’t know what number goes there, I don’t remember.

I wake up at exactly nine every morning, the number before that is missing. Twelve, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven….nine? No that’s not it! Help me remember, I need to remember. This feeling doesn’t stop, it wont stop, I want it to stop, but I just don’t remember.

Something is forcing it away from me, something doesn’t want me to remember. I would ask my wife, but she’s always sleeping, she never used to sleep like this, I don’t want to wake her. Should I wake her? No. I’ll figure it out myself, but I DON’T REMEMBER. Fine, i’ll wake her….

she won’t wake up, why won’t she wake up? I don’t remember. Why can’t I remember!? When the clock strikes the invisible hour, my hands bleed. Why do my hands bleed? What is with this invisible hour? I have so many questions. Why is there a lost hour? Why doesn’t she wake up? Why do my hands bleed when the clock strikes eigh-Wait…eight! Thats it! I remember! Eight in the morning!

My wife kept snoring, so I put her to sleep at eight, she screamed as I strangled her, she clawed at my hands…my mind is a strange place.

Daemon,

The nights seem darker, despite my increased awareness between the hours of 19:00 and 7:00. Between those hours, I feel like I can actually see, for the first time. Each instance, just as real as the previous. By now I would have thought to be used to it. Yet here I am, crouched over my desk reflecting, just as impatient. I write to you now, in purgatory, and awaiting deliverance.

I miss you, Daemon. And yet, we change so quickly I’m almost certain I may only be missing a memory of you. If I can be honest, between those hours of 19:00 and 7:00, it’s all I can think about. A scent manifested only after suffocation, your scent, holding me hostage. The feeling your hand would leave behind after letting go of mine—my fingers acutely aware of missing skin. Between those hours, those sensations make up most of my existence.

We are, I am, free, here, Daemon. Freedom in flesh, freedom in will, freedom in crimson. Flesh. Will. Crimson. It’s beautiful. Yet you refuse. You insist on suffering, feral, and human. It’s undignified. 

Flesh. Will. Crimson, Daemon

I’ll show you, and we could share in deliverance together.

Until then,

Luther

I used to work in a Self-storage facility, one of the first things they drill into you is to always carry a map, so you don't get lost. I found it a little silly at first because how can you get lost in a two story building, but I found quickly that those buildings curled on themselves like a snail shell.

I was walking around on my first week and I swear it felt like I was walking in circles, there was this weird smell I would walk past every now and then. Like sawdust and old food. I eventually found an elevator and was able to make my way to the office after like 30 minutes, but it felt like I was being played with. Like it only let me out when it wanted, apparently my store was a smaller one in the area with only 300 spaces (some of them were outside), I was often alone doing my rounds in early morning and late evening. Honestly it was nice to work alone, I have always enjoyed talking to myself and started to talk to the building as I walked around with my cart and cleaned up the place. And it was peaceful.

The odd things started happening after I helped out at another store; this one was huge with almost 600 units and 4 different floors all inside. My maps felt useless as the building had these weird dead-end hallways with nooks and crannies that looped on themself, it didn't help that the elevator had those dumb double doors that opened in two directions, my morning rounds took nearly an hour and a half. The notes left for me by the manager of this store said that if I felt uncomfortable to avoid doing a nightly round, at the time I thought they were talking about how this store was in the boonies and sometimes the homeless would climb the walls and sleep in the outside units, which I saw an unfortunate amount of times. But I was only 19 at the time and thought of myself as tough so at around 6pm I started my nightly rounds.

The first floor was easy, I had mostly figured out the layout, and I could use the office door as a landmark, the second floor was also pretty smooth just the normal amount of trash left by customers who didn't read our no food signs. The third floor was weird. Some lights had gone out and were replaced by the red emergency lights as well as a strong smell of rat poison that hadn't been there earlier but still no major issues were easy enough to replace and the dead light bulbs were really fun to break. The last floor is when things became wild, while riding the elevator to the fourth floor I felt a huge jolt and shake. I got out and the whole floor was dark, no emergency lights, and this terrible sound like twisting rusted metal. I pretty much turned 180 and pressed the elevator button but it was not working. I chalked it up to a blackout and decided to make my way to the emergency stairs but it felt like every turn I made was wrong.

Something ran a chill up my spine as I heard raspy breathing, I called out but heard nothing back just breathing. I tried to just brush it off but as I started to walk, I heard steps that weren't my own. I started to run, the maze seemed to consume me, I started to feel my chest tighten in both anxiety and asthma clogged my air ways. I pulled around a corner and rummaged through my pockets to find my inhaler taking rescue breaths as I tried to regain my calm. My inhaler was almost empty but I still tried to use it, the small puffs helping my throat and chest breathe easier. I looked around the corner slowly and didn't see anything, so I just stayed for a moment before continuing to try to find my way out. It took probably 10 minutes before I found the exit, I had never been so relieved to feel the hot summer air on my face. 

I locked the door behind me, cart be damned, and called my mom. I broke down, I talked with her until I climbed down the four flights of stairs and made it to the office. I never helped out at that store again and eventually left that job. But sometimes I still dream about it.

Last night, I wrote down this idea for a short story. I love stories that are mundane and then a sudden horrific change occurs. What do others think of this?

------

A man lives alone and lonely in a house he owns. Despite his sadness, he lives a clean and well-ordered life. One day, the doorbell rings. At the door is a woman with a long and homely face, almost like a plastic mask. Despite this, the man welcomes her inside, and they soon marry. He knows little of where she came from or anything about her past, but she is the perfect wife. She is happy, supportive, and loving at every occasion of their lives together from raising their children to speaking lovingly to the man throughout the years to dutifully taking care of him as he gets sick in his old age, becomes bedridden, and dies. After she buries him and does all the things a grieving widow does to the external world, she goes into the cemetery late one night, digs up his corpse, and eats the body. This is what she had been truly waiting for her entire life ever since she approached the house and knocked on the door that first time. This is all she has ever wanted, the great desire of her life; nothing else mattered. She was always biding her time until this moment. If you could go back behind her smiling eyes and gentle laughter and supportive hands during all those years and occasions of their lives together, you would not find the thoughts of a loving wife and mother but rather only one sentence repeating endlessly in her head, rolling around and around like a marble in a bowl, at the forefront of every thought and before all else: “I CANNOT WAIT TO EAT HIS CORPSE.”

Since my grandfather died, I have been getting nightmares.

It was the first time I had ever seen a burial—the first time I went deep into a graveyard. It felt like a forest of graves, bats hanging from trees, screaming into the dark. That image stayed with me.

My mother told me she heard screams coming from my room last night.

Usually, I don’t remember my dreams. Only the ones that leave a deep mark remain, and even then they stay blurred. Still, I feel the need to spill this out.

That night, I was extremely tired. I usually sleep late, but that day I went to bed early. Everyone else in the house was still awake.

The first nightmare began.

The lights were gone.

Everyone was gathered in the hall.

My grandmother stood on the balcony, staring outside. In the dream, I was a child. I called her name, but she didn’t hear me. I walked closer and shouted again.

She turned.

A candle was in her hand, its flame lighting her face from below.

She screamed—and suddenly grabbed me.

Everything went dark.

Later that same night, the second nightmare appeared.

My father was trapped under a huge loan. When my grandfather died, his loan shifted onto my father. Loan collectors kept coming to our house. I remembered this from my childhood, but in the dream it was worse. They were threatening us.

I stopped going to school. I didn’t even go outside. The entire house felt tense and suffocating.

My grandmother sat on a high post of authority. She had money—enough to clear everything instantly—but she refused to help. The loan collectors said that if she wanted, she could end it all in a moment, but she didn’t.

Her money only came out when her daughters needed help.

Night fell.

My mother was closing the doors when she suddenly screamed.

My father and I ran to her.

At the gate, someone lay on the ground, covered with a blanket.

We already knew who it was.

It was my grandmother.

They had killed her.

We slowly pulled the blanket away. Her body was there—but her head was missing.

I started crying. My father collapsed onto the floor in shock.

What disturbed me most was the silence. No one came, even after hearing our screams. But dreams don’t need to make sense.

Then the third nightmare formed.

I was sitting in my grandfather’s chair, watching TV in what used to be his room. I rocked gently back and forth.

Suddenly, I heard a scream.

It was unlike anything I had ever heard—something monstrous, like a dragon roaring, or like my grandfather screaming from his grave.

I fell from the chair.

The room vanished.

The chair vanished.

Everything turned blank.

I was falling into a void, growing smaller as I fell—until I disappeared completely.

I woke up screaming.

The awakening was worse than the dream.

I couldn’t move.

It felt like something was sitting on my chest. My body was frozen. My eyes were fixed on the door leading to the balcony.

It looked like my grandfather was standing there—just as I had seen him when he was dead. His eyelids were lifted. A disturbing smile stretched across his face, the kind you sometimes see on corpses.

I closed my eyes and began to pray.

Then the Fajr azaan started.

Slowly, the weight on my chest lifted.

I heard my grandmother crying.

I rushed to her. She cried and said that my grandfather used to wake at this hour for prayer. I watched her cry for a man I had never seen her speak kindly to. She had hated him, abused him—and now tears fell from her eyes, heavy with fresh guilt and sudden sadness.

Mission: Spider
Lieutenant Casamir
12th of February

Our deployment was ordered after a call was made in the early morning hours to emergency services from a small town on the border of Canada’s boreal forest. The owner of a local cafe, who was preparing to open up for the day, reported what looked to be a man pulling himself toward town with one arm. His other limbs limply dragged behind him. When emergency services arrived, the man, later identified as one of the many people gone missing from the area, appeared unable to speak. This was only one area out of many around the world that experienced a significant increase in missing persons after the war numbering in the thousands. It is the most pressing concern the world has faced after peace was achieved from years of conflict. While receiving care, the man would not turn his gaze away from the forest, barely acknowledging anyone else’s presence. Many strange injuries were found, most alarmingly all the joints in his legs and left arm were dislocated as well as multiple bone fractures along the length of each limb. His right arm did not show the same pattern of injury. The flesh of the front side of his body as well as his right hand was severely lacerated, presumably from dragging himself through kilometers of wilderness. His body also sustained frostbite; the digits on his limbs could not be saved. Despite his injuries and the fact that he had been missing for nearly two months, he only appeared to have gone without food for around a week, which caused profound malnourishment. After being taken to a hospital, it was found that for the two months he had been gone he had been subsisting on a substance chemically similar to milk, though from what species was unknown. After six days of hospitalization, a nurse reported he came out of his detached state to weakly mutter one phrase before becoming unresponsive once more: “help them.”

Due to the many unanswered questions and the hundreds of missing people around the forest, a team of 44 agents, led by me, were mobilized to the area. We were hastily recruited by our employer the Sisyphus Foundation, a seemingly new agency overseen by the UN. They reached out to the many veterans of World War III. After nearly six months of seeking people to fill their ranks, the Sisyphus Foundation was only able to recruit a measly 72 members. I researched who Sisyphus was after hearing the name as it sounded familiar. I found stories of a man forced to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity due to grievances against the gods. It was an interesting choice for a name, one that I can only hope does not draw parallels to our fate.
I reached the location via van around noon; the fog hanging low in the air. I arrived alongside 10 other members, one of which I remember serving with during the war, Sergeant Emilio. We exchanged only warm nods of recognition. I hate to say it but I miss the war. The everpresent fear of death and acknowledgment that every day could be my last always hung in the air like a suffocating fog; I was able to continue during those dark times since the few lights that shone were brighter than any I had ever experienced. Every little interaction and shared humanity with my brothers and sisters kept me going and made me feel alive in a world of death. When I arrived back home from the war, I no longer felt human. Only with the threat of my life being taken from me did I truly treasure it. When the offer arrived to return, I accepted without so much of a second thought- or a first for that matter. It felt as if I was returning to my calling. All that I did during my time away was grow fatter and older, straying further away from the person who should be leading 43 men and women against an unknown threat.

I was told that upon arrival, I was to meet up with the debriefer to discuss the new findings from their unmanned surveys of the forest. I asked one of the agents who was assisting with unloading our gear where I could find them.

“I’m not sure, but I would check with Dr. Judith in the big tent over there,” he said pointing to the end of the two lines of tents that enclosed either side of us.

“Thanks,” I replied, turning to head over.

“You're our Lieutenant right?” he blurted, stopping me in my tracks.

“How’d you figure that?

“Well, not to be rude, but you look very… battle worn,” he said sheepishly.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Boba, Private First Class, sir.”

“Boba? Like the little chewy things in tea?” His name matched his face, his cheeks being filled out to an almost comical level and two big dinner plates for eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay Boba, word of advice: don’t go ‘round calling your superiors old.”

“I didn’t mean any offense, sir. I honestly have so much respect for those that are able to grow old in this profession. I know many who aren’t able to say the same.” His gaze wandered towards the ground solemnly.

“Sorry to hear that.” I paused, watching his eyes slowly meet mine again.

“Thank you, sir.” He then clumsily dragged my stuff to the nearest tent labeled ‘K’. Thankfully, I had nothing fragile in my luggage. I began my trek to the tent, a rogue gust of wind cutting me like a knife. It was already -3 C° making the gale an extremely unwelcome addition. As I walked to the tent I looked around at the living accommodations of the agents. They were set up with tents comfortably fitting four people each; the teams for the mission. Each one was installed with a futuristic looking heater that made them all oblivious to the subzero temperatures. They were all conversing with each other, playing games, and cracking jokes. I couldn’t stop a smile from forming. It brought me back to the days where I would do the same; where the world hadn’t yet lost its color. When I arrived at the tent, I tapped on the canvas next to the open doorway.
“Come in,” came a voice attempting to sound inviting but failing. It ineffectively covered a deep tiredness. Inside the tent were three figures: a large well-built man who was unsuccessfully concealing his weapon; a woman weathered with stress who was the voice’s source; a skinny man busily tapping away at the computer on the desk, not looking up to greet my presence. They were all surrounding the machine, absorbed in whatever was on its screen just moments before I arrived. The two men were standing to the woman’s left and right while she sat in a very comfy looking foldable chair. 

“Please, take a seat,” she said, her smile being yet another useless attempt at warmth. She motioned toward the chair facing the desk, identical to hers. I made my way over, competing with the large man to see who could stare holes through the other first. “I’m Dr. Judith. It’s so great to finally meet you Lieutenant Casamir.” I removed my beanie, no longer needing it due to the warmth that emanated from inside the tent.

“Likewise,” I stated, conceding the staring contest to the larger man and shifting my gaze to Dr. Judith.

“These are my colleagues, Mr. Nero,” she said gesturing to the larger man, “and Officer Geoffrey,” nodding toward the skinnier man. “Officer Geoffrey will debrief you on the situation and our expectations for this mission. Some new revelations about the case have been made since your last debriefing.” As she said this, Officer Geoffrey shifted uncomfortably like he did not wish to relay the information to me.
“Yes, we’ve made some interesting discoveries about the target. Could you let me know what you remember about it from the last debriefing?” he asked. I relayed what I knew, receiving nods from Dr. Judith and Officer Geoffrey throughout. Each horrific detail felt so outlandish it was like I was recounting a fairy tale.

“Did I get that right?”

“Yes, very good. Our new information comes from drones we sent in to survey the forest. We attempted to have three of our land drones, fitted with cameras to allow for both night and thermal vision, move into the forest to hopefully locate the target and identify any dangers. All entered at different openings in the treeline. I’ll now show you what we picked up from one of the cameras,” he turned the computer screen, an expression of great worry on his face.

The screen showed the same thick fog that hung in the air around camp. Only about ten meters in front of the drone was visible. It navigated through a scattering of thin trees that stretched above the drone’s line of sight. All of a sudden, a figure dashed from behind one of the trees moving with what seemed to be dozens of limbs. The feed stopped; the final frame an image of the figure’s face. Looking back at me was the visage of a woman whose features were too perfect. Not even pores interrupted the impossible smoothness of her skin. Her eyes were closed and she wore a soft smile, as if she was having a wonderful dream. She had long black hair that graced the forest floor, free of tangles or imperfections. Time broke, making it impossible to tell how long I was staring at the screen.

“There’s our target,” Dr. Judith stated coldly, her stone grey eyes pulled me back to reality.

“We also took thermal imaging,” Officer Geoffrey pushed his glasses up on his face and tapped a key that flooded the image with purple. “Whatever this thing is has the same temperature reading as a corpse. It doesn’t emit heat and doesn’t act like any cold-blooded animal we know. This thing is something completely new.” The three of them stared at me gauging my reaction. I’m not sure what to feel. The case did have some fantastical elements, but I reassured myself that it all had a logical explanation for it. This one frame changed all that. I must’ve been expressing the fact that my brain was struggling to put this thing into my framework of reality since Dr. Judith asked me if I was okay.

“Yeah, fine, just…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“I understand your confusion, I do. I’ve been a scientist dealing with the natural world all my life and this,” she chuckled, a crazy smile overtaking her fake one, “this is something else.”

“There’s one more thing we need to note,” Officer Geoffrey interjected. “These drones were spaced 54 kilometers away from each other when the first one went down. The second one went down about 16 minutes after the first. This means this entity, if we assume there’s only one of it, was traveling around 203 kilometers an hour, easily making it the fastest land animal on the planet. The third went down 15 minutes after the second.” My brain continued to wrap itself around this barrage of information that should not exist. They had to be joking, right? Maybe this is some crack pot way of getting all us veterans together. They said I wouldn't receive any punishment for what I did. This can't be about that, right? If that’s the case, why the hell would the UN spend millions of dollars and fabricate this whole story to bring me and Emilio here? Is everyone here being punished as well or are they in on it? Is Emilio in on it? It was at this point my mind broke. It refused to admit that any of this was real. I decided this was a play; an act. I had a job to do and this was the only way my mind would let me do it. It felt like I had flipped a switch: pushing everything aside and becoming the leader I needed to be.

“I understand. Who else knows about this information?” I asked, shocking the three of them with how quickly I accepted these revelations.

“Just us four for now, but I’ll give the same information to the agents in around an hour. I’m tasking you with being there as well to raise morale: give them a speech to help them execute their mission.” Officer Geoffrey stepped back after seeing my reaction do a complete 180.

“Understood. Thank you for this opportunity,” I said, standing up and turning to walk out. I needed to get out of there.

“Thank you,” said a quiet voice behind me, overcome with immense sadness and regret. I turned, meeting the gaze of Mr. Nero whose eyes had very subtly started to water. I now noticed a scar that lay just below his chin.

“Of course,” I exited the tent and braved the harsh winter air.

I made my way back through the line of tents, each filled with agents who now must’ve realized who I was. Boba must be quite sociable. They faced me, some of them standing to salute, others nodding in my direction, but all acknowledging my presence. I awkwardly gave them half smiles as I walked by. I reached the tent at the end of the line labeled ‘K’. Inside were three men: my team for the mission. I was relieved to see that I already knew two of them: Emilio and Boba. The third man looked up at me with a face of mild annoyance.

“Hello, sir. I’m glad to be a part of your team,” Boba said enthusiastically.

“Yeah, what are the chances,” I replied.

“About one in eleven,” Emilio said, brushing his long blonde hair out of his face as he looked up to greet me. “This is Corporal Luis,” he motioned to the last man. He seemed irritated at my being here.

“How are you doing, sir,” he asked, standing up to give me a handshake. His face was now painted with a fake but polite smile. His sharp features accentuated the unnaturalness of it.

“Doing well, yourself?” I met his hand with mine.

“Fine, thank you.” He released his grip and sat back down, his face returning to mild annoyance. Perhaps that was just what his face always looked like.

“Check this out,” said Emilio, motioning to his leg. In the spot that used to be a plastic prosthetic was now a metal leg that he moved as if he was born with it. “They really are hooking us up,” he said smiling.

“Wow, they spared no expenses,” I looked around at the well furnished tent. It was larger than any other four person tent I had been in. The heater in the corner hummed softly, creating a calming drone that drowned out the wind. A giant TV sat against the back wall, currently only showing our reflection in its black mirror. I looked old. There were two bunk beds on either side, complete with actual mattresses. They were a far cry from the usual cots I had grown accustomed to. “These beds look better than the one I got at home.”

“I call bunking with Casamir,” Emilio exclaimed suddenly, receiving a chuckle from Boba and me.

“You must’ve missed me,” I joked. It was nice to see him again. It made the weight of what I saw, what I had done during the war lighten. It was like we were sharing the burden, lifting it off each other.

“What’d you find out about the mission?” Boba probed.

“I found out a lot. I know y’all are skeptical about this ‘monster hunt’ we are going on, but from what they told me I believe that we’re up against something we don’t quite understand.” The three men looked at me with blank expressions.

“What was it?” asked Luis.

“Officer Geoffrey will fill you in on everything they told me, but I would recommend you all take this a lot more seriously. I was very apprehensive of this idea as well, all the talk of ‘runes of protection,’ in the briefings and such, but from what they told me all of it is very real.” They looked at me like I was crazy, but my face reassured them I was not.

“So… what do we do?” Emilio asked, hopelessness seeping into his voice.

“We listen to Dr. Judith and Officer Geoffrey. They understand a lot more than us, so I trust they’ll guide us in the right direction.” This statement alleviated some tension. We sat in this moment of relief; none of us wanted to bring back the cloud of dread that was just hanging over us.

“Oh, tent C said they were setting up Smash in their tent and invited us over. Would you like to come play?” Boba said, breaking the silence. I laughed at how childish he sounded.

“You go along. I’ve never been big into video games.” Boba, Luis, and Emilio nodded, heading out of the tent. Emilio was the last to leave and before he did he leaned over to me.

“Do you really trust these people? I don’t want another situation like Hawaii.” I shuddered, the memory that I had been trying to forget for the past half a year resurfacing like a bloated corpse floating up from the depths of the ocean.

“I don’t know, but we have to act like it. We need everyone on board for this.”

“Just be careful. That's the same mentality we had back then,” Emilio said before exiting.
I was tired and tried to take a nap using the remnants of the hour I was allowed. I could hear the agents cheering wildly at their game, making it impossible to get any rest. I didn’t sleep well last night. Or rather I hadn’t been able to sleep well for months. I grew frustrated, cursing my insomnia. Then I heard a tap on the canvas of my tent.

“Hey, we’re getting ready to debrief the troops. Will you be ready in five?” asked Officer Geoffrey.

“Yeah,” I replied curtly, realizing that I came across ruder than I had intended.

“We’re surprised at how well you seem to be dealing with the new information. We feel a lot more confident that this mission will be a success with you at the head.” I fixed my attitude, attempting to play the part of the confident leader I had cast myself in.

“Thank you for putting your trust in me. It's an honor,” I said through a smile.

“If you would follow me I’ll show you where we’re presenting.” I followed him outside to see a podium with a microphone. Next to it, one of the large TV’s was set up to play the video they had shown me. “We really need your help on this. We don’t expect they will take the information as well as you did, but we need everyone to understand the importance of their mission.” It was a near impossible task I was faced with; one needing me to convince more than just myself.

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, some of my nervousness slipping out. Officer Geoffrey nodded and gave me a smile.

“You’ll do great.” With that, he spoke into the microphone. “Our debriefing will now begin. All agents please make your way to view the presentation outside.” Many groans were heard as dozens of agents braced themselves for the cold, visibly shaken by the quick and drastic change in temperature. Most of them came from Tent C, where agents were laughing and conversing. I saw Boba, Luis, and Emilio exit along with a cheerful mass of people. Once the agents settled around the podium, Officer Geoffrey began to speak.
“Hello all. I first want to thank each and every one of you for accepting this mission. You are the few who answered the call to help protect our peace. Please give yourselves a round of applause.” He paused for the agents to clap for themselves, which they hesitantly did. “Now, we have some new information that we felt pertinent to supply you all with. If you would please turn your attention to the screen.” He then showed them exactly what he had shown me. I watched their faces slowly contort into mixtures of fear, regret, disgust, and a myriad of other emotions as they struggled with their sense of reality. It was a feeling I was all too familiar with. A feeling that I was tasked with dragging them back out of. “I will now turn the floor over to Lieutenant Casamir, after which I will give more details about the logistics of the mission.” He stepped away from the platform, allowing me to replace him. I slowly walked up to the microphone, the sensation of dozens of eyes looking to me for some kind of reassurance that this wasn’t real shot sharp pains throughout my body. I felt like throwing up, running away, anything to get myself out of this situation.; but, I knew that if I couldn’t take on the role that I had to, there was no hope they would.

“Hello all. Thank you for being here.” I paused as my mind grasped for the right words to say. The pressure mounted to an almost unbearable degree. I caught myself nervously playing with my gloves. I had to shape up because this was pathetic. Just like that, I flipped the same switch I had moments ago in that tent. I had to be a leader. “Your mission has not changed. You fought in the war to protect our homes, our people, our ways of life. Our fight must continue. Our peace is again being threatened, and we need to do exactly what we did not so long ago: eliminate the threat. Many of you have lost a lot these past few years. I’m sure many of you have lost loved ones to this battle. This is the time to honor them. To carry on their legacy. We must push forward as they would have for us. Our mission has not changed. Their mission has not changed. It is an ever present battle, but we dedicate our lives to fighting it. As long as we still stand, we push forward; for those before us and for those after. Our mission these next few days is to take care of one of the many dangers our world is facing in the pursuit of true peace. In the pursuit to protect and honor the people of this world. Do not let yourselves lose this fight now.” I paused for a moment, letting my words hang in the air. No one seemed to react, but I could tell my speech had reached them. Their faces, before wrought with hopelessness, were now overcome with determination. I stepped off the platform, allowing Geoffrey to take my place. He shot a proud smile at me as he did so. It felt surreal, knowing how those words impacted all these men and women in front of me, but they could not feel any more dishonest. I saw Emilio give me a nod of reassurance, letting me know I had done my job well.

“Thank you Lieutenant Casamir, now to go over some logistics about the mission.” My mind was still attempting to dissociate, the switch now flipped back off. I can’t believe how hard I was faking it, but they needed that right? Hope, and someone they can look up to. I tried my best to pay attention to Geoffrey’s presentation, but it was difficult to keep my mind present. “These are the suits you will all be wearing,” he said, motioning to what looked like a robot being wheeled up to the platform by Mr. Nero. It received scattered ooh’s and ahh’s from the crowd. “The suit comes in seven pieces and offers full body coverage. It is equipped with internal heaters to ensure you don’t get hypothermia. The head units are installed with both thermal and night vision, as well as a head lamp. These views can be toggled between via the button on the right side of the helmet. The units are also accoutred with microphones and speakers to communicate with your team. Each team leader will have access to a channel to communicate to the other team leaders. You will all be provided an HK419. We are not sure if the target is affected by any physical means, but it will prove useful even if just to divert its attention.” The crowd continued to murmur in awe, as the standard issue rifles during the war were HK418’s. As far as we knew, the HK419’s were still in its early stages of development. “You are also equipped with a G52 and a knife. On each team leader’s left wrist is a touch pad which displays the location of each member relative to them. If the target is spotted, the leader is to input the direction it is headed which will alert all other teams. The device will approximate, using the target’s known speed and the entered direction, where the target is, and all teams are to converge on the latest location. You will all be supplied with backpacks that have a week’s worth of food and water, as well as the basic supplies typically provided in similar missions. For the trek we expect your team to sleep in shifts. Your suits are installed with alarms to remind you all of when to switch, as well as eye trackers to ensure the one on patrol does not fall asleep. Now, allow me to introduce to you a rune of protection.” Mr. Nero arrived on stage again with a large item wrapped in cloth. He set it on the podium, allowing Geoffrey to gently unwrap it. Inside was a very ordinary looking stone about the size of a football with a strange carving. If I had to describe it, I would say it looked like a large upside down V with a smaller rightside up V between its arms. Below this was a circle with two dots placed like eyes on a face. “One member of your team will be designated as the keeper of the rune. Their backpack is fitted to include an extra secure compartment where the rune will sit. Do not leave their side. From our research, we found that the rune has an effective radius of about five meters. Step outside that radius, and the target will be able to harm you. Your suits can communicate with your team members’ and will alert you if a teammate is nearing the edge of that radius. Please protect these runes with your lives. It is the only thing saving yours. We have a very limited number of these, so losing or destroying one of them will create much trouble for us down the line. The other two members of the team are redundancies in case the team leader or rune keeper is unable to perform their job. If either of these members fall, it is your responsibility to swap your gear with theirs and take up their role if possible. We have eleven teams, labeled A through K. You will enter the forest 16 kilometers away from the nearest team, allowing you all to converge at a single point, determined using the last known locations of the missing people, in three days. We hypothesize this to be where the target resides. Once the target is found, you must encircle it with the runes, essentially trapping it in a net. You are then to keep this formation as you travel out of the forest back to base camp with the target in tow. That is your mission. Please feel free to check out the armory to familiarize yourselves with the gear. We will begin transportation of teams to their starting locations tomorrow at 07:30. Thank you all for coming. Please don’t hesitate to ask me questions if you have any. I will be in the main tent. Rest well. You all have a very important job tomorrow.” With that, Geoffrey began walking back to the head tent. The crowd dispersed, some walking back to their quarters, some going to check out the armory, and some returning back to Tent C to continue their game. I began heading back to my tent, wanting more than anything to sleep. I felt exhausted: the weight that I had to carry for this mission pushed down on my chest making it hard to breathe. Emilio joined me on my walk back.

“Great speech man, never knew such wise words could’ve come out of such a dumbass,” he said, slapping me on the back. I replied with a pitiful laugh.

“Even idiots can appear smart with enough confidence.”

“Wow, just when I thought you couldn’t sound any wiser,” he snickered. I laughed too,  this time a real one. I missed Emilio. I missed feeling like this. I searched my brain for some topics for small talk.

“How have things been since I last saw you?”

“Not great. Jasmine thought I was dead and already moved on. Came back to an empty house and a note saying she didn’t have the courage to face me anymore and that she was with someone new.”

“Damn. I mean, sorry. I’m sorry to hear that. You seem to be taking it well, you look… cheerful.”

“Yeah, I try not to think about it. Thanks for bringing it up, asshole,” he joked.

“Of course,” I smiled. I felt the tension that plagued my mind begin uplifting, allowing me to quip along with him. That’s when the grin on his face slowly receded, replaced by an expression of deep thought.

“You know, it was the strangest thing. Despite all the pain I thought I should feel at her leaving, I didn't. I couldn't cry, couldn’t get mad. Just felt numb. I felt guilty for not feeling anything, but at the same time, isn’t that better than being in pain? What I wouldn’t give to cry again. It was cathartic when I could.” He whispered the last few sentences to himself then looked to me for any type of reassurance.

“Yeah, I’ve felt numb after the war, too. Maybe it’s a symptom of PTSD or whatever,” I explained.

“Can’t be. A lot of my buddies back home told me the same thing and they weren’t part of the war. Hell, they weren’t even near it. Speaking of, how’s Jason?” He felt the silence and looked at my face. I was deep in painful deliberation, debating on whether this was a wound I wished to let bleed again. I could tell he was about to ask for elaboration, but he used his better judgement and decided not to. Emilio scrambled for another topic to speak on as we silently agreed to move on in our conversation. “How do you like our team?”

“Well, Boba is friendly,” I chuckled.

“I know. He could not be licking my boots any cleaner,” Emilio smirked. I winced at how wrong that sounded.

“I know that it comes from a place of genuine respect, though. He comes from a big military family, so pretty much all of the figures he looked up to in life passed down some military values. I like him.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice kid.” We reached the tent and Emilio sat down on his bed while I took the one across from him.

“He’s probably the most popular guy here. He’s beating everyone’s asses in that game over there. He’s either gonna have a lotta friends or make a lotta enemies,” Emilio said.

“I really doubt anyone could hate him. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. What do you think about Luis?” I asked.

“Quiet. Keeps to himself. He’s respectful, though. I think Boba is really wearing him down.”

“When I first got here I thought he was pissed at me. The more I see him the more I realize he just seems to be pissed at the world rather than any of us,” I explained.

“I’m sure he’s got his reasons, like we all do.”

“I’m sure he does. Don’t know what they are, you talk to him at all?”

“Briefly, he seemed to be hesitant to socialize over in the tent and would only speak when spoken to. Even then, his answers were very cold and to the point. I couldn’t pick up anything about where he’s from, why he’s here, what he likes, etcetera,” Emilio said seriously. I raised an eyebrow at his verbalization of etcetera.

“From what I can deduce, he likes being left alone. Although he does seem to be making an attempt at socializing,” I said, gesturing towards the shouts of joy and anger coming from Tent C. “Can’t leave him alone tomorrow, though.” Emilio looked down and smiled before chuckling to himself. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I just remembered the first time we met. It reminds me a lot of Boba and Luis. You wanted nothing to do with me but I wore you down, broke down that hard exterior of yours.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say it sounds like you’re coming on to me.”

“Maybe I am. I’m single now. Let’s make some mistakes,” he said, flirtatiously waggling his eyebrows.

“Knock it off, dumbass. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. This day has worn me down.”

“Sounds good, I’m gonna go check out the armory. See if they’ll let me shoot the guns.” 

“Don’t keep me up.”

“I heard the new models are quieter than the older ones. You’ll be fine.” With that, he made his way out the tent, pausing briefly. “It’s nice to see you again.” Emilio exited, leaving me alone. I climbed up to my bed and put on some headphones. I scrolled through to my sleep playlist on my phone, needing something to distract myself from all the ruminations ricocheting around my skull. Some thoughts broke through the buffer that the music provided, but surprisingly I found them to be quite pleasant. I was excited for tomorrow; excited to get back into the field. I thought about the interactions I had with Emilio: us picking up from where we left off months ago. I thought of the hope Boba had in his eyes and how much he admired me. I thought about the agents whose moods seemed to flip the opposite direction as soon as I finished my speech. They looked up to me, and I felt like I was someone who could be looked up to. Damn, I’m beginning to believe that this isn’t all an act anymore. That I am the right person to lead this mission. It was strange not having to constantly find ways to avoid the negative thoughts that plagued my mind as I tried to fall asleep. It lulled me into a sense of comfort I hadn’t felt in years, finally letting me rest.

The subtle click then ‘swoosh’ of one of my cab’s back doors woke me from my sleep. The shuffling of someone clambering inside followed suit. My eyes drifted towards the rear-view mirror, and from there I glimpsed it. A humanoid shape; a passenger blurred by the murky partition screen. The colours beyond the glass gave me an awful impression about what was lurking back there, and the smell now permeating throughout the cab helped confirm my suspicions—It’s another cadaver, and it's even more rotten than the last one.

Like a splatter painting of hazel browns, pale yellows and a whole assortment of reds. Its grotesque outline grew larger as it heaved what remained of itself closer. I kept myself from turning around, and from blinking, as I watched the damned thing intently from the mirror, as best as I could anyway. Its breath, laboured and drawn, quickly fogged up and further blurred the screen. Then with its hazy, red stump of a right hand, the corpse tried to wipe the rancid dew away: only to smear its own blood and loose flesh all over the glass.
In doing so, its already obscured form was concealed behind a seeping crimson veil. 

A silence wafted inside the cab along with the thing’s stench–The twin signs of death and decay. The following seconds felt like hours as I fought back tears and the sensation of my throat being clawed out every time I had to breathe. Must’ve looked like some sort of mimicry, the way I had to slow my breaths to a crawl to avoid the pain. 
It was then, as a stream began to flow from my tear ducts and I held back a gruelling cough, that its voice began to worm its way into the back of my head—first, it was as if both a gurgle and an exhale were combined into one noise and were now competing with each other for volume, then the words exhumed from its depths became coherent. A gut feeling told me exactly what it was going to say before it even uttered the first letter:

“The… dock… Go… Now…” 

I nodded as I slid the gears into first and drove off.

—

The fog stretched on and on, and on further still. As did the road. The cab’s headlights, with their warm, incandescent glow, pierced the sea of mist, revealing the grizzled and withered tarmac beneath, but their light only travels so far and as it tapered off some few metres ahead, I acknowledge the certainty of one thing in particular: That the road will continue to stretch on, as will the fog clinging to it and my cab like barnacles clasping onto a ship’s hull. And yet, I must drive on. I must deliver to him. Or else.

Gurgles, exhales and finally words soon drifted to me from the back once more, and like before, I knew what it was going to say: “Have… You… Seen… Him?”

My eyes darted towards the mirror; I saw the faint traces of a silhouette, lurking behind the veil of blood. 
“I have. You will too, when we get there”, I responded.

The silhouette lurched closer, closer, so much so in fact, that its distorted outline focused into a human imprint, as it pressed against the screen and its own vertical puddle, feeding its growth with a fresh delivery of blood: It wanted the next words unearthed from its throat to be as clear as possible.

“The… boy?.. You’ve… seen… him?... He… was… with… me… before… He’ll… be.. At… this… dock?”, it uttered.

Another silence wafted in, one that not even the slight, beating hums of the cab’s engine and the breeze from my open window could contest. Tension began to constrict my neck like an invisible serpent.

“Perhaps, but I must apologise. I thought you were talking about someone else.”

I hear it lurch forward again. Squeaking and squelching reverberates behind me. Its right eye, vacant and expectedly lifeless and dull like the fog surrounding the cab, diffused the red waves through force and met my own in the mirror. It wanted to see me.

“You… mean… the… Ferry… Man?..”  The corpse asked, pulling away slightly but not enough for any sense of reprieve. 
A few “clinks!” clattered simultaneously onto the partition screen in the moment that followed. Bone coloured rectangles had broken out amongst the top of the smear this time near where its eye had been: Teeth. Some wobbled, some remained firm as they were dragged slowly down the glass. Others broke off; descending pitifully from the blurred maw and onto the no-doubt soaked carpeted floor, like tears of mouldering calcium. It was testing the glass.

“Yes”, I replied.

Blinking in this moment, felt like a death sentence. A punishment, in which the cadaver would have all the time it needs to burst through the screen and inflict its form upon my body. But try as I might to refrain from the brief act, the stench flying past me and out the window, like the putrid breaths of someone post-vomit, along with the sheer strain pulling on both of my sockets forced my hand. 
My eyelids closed for a mere second, perhaps less– An eternity of lying in wait, nervously waiting for the sound of glass shattering and those awful teeth colliding with my flesh. The sensation of them peeling open again was a subdued bliss. 
I was spared, for now, but still my head remained fixed onto the guillotine, so to speak…

The scraping of the thing’s teeth mercifully ceased. It left the screen with its brutal impression; a myriad of marks and the crooked, trailing paths of its saliva through its own blood. I tried to clear my worries and focus back on the road. The tarmac crumbled, and bits of it scattered into the surrounding malaise as the cab tore onward, like a loyal, worn steed.
These crackles and pops of the road were my signals of progress, that still I was moving forward, that this infinity did in-fact have an end, or at least a point where the strain would lift and I could rest, temporarily; I clung to them, so, so tightly, but they were soon joined but a less-than favourable sound as the corpse lashed my ears with its tortuous utterances again.  

“The… Ferryman… I… know… not… of… him… yet… something… is drawing… pulling… me… to..wards him. Tell… Me… More”, it orchestrated with its drawn-out death rattle.

“L–like I said… You will see him soon enough… I–I am… forbidden from revealing more than that, I’m afraid.”

“Nrgggghhhh…” The corpse released in response, though in its state, annoyance and acceptance were difficult to judge.

—

I am not sure how much time passed since it last spoke to me. I prayed that its mouth would remain closed and hidden for the remainder of the journey: I was surely mistaken, but before that, in this grace period of uncertain length, I continued to listen to the churning of the road beneath me: Harsh, brittle, but nourishing to my fortitude, my will to stay the path and complete this delivery. 
Almost as a gift, though never could it be, I then heard his bell toll.

A series of soft phantasmal ‘dings’, beckoned me far ahead, and far deeper within the grey expanse. The corpse didn’t react or shuffle closer, for only I could hear them. Each toll was louder than the last, like drops of rain coalescing into a puddle whose splashes were distant but drawing closer—as was his voice.

“I’ve grown curious. Ask my questions, courier. Now.”

My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror, and I awaited the corpse to press up against the screen as the first question poured out from me.

“W-Who is the boy… you mentioned earlier?” I asked, praying that it was audible enough so that I wouldn’t have to repeat it.

The corpse lent forward. The screen sparing my eyes from the full view of it was splayed and fully soaked through now. Blood reds had sheened and coagulated into a hideous orange. A few sturdier teeth and loose arm flesh had stuck to the glass in their descent, sticking out like islands amid a sea of leprous fluid. The thing’s shadow ‘presented’ itself, and I received its answer.

“A… dear… friend… of… mine…”

The bell tolled once more. The Ferryman demanded more of me. 

“It’s holding something close to its chest. Pry it from them.”

I enacted his wish, though this is a path I struggled to walk, I asked the corpse: “Could you please… elaborate?”

The wet slap and sloshing of the cadaver’s tongue onto the screen, like a snake testing the waters before a swim, sent shivers down my spine. 
“Why…”, it replied back, its teeth chattering ever so slightly.

“I was… curious. You asked about him earlier, and I assume he’s… someone close to you? Your son or maybe your sibling, a nephew or cousin perhaps? Am I wrong?”

The corpse spent a second taking in one of its arduous breaths. Though this one seemed less like a painful, necessary act and more a spontaneous function, brought on by nostalgia.

“No… He… closer… to… me…”, it breathed in again before continuing 

“He… is… a… delight… one… I… wish… to… partake… in… wherever… I… go…”

“Interesting. Now ask it the other one.”

I likewise took a deep, strenuous breath, with the stench contorting my lungs and ribs but I needed something, anything to keep me afloat as I asked the corpse, “How… How d-do you feel?”

The sloshing of tattered, rancid meat sliding up the screen filled my ears. So did the sound of the blood being wiped off the glass and cascading onto the carpet. My eyes were filled by something much, much worse. The thing had used its less mangled left hand to clean the screen, and almost miraculously, the original blur was also lifted, and I was cursed with my clearest view of it thus far. I saw the thing’s true face.

Its skin clung to its form like loose rags, what little of it remained that is. Most of its body bore only the ‘framework’ and ‘structural support’ so to speak. Bones exposed to the elements and putrescent muscles worked in tandem to give the corpse its ‘corroded collage’ appearance. 

Out from its mouth of sore gums and few teeth, crawled a reply: “I… feel… better… than… ever…”

Just two poignant bell tolls occurred this time. To myself alone.

“I’ve heard enough, my choice has been made. I await you, courier, and your passenger. Do not keep me waiting”, spoke the Ferryman.

I slammed the accelerator down, tearing up through the gears like a hurricane plucking leaves off a tree. The cab, before a stalwart force drilling through this infinite fog at a reasonable pace, now a great bullet shot straight through its innards.

I heard the corpse smack into the partition screen. I guess it didn’t have its seatbelt on.

Gurgles, exhales, words gnawed at my ears, this time with something else wriggling beneath the surface. A sweltering mix of anger and confusion. 

“YOU… THIS… DOCK… SOME..THINGS… WRONG…”

Both its hands hit the glass with a meaty thud. Its lone sliver eye stared daggers into mine, as if trying to gouge it through sheer will alone.

“I… HAVE… NEVER… BEEN… TO… THIS… PLACE… YET… I… KNOW… IT… LIKE…IT… WERE… AN… OLD… HOME…”, it took a long breath before continuing.

“THE… FERRY.. MAN… WHO… WHAT… IS… HE?” 

I had to think of something, fast. Something to appease both sources of tension weighing heavy upon me. “He’s like a… a middleman, an intermediator. I-I work for him. You’ll see when we—”

“TELL… ME… NOW!” Another thud shook the cab. This time I heard a crackle slither alongside it. I saw what it came from. First, I thought I imagined it; a nightmare scenario flashing before my eyes as strain was further wrought upon me, but a few blinks placed this vision firmly in reality: The screen now had a crack. “OR… I’LL… CRAWL… THROUGH… THIS… GLASS… AND… USE… THE… SHARDS… TO… BLEED… YOU… DRY.”

Any fearful reaction I could give was minimal as terror had already sapped my muscles of all their energy, say for my hands and right foot, frigid and bound to the pedal and steering wheel respectively. Time slowed to a snail’s pace once more, as I thought on what to tell the corpse. Some things are best expelled before they can fester, I reasoned.

“This place, this fog, this cab; are all just the start of a long, long journey. One you and every other passenger must take. At the dock, you will meet the Ferryman as all have done before you and all will do after, and then the next step will begin. For better or for worse.” I responded and for a reversal of the drive so far, it seemed my words had wreaked havoc over the cadaver. The mist swelling around in its bagged, sloping eye began to clear, foretelling a long lost emotion, drowned ages upon ages ago in the life the corpse once had, now resuscitated through the words it heard and the look I saw on its near-skeletal face.

“S-Stop… The… Car… Please…”

“I am sorry, but I cannot, for the good of us both.”

For the fleetest of moments, I thought it took my words to its shrieveling lump of a heart– but the resounding gargle and the shattering that followed quickly rescinded that idea. It happened so fast; the small, but many scratches from all the shards littering the back of my neck, the wet paper-ish skin of the corpse clinging to my windpipe, its gaunt but still viscously strong muscles cutting off its intake. Like the partition screen before it was reduced to pieces, my vision blurred.

“I… TOLD… YOU… TO… STOP”, the corpse growled, its grip tightening.

Numbness crept along my veins, loosening my fingers from the steering wheel. I wisped them backwards to try and pry the cadaver's hand off of my neck: at first contact, my fingers pierced his hand, just below the knuckle. Loose skin dispersed and fluttered like flags in a low breeze, whilst my fingertips collided with the taut muscles and bone beneath. I scratched, I pulled, I yanked, I filled my nails with as much fetid hand meat as possible, yet it was to no avail. It still had me held tight in its clutches.

“LAST… CHANCE… STOP… THE… CAR…”, the thing granted me a reprieve from the strangling, releasing my windpipe a tad, enough for me to take a small breath. Enough for the torment to continue.

“Ok… Ok… I’ll stop it. Just… take it easy.” I took my foot off the accelerator and feathered the brake pedal, shifting down the gears in the process, the cab’s speed started to decline. Pleased with this, the cadaver eased its clutch on my throat further; the air, rancid and clogged with pestilence might it be, had never felt better to breathe in. 
I’d tried to keep eye contact with the corpse using the mirror, but it was only now that I noticed that something was building up in the corner of its single eye. Thick, though brighter and far more transparent than its blood; the corpse was weeping.

It’s not uncommon to see in this profession; after all, you're carrying an enormous weight and yet when the chance arrives to finally drop it from your shoulders, you must bear the impact it has on your passengers first hand. No matter how brave, no matter how defiant they are, realising your time has come is a weight that none can bear; it will condense you, it will contort you ‘till your base self is all that awaits the end.
Some sob and beg, crying out to deaf ears, or most often, ears that refuse to listen. Whilst others stare into their second death, still as a statue gazing out to a blank horizon, no coming of the next light. A few, like the corpse, fall somewhere in between; they struggle against me, as if it were my choice to bring them to him. But all things must meet the Ferryman eventually, and his choice, for you, for your destination, is made long before that happens.  

Caressing the leather of the passenger seat, I was in luck. I felt the jagged edge of a shard of the partition screen, about the same size as my index finger, perfect for what I had planned. I held eye contact with the cadaver a little while longer; tears streamed down its face in globules of grief and turmoil. My hand wrapped round the shard and it dug deep into my palm.

“I’m sorry…” I said plainly, before jamming the pointed end straight into the cadaver's weeping eye. A chunky concoction of blood and tears spewed over my shoulder, spraying the dashboard with a sickening ‘splat!’

The cadaver shrieked and wrenched itself backwards. I'd hurt it, badly, but could not kill it. The only way out lies at the end of the road, not here within the cab. I used the interval to course-correct and slam the accelerator, gear after gear I shot through ‘till I hit the fifth and final one, upon which the cab took off as if it were a starved wolf chasing the first deer it's seen in days.
“Almost there… almost… there…”, I repeated to myself, the wind blasting every inch of my body, diffusing the smell of decay I’d no doubt grown used to unwillingly. 
A sound much like the tearing of an envelope enunciated itself behind me, I looked up to the mirror as soon as I’d heard it and caught the heels of the corpse fling forward—right as the awful thing sunk its slabbed teeth into my forearm.

Searing pain coursed throughout my arm; I wriggled and bashed the thing’s skull but it remained latched to me, its molars and dull incisors puncturing my veins, releasing their contents all over the seat.
Though the Ferryman is the only exit from this featureless, grey void; and though the pain that brought one to this place becomes nulled; fresh pain is left as is: wicked and excruciating. 
‘An added flavour…” he calls it…

I gritted my teeth and came to terms with the fact I would have to endure the corpse’s feast just a minute more. A matter of seconds spent in agony so I could deliver myself to salvation. “I’m almost there, I’m almost there… I hear it. The bell. It’s getting closer.”

Ding-ding. Ding-ding. Ding-ding.

With each toll, weight was slowly added to the blanketing fog till itself blanketed the cab like snow. The cab’s wipers were laboured but precise, pushing the heavy fog aside as if it were a horse’s tail whipping flies away. This newly-formed blizzard still had some ways to go before I was in the clear; however, I was reminded of this as the corpse felt for my upper arm. It held onto my bicep with its needly fingers, before tearing its head back; ripping a great chunk out my arm, the meat crashing into the headliner as it was tossed. 
I could easily count the number of worn, pallid rocks loosely defined as the thing's teeth from my seat. Five remained rooted, two from the top jaw, and three from the bottom. Four stuck out like stalagmites lining the floor of a living cave—The gnawed threads of my forearm.
I screamed. The cadaver gurgled, though no words followed. Several shards glimmered down its torso from where it’d lumbered over the glass to bite me. I realised just in time what it was about to do, as my other hand caught its head before the thing could take another bite. Its open mouth billowed vile breath straight into me, the awful smell regained its control; I grimaced, slowly losing the struggle to force its head back. But then I heard it. Clearer than ever. Closer than ever.
The bell tolls.

Ding-ding. Ding-ding. Ding-ding.

Something unseen by either myself or the cadaver, pressed my foot down on the brake pedal. Hard. 
In the abrupt halt, I was slammed into the steering wheel whilst the cadaver was flung through the windscreen—landing just in front of the dock’s walkway. 

Sheets of snow/fog glistened in the headlights, as did the ice cloaking the first stretch of the enormous river the dock was nestled on. Reflected over each was the spray of blood and bits of windscreen, forming rubies on the white shore. Slowly, I rose from the wheel, head slick and partially stuck to the foam coating the steel which I had to pull it from. 
I saw the corpse meters ahead of the cab, already back on its feet. Staring not back at me, but rather what lied upon the end of the dock. A tall figure towering some 3 or metres above, wreathed head to toe in black—deeper, darker than any mere shadow, like the lowest pit of the universe was yawning, revealing itself to eyes unfit to see such primordial splendour. It was the absence of everything, and it started to spread. Creeping straight towards the corpse, who trembled in awe of its presence, knees clicking and buckling as they bent, lowering the thing. The gore pooling down and breaking off its body, rose as steam in the rigid cold, floating towards the black like candle smoke at the entrance of a cave.

This abyss was a familiar sight for me, so I thought about how I’d inadvertently spared the corpse from seeing this terror beyond; though, I was sure it could still sense him: The Ferryman.
He spread two of his onyx limbs outward. One held a long wooden oar, the other a pristine bell made of brass, inscribed with countless sigils and runes. 
The oar pointed to a rather quaint canoe on the Ferryman’s left; it had a deep red interior, but stranger to some would be the myriad of tiny holes covering it all, and the lack of river water spurting through any of these holes. The corpse obviously couldn’t see this, but I doubt it would care at that moment. For it was dead-focused on the Ferryman’s right; as just past where the bell dangled from his void of an arm, came the worried murmurs of a young boy–blonde and pristine as opposed to the thing that was seeking him. The boy sat on the seat of another canoe, this one a more typical oak brown.

“Sam… Is… That… You?...” hope blossomed in the corpse’s voice. It began limping towards the boy, who shuffled further away along the canoe’s seat with each step the thing took. “I’m… Here… It’s… Going… To… Be… Okay… Now.”

The oar was lowered, blocking the corpse from taking any more steps. 
“Your seat is on the left. Jakob.” said the Ferryman. 

The corpse–or Jakob I should say, but referring to something in such a state with a regular, normal sounding name feels wrong–stood in silence, still as can be for a couple of seconds. Processing. Knowing. And then, at last. Accepting. 
It staggered to the left canoe, and took its seat in the middle. 

I climbed out of the cab, gripping my tattered arm in case it decided to at last tear away from me. He made me watch the first few times–The departure of passengers. I saw it happen through the gaps of my fingers and even through the fearful mirage of my tears. After I stared, wide-eyed, appalled; and then, eventually fascinated. 
A glimpse at what is to come. The next step of the journey.

Ding-ding. Ding-ding. Ding-ding.

Another series of bell tolls from that ancient bit of brass. The corpse, and only the corpse shrieked. It sprung from its seat, or at least tried to; its torso shot upward, but its lower half was completely stuck to the seat. It couldn’t perceive why, and that was my fault. It had no idea what all the holes lining the canoe were. It couldn’t possibly understand that–It was caught in the jaws of something hungry. Something that was always hungry.

Like a beartrap brimming with retracting teeth in a multitude of layers–the canoe snapped shut, muffling the screams of the corpse. Oily and leathery skin broke up from the still river; a tiny glance at the passage to bellow, before the canoe/mouth dove down under the surface. Dragging the corpse from this place and taking it to the next, never to be seen again by the likes of myself. 

I shuddered despite trying not too, as always.

I looked to the right and saw that the Ferryman and the boy, Sam, had already started sailing away from the dock. Sam appeared calmer than before, as if he was tired from a long day and had finally earned the time and found a place to rest. The cold didn’t seem to bother him; a breeze blew his blonde, appearing to caress him like a mother’s hand. I believe I saw him smiling faintly before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The Ferryman rowed side to side before letting the canoe ride the slight current of the river downstream. In the far distance, a tiny golden light shone brilliantly. The canoe was perfectly aligned with it. 
“There is more to collect, and to deliver, is there not, courier? Back to your vehicle, I will await your return, as always.” the Ferryman said.

I nodded, though it was probably more of a slump caused by my still-throbbing head. 

I got back into the cab, my entire body tense with pain. Shattered and drained of all sources of energy. I closed my eyes, falling deep into sleep, like little Sam out there on the river.

—

A subtle, familiar click then ‘swoosh’ woke me some time later. The shuffling of someone or something climbing inside followed suit. My eyes first wandered to the windows, seeing the boundless fog once more outside. The docks, Sam or the Ferryman were nowhere to be seen. Then my vision drifted to the rear-view mirror, and from there I saw it: The partition screen, fully repaired, with not a scratch or crack to speak off; I noticed the windscreen had been replaced too, and was likewise spotless. Strangest of all, was that my arm had also been ‘repaired’, in-fact all evidence of the corpse had been seemingly erased. Teeth and all.

It was then that the shape behind the screen became impossible to ignore. Its outline grew closer until a clear human outline appeared behind the glass. A repulsive shade of moldy blues and greens. Its smell helped confirm my growing suspicion: It was another cadaver, and it's even more rotten than the last one…