STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT

THE OCEAN DOESN'T WANT ME

A singles cruise turns into a nightmare when a man wakes up alone and in pain, only to discover a terrifying truth lurking beneath the ocean's surface.

 

TROCHILDAE

A corporate executive ventures into the woods alongside an elderly man, intent on negotiating a land deal, only to uncover its hidden, forbidden secrets.

 

FOUND ON THE LAPTOP OF DOCTOR TODD BOOTH

Lost in the woods, a mysterious house reveals terrifying secrets and a sinister force that stalks its victims in the night.

 

SOUTHERN FRIED SHOKUSHU

A scam artist's get rich scheme goes awry when he purchases a mysterious creature from the internet.

 

FOOD, FOLKS AND FUN

It was the final late-night rush of customers that the closing crew at Burger Clown would ever have to face.

 

FOREVER TILL THE END OF TIME

A divorced man's ex-wife reveals a terrifying discovery that could grant them eternal life at a terrible cost.

 

WHAT ROUGH BEAST

A young primatology professor forms a bond with an experiment gone wrong and faces the consequences of her actions.

MARCIE DID YOU KNOW 

 Marcie's obsession with the unknown leads to her facing the consequences of what she always wanted.

 

 

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: What Rough Beast

by

Al Bruno III

(This story originally appeared in Eden Studios Terra Primate and appears here courtesy of the publisher)

Everyone thought she had gone home hours ago, no one noticed her car parked behind a dumpster near the back of the complex. She hid herself in a cramped room with high shelves stacked with petri dishes, latex gloves and medical equipment. Alone there she waited, waited for the late shift to end and the custodial staff to finish their rounds.

Bored and terrified all at once Dr. Linda Harrison went over her memories one by one, examining them like samples suspended in formaldehyde.

It had begun for her five years ago, a young professor of primatology fresh out of school and swimming in debt. She had no family, and had been to busy for anything more than academic pursuits. The Balock Corporation's offer had been too lucrative to resist, she'd have her student and car loans paid off in two years if she was frugal enough. All she knew going in is that she would be working as a consultant for a team of cardiologists, urologists and geneticists.

She wasn't naive, she knew it wasn't the Goodall institute she was going to work for. These were ethically nebulous medical experiments involving primates, but she rationalized it she told herself that these weren't real apes these were livestock bred for only one purpose.

Of course it wasn't that simple, nothing in life ever is.

The apes had been genetically engineered with human DNA. The goal was to create a resource for transplants. Apes with blood types and cellular structures so close to human as to be a nearly universal match. It would mean an end to waiting lists and organ rejections.

To Linda it seemed so noble, yet so farfetched.

Most of the apes died on the operating table or as a result of flawed theories and experiments. Only one was kept alive, a control subject they had given the strange-sounding nickname of Jermyn. They monitored him to see if the altered apes would suffer any long-term problems.

A noise roused Linda from her thoughts, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. She recognized the voices of the security guards as they made their leisurely way up the halls. They were talking about sports, those two always talked about sports.

She waited a little while longer then she headed out, moving as quietly as she could. She used her passkey once to enter the secure wing and a second time to enter the wing that held the animal pens.

For some reason the memory of her first day of work flashed across her mind. She had to force her way through a gauntlet of animal rights protesters. They held up signs that proclaimed ‘A rat is a cat is a dog is an ape is a boy’ and went out of their way to sneer and spit on her.

Perhaps she should have taken that as an omen.

Since she was mainly on hand to maintain the apes and answer the other scientist's questions Linda tried to spend a little time each day observing Baylock Inc.’s new creations. She made notes and field reports. The altered primates were taller and more bipedal in stature than their ordinary kin. They were bright, imitative but prone to sudden outbursts of violence.

During her time there she had seen two of the ape keepers gravely injured and there had been uncountable near misses. Linda knew to keep well away from the cages, especially when she was alone.

But it was when she was alone that Jermyn made contact.

At first she had thought there was someone else in the room, and then she had thought that someone was playing an elaborate prank. It wasn’t until the ape called her name for a third time that she realized what was really happening and that realization left her shaking.

The memory of the encounter was still enough to make her knees weak as she made her way down the hallway. Perhaps fear was making her weak as well. This was more than just quitting her job, she was sacrificing her career- her future. The Baylock Corporation might never reveal what she had done but here tonight but they would use their every influence within the halls of government and academia to ruin her.

Very well, She thought as she entered the darkened hallway that contained the ape pens, ruin me then.

She flicked on the lights, momentarily blinding herself, when her eyes sight cleared she found herself staring at row after row of empty cages. Her heart caught a beat at the realization that they had already begun liquidating the test subjects. What if she was too late?

The pen at the far end, the largest one belonged to the control subject. It had a tire swing, climbing bars and toys. She ran down the short hall calling his name. When his gruff voice answered her back she almost groaned with relief.

The massive silverback paced before his cage, running his thick dark hands along the reinforced bars. She knew he was tense, she knew he hadn't been sure she'd come back for him.

The truth was even she hadn't been sure until a few hours ago

"Lin-da." He said again.

Once Jermyn had spoken to her events began to move quickly. She analyzed the ape under the guise of a 'behavior / neurological survey' in addition to her other work. Alone, always alone she performed her test sand examinations. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between herself and the ape that no one else on the research team should know about this. The solitude and late nights didn’t bother her, she had little else to look forward to.

Over time the testing became teaching. The ape's communication and reasoning skills grew by leaps and bounds, although his reading skills were never quite as strong as his ability to learn the spoken language. There was something about the nature of the printed word that he found mercurial and frustrating. Linda found it equally disconcerting to realize that as she was studying this creature he was in turn studying her. He appropriated her slang and gestures; here asked her questions about the world outside the research center's opaque windows.

There was something very trusting and knowing in the way that he looked at her. Sometimes he let her stoke his rich dark fur, sometimes she let him gently stroke her cheek. It amazed her that a hand so powerful could be so tender.

It took a year of study and notes before she was ready to reveal her findings. The reaction was nothing like she had expected. The project's director, a loathsome little company mouthpiece named Evans, seemed horrified and immediately began talking about legal and moral complications. He ordered the project shut down, the research team sent on to other endeavors, it's specimens catalogued and destroyed.

And that was what brought her here in the middle of the night with a stolen keyring in her hand.

"Lin-da" Jermyn said again, an edge of pleading had crept into his voice. “Hu-rry.”

Hurry she did, rushing down the hallway to meet him. Nervous and shaking she had to fumble thought each key on the ring twice before she found the right one. By the time the pen's reinforced door swung open both woman and beast were on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Professor Harris?"

She froze, recognizing the voice of the older security guard, and if he was there, could his partner be far behind?

Roaring with defiance Jermyn dropped to all fours.

"I don't think-" The younger security guard started to say.

Jermyn bounded past her, she fell back striking her head on the metal bars. Sparks flashed before her eyes rendering the chaos before her in strobe- like fashion. The guards had been armed in preparation for a moment like this but they never had a chance. Screams and the snap of bones echoed off the empty pens.

The abruptness of the attack left Linda speechless. She watched Jermyn methodically undress the older security guard. The corpse's neck jiggled and twisted with every twist and tug.

The dark blue uniform was too small in the arms and too tight in the chest- the shoes were a lost cause. It was a poor excuse for a disguise but when the ape buttoned the jacket he issued a grunt that could only be self-satisfaction.

All he's ever been is naked. She thought, He's spent his whole life in that cage watching us pass by him fully dressed and acting like a bunch of second rate gods. How could he have ever known anything more than envy?

For the first time the realization that for all his words and poise Jermyn was still a wild animal struck her.

And what was it that wild animals did?

Adapt and survive. Adapt and survive.

What have I done? Oh God what have I done?

Straightening up to his full height Jermyn approached her, his smile was gruff. He offered his hand and said, "We must leave."

Her confidence broke and she tried to scramble into the pen. He caught the door as she tried to swing it shut. "Lin-da? Don’t be af-raid.”

When he lifted her up she flailed and screamed but there was no one alive to hear. The ape held her tightly, pressing her against his soft fur. He whispered her name over and over again until she had calmed, until she had returned to her senses

Slowly, tentatively Linda reached up to stroke Jermyn's face. He leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. She could have pulled away now but instead she sank deeper into his embrace. They needed to get away from here, her car was waiting, and their future was waiting. A future she hadn't understood before this very moment.

"You damned ape." She sobbed with anticipation as Jermyn's heavy hands ran down the curves of her form, "You damned dirty ape."

 

 

 

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Southern Fried Shokushu

by

Al Bruno III

Jessie Warren and his get rich quick schemes made him a source of embarrassment for the whole town of Zebulon, West Virginia. I got no problem tellin’ you and your deputies what I know but don’t try and pretend that you aren’t just a little bit glad that he’s out of your hair for good.

Did I know what he was up to this time? Of course, we were best friends, sworn blood brothers and I got the hepatitis to prove it. I was always the first person he came to when he had one of his money-making ideas. Jessie could always make things sound so simple. Why not make brew moonshine? Why not cook some meth? Why not start selling counterfeit fainting goats?

Now when he first started talking about making porno for the Internet I thought he might be on to something. He said that since I had a camcorder I could be a producer. I was a little interested at first but then things got weird.

We discussed the whole thing over coffee at Ralph’s Diner. See I figured that he’d want to do something normal and wholesome like the Bangbus but in a pickup truck. But oh no, Jessie had other ideas, he wanted to do something called shokushu.

Now I did not know what in the name of God and the sweet baby Jesus a shokushu porno was and when Jessie explained it to me I was sorry I did.

Shokushu is girls gettin’ it on with tentacles...

No, not testicles- tentacles. You know like on an octopus or a squid.

I didn’t believe him but damn if he didn’t have the pictures to prove it. I guess it was a Japanese thing. I don’t know which pictures bothered me more, the girls that didn’t look happy to be getting molested by an octopus or the ones that looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Say what you want about me Sheriff but I didn’t want anything to do with such a thing and that’s what I told Jessie. He spent the better part of fifteen minutes trying to talk me into it. He said he got a girl all lined up, said she was up for anything. I asked him who this girl was and he told me it was Eunice.

Now I gotta admit using Eunice was a stroke of genius. She is one beautiful girl and, ever since that mule kicked her in the head on prom night, gullible as Hell. I still said no and then he tells me he already ordered a freshwater squid from some guy down in New Orleans named Castro.

We all know there ain’t no such thing as a freshwater squid but Jessie didn’t want to hear it. He said he had that Castro guy coming up to his house in a couple of days.

Maybe I could have talked him out of it but right about right then Stella came over to refill our coffee cups. She took one look at those pictures of girls and octopuses and fainted. In the ensuing chaos I went my way and Jessie went his. I’m pretty sure neither of us bothered to pay the bill.

And that brings us up to tonight. It was about two o’clock in the morning when my phone rings and sure enough it was Jessie.

He’s voice is this scared whisper and he says to me, “I can’t find the squid.”

There was a long pause, mainly because I thought I was still dreaming so he spoke again.

“Are you listenin’ to me George? I can’t find the squid. I got up to take a piss and it ain’t in the bathtub no more.”

So then I said, “You bought the squid? You really did it?”

“Sure, it got dropped off this morning. Eunice helped me load it off the old man’s truck. I figured she should get used to touching it you know?”

What else could I say but, “And you put it in your bathtub?”

“It was bigger than I thought. Big as a man. It had green eyes and its skin changed color when it breathed. Eunice didn’t like it, she said she didn’t like the way it looked at her.”

Nothing he said was making sense, but that didn’t stop him-

“After Eunice left I tried to feed it a hamburger but the thing just left it floating there in the tub. Suddenly I felt real tired and went to lie down,” he sobbed a little, “I had these dreams. They were about this city with buildings all crooked and seaweed in the windows. I saw this shadow, then I felt like I was falling. When I woke up it was night time and I could hear it singing. It was coming from the bathroom and it was like nothing I ever heard before.”

A musical freshwater squid? I was speechless.

“I wasn’t scared of that thing in the daylight but now I was too scared to get out of bed. I just listened to it singing and sloshing around. By the time I got the nerve up to actually go and check on it, it was gone.”

At moments like this I always ask, “Jessie? Are you high?”

“Why was it singing? What does the song mean?”

Then he started screaming and there was these wet slobbering sounds and then everything got quiet. “Jessie!” I shouted, “Jessie are you all right?”

And then the part happened that no one believes, the that part makes me sure you’ll never find no trace of my best friend. The part that makes me tell you to drain the pond out in back of the Warren place and don’t let no one go in those woods alone.

This voice came on the line, it was all high pitched and sing-song but it spoke perfect English

And this is what it said;

“You fool, Jessie is DEAD!”

 

 

 

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT

THE OCEAN DOESN'T WANT ME

A singles cruise turns into a nightmare when a man wakes up alone and in pain, only to discover a terrifying truth lurking beneath the ocean's surface.

 

TROCHILDAE

A corporate executive ventures into the woods alongside an elderly man, intent on negotiating a land deal, only to uncover its hidden, forbidden secrets.

 

FOUND ON THE LAPTOP OF DOCTOR TODD BOOTH

Lost in the woods, a mysterious house reveals terrifying secrets and a sinister force that stalks its victims in the night.

 

SOUTHERN FRIED SHOKUSHU

A scam artist's get rich scheme goes awry when he purchases a mysterious creature from the internet.

 

FOOD, FOLKS AND FUN

It was the final late-night rush of customers that the closing crew at Burger Clown would ever have to face.

 

FOREVER TILL THE END OF TIME

A divorced man's ex-wife reveals a terrifying discovery that could grant them eternal life at a terrible cost.

 

WHAT ROUGH BEAST

A young primatology professor forms a bond with an experiment gone wrong and faces the consequences of her actions.

MARCIE DID YOU KNOW 

 Marcie's obsession with the unknown leads to her facing the consequences of what she always wanted.

 

 

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Trochildae

 

by

Al Bruno III

(for Valerie Jones)

The air was humid and thick with pollen. The path that led through the field was uneven and uphill. The grass that bordered it was thickly flowered with blooms the color of blood. Trees surrounded them, hemlock spruces and white cedars. Occasionally a cicada-like hum would rise up from all around and then fade away.

Joseph hurried after the old man trying to make him sell but the old man just wouldn't listen.

“Creer family moved here in 1806,” the old man said. He was white haired but broad-shouldered and thickly built, “The Protestants in New York hadn’t taken too kindly to them ‘cause they kept to themselves and didn’t worship in the fine respectable churches everyone else did. They bought these acres, it wasn’t farmin’ land you see. Gully’s too deep and the ground’s no good for tillin’.”

“Mr. Fenner my company is more than willing to meet almost any price...” Joseph paused to brush a burr from his slacks, he was sure that by the time this was over his suit would be ruined. Not that he ever wore one of his really good suits when visiting these hick towns, but he still didn’t like the idea of getting grass stains or worse on what he was wearing. Something whizzed past his head, it looked like the biggest, pinkest bumblebee he had ever seen. Joseph had always hated the out of doors. Camping and long walks on the beach were not for him. He preferred the odors and sounds of the city, he’d take subway rats over bunnies and woodchucks any day.

They spied a post nearby, just a bolt of wood standing out in the middle of the tall grass. A milk bottle hung from it. The old man made his way to it and filled it from the watering can he was carrying. The fluid that trickled into the bottle was thick and syrupy. “Now the Creer family was all daughters...” he continued, “well that ain’t really true but they had no luck with the male children. Those that weren’t stillborn or simple ran away from home soon as they could.”

When the old man came back to the path there were a dozen or so ticks on his overalls. Joseph felt his skin crawl, he started brushing at his clothes self-consciously. Was there one crawling up his leg now? Was there more than one?

And why was it the old man just wouldn't listen?

The tree line was growing closer, “Now the Fenner family married into the Creers. The Fenners had made their fortunes in Mexico but they came back up north right before the Alamo fell. Soon enough all the Creer daughters married the Fenner sons. Most of ‘em settled here, they built additions onto the house and made families of their own. Some families moved in to town to make their fortunes,” the old man turned and gave Joseph a ragged grin, “but I’m the last now. Last for miles, wife and kids all gone.”

“So why stay here?” They reached another post with another bottle, the old man filled it. Joseph turned to look back and grimaced at how far they had come. There was a weathered stone wheel lying near the path, there had been writing on it once but it had been reduced to mottled shapes. “All your neighbors have sold to us already. We want to break ground by the fall.”

The old man got back on the path and started walking again, “But ain’t there enough stores in the world already? Besides, if I sell and you plow all this under where will the Trochildae go?”

“Tr- what?”

“Trochildae, least that’s what we Fenners call them. Ain’t got no proper names really but they’re like hummingbirds.”

Joseph groaned inwardly, he had thought the old man was a just a crazy old coot but it was worse than that, he was a tree hugger. “Mr. Fenner there is no record of any endangered species...”

“Well of course not,” the old man replied, “but they're here, been livin' here since before the Creers and the Fenners, since before any man lived at all. Some say the Old Ones brought them down from the stars.”

They followed the path into the woods, Joseph breathed a sigh of relief at the cool shade. He watched the old man fill another bottle. He began “Mr. Fenner I think we have gotten off the subject...” then his words trailed off.

They had reached a clearing in the woods, a rough circle where no plant grew and slabs of stone protruded from the ground. There were figures tied to the stones, men, women and children all bound and gagged with strips of leather. Their flesh was pockmarked and torn. To Joseph's widening eyes they looked like mummies.

But some of those mummies were writhing in place.

A sharp sting of pain made him cry out. Joseph snatched at his cheek and found his fingers warm with blood. There was something flitting around his head, moving fast and filling his ears with a heavy droning buzz.

The thing- the Trochildae- moved too quickly to be seen clearly but Joseph could see it was only bird-like in the vaguest sense of the word. The body was frail-looking and devoid of feathers, dark veins ran through its flesh and its wings moved so quickly that it was impossible to judge how many of them there were. Joseph screamed and swatted at it, backing away and in to the old man's waiting arms. The old man was strong, impossibly strong.

The forest came alive with the sound of the Trochildae as Joseph was expertly bound to a stone. Dozens of the creatures flew this way and that in anticipation.

Over and over again Joseph begged for mercy, but the old man just wouldn't listen.

 

 

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Food, Folks And Fun

 

 

By

Al Bruno III

 

No one saw that damn bus coming, not at a quarter to ten. The staff of Burger Clown had already begun cleaning up for the night. Mark Kravis looked up from his mop bucket and blinked at the sight, "You gotta be kidding me."

"Get on the broiler!" Ken squawked from behind the counter, his voice filling the empty restaurant. "Get on the broiler now!" Ken was the assistant manager, and Mark loathed working with him because his only administrative skills were squawking orders and twitching.

Cursing under his breath, Mark let his mop clatter to the floor and got on the broiler. This was just perfect. His band had practice tonight...

They filed off the bus and streamed in, tramping over the freshly cleaned floor. They were all pasty white and wearing their Sunday best, which was odd considering it was a Thursday. The fluorescent lighting made them look like zombies. Mark glanced at the counter, watching Darla take the first order. He could hear her voice over the hiss and the pop of the grill; she was reciting the official Burger Clown customer greeting, but every syllable reeked with loathing. Mark couldn't understand how she could be so hot and so scary all at once. He talked to her when it was slow, but all he'd ever really learned about her was that she had run away from home and dropped out of college. Mark had never really understood what screwed her up more, her parents or her thesis.

Lucy nudged past him on her way to a fresh tray of hamburger buns. Unlike most of the Burger Clown staff, she actually liked this job. She was retired, and this supplemented her fixed income. The way she took pride in her work irritated the Hell out of Mark.

There was a video screen set against the wall nearest the broiler. When it was working right, it would keep a running tally of the number of beef and chicken patties needed. Watching the line filter down the counter from Darla to Lucy, Mark realized that no orders were flashing on the screen.

"Why aren't you doing anything? Why are you just standing there?" Ken screeched, "We're not paying you just to stand there!"

Mark willed himself to think only about rent and car payments, not about the number of ways there were to kill a man with a spatula. "No orders yet," He said evenly, "Maybe they're all here to use the bathroom."

"It must be broken." Ken slapped the amber monitor and twiddled the CONTRAST and TINT controls meaningfully. "Go out there and see what we need to make. That doesn't mean hit on Darla. That means find out what we need to make and get back here."

"Whatever..." Mark said, skirting around the fry vats and walking up behind Darla. "Hey-" he began.

"Come to visit us, hah?" Lucy winked at him from the shake machine, "Too hot back there, or is Ken just getting on your nerves?"

"Yes," Mark answered as he turned back to the girl at the counter.

A bald man in a clip-on tie was placing his order; a sticker on his shirt announced his name in bright, child-like block letters. He grinned at Darla while he rambled, "…so we were on our way back and we figure we may as well stop off and top off. Get it? Stop off and top off."

"May I take your order, please?" Darla asked.

"That thing through your eyebrow there," he pointed to the elaborate ring, "did that hurt?"

"May I please take your order?" Darla said again.

Oblivious to the waves of raw hostility washing over him, he said, "I'll have a vanilla shake."

For some reason that made Darla's composure crack, a tremor crept into her voice, "One dollar nine cents, please."

Ken yelled, "No conversations! Get back here and work! I'll write you up!"

"All right!" Mark shouted back. He heard Darla slam the cash register door closed. The following customer was already poised to place their order. Mark turned to Darla. "Listen, the computer is screwed up. What have they ordered so far?"

She grabbed his arm with bruising force, "They're only ordering vanilla shakes."

"What?"

She shook his arm and squeezed harder, her nails digging into his flesh, "They are all ordering vanilla shakes. And they all have exact change. All of them."

"Oh."

With that, she let go of his arm and turned to her next customer with a sullen resignation. "Welcome to Burger Clown, where smiles are our specialty. May I please take your order?" 

Mark retreated to the fry vats, trying to get a headcount of how many customers were out there. They couldn't all be vegetarians, could they?

There was a sharp pain as Ken grabbed him by the back of the neck, "Don't just stand around! You've got burgers to make!"

"No, I don't. They're just ordering shakes."

"What?"

"I'm gonna go get my mop before someone knocks it over." Mark brushed past him.

Ken stared after him, twitching, "What?"

There was no way he could avoid having to mop the floor again. The shake fanatics were already spreading through the restaurant like a virus. Mark moved through them, nodding blankly at their pleasant smiles. They were all grinning and talking and slurping on shakes. Everywhere around him, empty conversations droned on and on.

"I can't wait until next year."

"… I still can't believe he had the nerve to show up. A real black sheep."

His mop and bucket were where he had left them, near the trashcans. He stared into the gray, bubbly water, trying to talk himself out of quitting. He could imagine the expression on Ken's face if he walked out the door.

"This is an out-of-the-way little joint. I'm surprised they do any business at all."

"… better than last year, but still not as good as the old times. It's all so safe now. In the old days, the recruits would get really hurt. "

He slowly began wheeling his mop and bucket through the crowd; some of them, he noticed, were back in line for seconds. Mark glanced up to the counter; Lucy was dutifully manning the shake dispenser, Darla was looking more and more distressed by the second, and Ken was just glaring at everything.

"You like this tie? You want it? I've got dozens of 'em!"

"…you should see how my little ones are just into everything now. They're really a handful."

Mark rolled his eyes as he moved to the back of the restaurant. These people, he realized, must be coming back from some kind of family function. A reunion or a wedding or something it was only a guess, but it felt right. Besides, they all looked alike, with heads that looked too big and eyes that seemed too small.

"I swear the damn thing is stuck. Maybe there are some tools on the bus."

"Of course the meat tastes different, it's the chemicals."

A short hallway led to the Men's washroom, the Women's washroom, and the utility room. Mark shoved the mop and bucket into the utility room and kicked the door closed. Next, he made his way to the men's room, where there was a handicapped-accessible stall with a toilet, a urinal, and a sink below a cracked mirror. There used to be a trash can, but someone had set that on fire, and Ken refused to buy a new one until Mark confessed to doing it.

Once he was safely locked in the stall, Mark sat down on the toilet seat and ran his fingers through his hair. His pants stayed on, he didn't need to relieve himself- he just needed a break. Mark tried to tell himself that he would look back at all this and laugh when he was a big-time rock star. The problem was that he didn't even believe it anymore. He had been in four bands in five years, and not one of them was able to make back their expenses, much less turn a profit. At moments like this, he wondered if moving back home wasn't such a bad idea after all. He still had college money waiting for him; his parents had refused to let him have it when they realized he was going to try his hand at show business.

Leaning back against the cool porcelain, he propped his feet up on either side of the stall and tried to relax. He had half a mind to take a little catnap; it wouldn't be the first time.

"This is terrible."

"Let me see."

The bathroom door slammed open, and two of the customers shuffled in. One sounded panicky, and the other was cool and rational.

"I'm stuck." Mr. Panicky said he sounded like a kid who had just found out Christmas was canceled.

Mr. Rational's voice was AM radio smooth, "You're not stuck. I just need an entrenching tool."

Always on the lookout for free entertainment, Mark kept his feet propped up and tried to watch them through the slender gap between the bathroom enclosure's door and the wall. He could only see their backs, but it looked like one of them was undoing his shirt.

There was a smashing followed by a chorus of empty clinkings. "Will this do?" Mr. Panicky asked.

Now there were scraping noises; it sounded like someone was sifting through glass. "That just might. Open wide."

Watching through the gap, Mark saw the figures move closer, one shifting and fidgeting, the other holding something gleaming in his hand. What the fuck is this? Mark thought as he held his breath.

When the moist, wet, digging sounds started, Mark reached for the switchblade he kept in his boot. He always carried a blade with him, and considering the neighborhood he lived in, he probably should have carried more. The sounds continued.

Occasionally, they would be complimented by a rasping noise. Streaks of bile-like fluid began to ooze across the tile floor, and a foul, acrid smell filled the air. Mark didn't know how much more he could take before he'd have to make a run for it.

The sounds stopped. Mr. Rational whistled, "Wow. You are stuck."

"Damn." A foot stomped, droplets of orange fluid spattered everywhere.

"Now don't you get upset. This won't have any bearing on your final record."

Mr. Panicky started to sound like Mr. Resignation, "I'm just disappointed."

"You have every right to be, but don't worry, there will be plenty more excursions."

A scream cut through the air. That's Darla! Mark felt his stomach turn cold.

"I need to be out there." Mr. Rational sighed, "Just keep working at it. Maybe it will give."

"Yeah." Mr. Panicky said. One set of footsteps receded. The door swung to a close, and the digging sounds started again. Mark heard more screams and crashing from the bathroom wall bordering the kitchen. It seemed as though the whole late-night crew had gone mad. And then he heard Ken's voice, groveling and sniveling as he offered to open the safe.

Part of him wanted to get the fuck out of dodge. Part of him wanted to rush out there and save the day. No matter what he did, he had to get up and get going. Whoever these people were, they would find him eventually. After a moment to gather his courage, he flicked the switchblade and charged out of the bathroom stall.

The first thing Mark's eyes found was the bathroom mirror. It was shattered, the smaller pieces lying in the bathroom sink; the man before him held one of the longer shards in his hand. His shirt hung open and loose. The nametag he wore was still visible. It said HI! MY NAME IS BOB. It took several moments for Mark to realize that Bob was slowly and methodically carving grooves into the skin of his chest. The fluid that oozed from those long, symmetrical wounds was orange. Thick tatters of skin lay on the floor or hung from his torso like strips of ruined wallpaper. He regarded Mark with an expression of dull surprise. "I didn't know you were here," he said, "you were hiding. You were spying."

Mark tried to act menacing, but all he managed was to stammer, "Well, what if I was?" He waved the switchblade in shaky circles.

"Oooooo." The thing called Bob grabbed at the knife, leaving the piece of mirror jutting from his chest.

Howling with panic, Mark slashed at Bob, cutting his fingertips and palm. More foul-smelling muck oozed out. "Back off," he cautioned, "I don't want any trouble."

"I need this," Bob grabbed the knife away and shoved Mark backward against the wall with surprising force.

Mark hit his head, and everything went dark.

 

When he came to, he groaned and reached out for support, grabbing onto the cold porcelain of a sink. He squinted through blurry eyes to find the light switch, wondering how long he had been unconscious.

He flicked it several times before giving up. He made his way to the door. Things squelched and slid underfoot, he winced with every footstep.

All the power in the building was out, but at least the streetlights offered a kind of illumination. Mark moved between the booths, wondering why it was so quiet.

Don't wonder. Mark thought, Just get to your car and get out of here. Move back in with your parents and get a haircut and a real job! Just go!

A thin layer of smoke hung in the air, and with it, a scent he could only equate with meat left too long on the broiler. The exit was just footsteps away.

But so was the bus.

It was still out there in the parking lot. The sickos were just sitting there staring straight ahead. Mark dropped to all fours, praying he hadn't been seen.

What the Frig is going on here?

There was always the back exit. All Mark had to do was make his way out there and run. Oh Lord, would he run.

He crawled into the kitchen and found himself staring at a battlezone; the glass of the office door was shattered, the broiler and the fry vats were smoldering, and there were buns and condiments everywhere. One of the cash registers was open, the bills and change left untouched. A tiny squeal escaped Mark's lips as he saw the skeleton curled at the base of the counter. The bones had been picked clean.

Oh God. Oh God.

Chips of glass bit into his palms as he scrambled over debris. He found two more skeletons near the office, lying side by side like lovers. Frozen in place by the sight, he wondered which of his co-workers he was staring at. The broiler hissed and popped, and the fry vats gurgled. He wondered if they'd been alive when the flaying began.

Whoever did this... He realized, Whoever did this wouldn't have left me alive out of sheer kindness. Whoever did this must still be waiting.

When Mark heard footsteps he wasn't surprised, not really. He stood up and saw Bob walking towards him, naked to the waist and smiling jovially. Bob's skinless chest now revealed a pale gray carapace marked with grooved in circular patterns.

"You saved me for last," Mark was numbed by the sight.

"They saved you for me," Bob explained, "I was too late to join in here. Defective equipment. It happens sometimes. Thank goodness you had a knife."

Bob's chest began to whisper with motion. It dilated outwards.

Mark felt his knees buckling "Aliens. You're aliens."

"I am no more an alien than you are a chimpanzee," Bob laughed as the hole in the center of their torso widened. "We are immigrants. This is the last part of our orientation, our chance to observe you in your natural environment. Your flesh, your thoughts, your nerve endings- they must be understood before we can continue."

"Is this an invasion?"

Bob's chest was splayed wide. Something shifted in the aperture, something black and gleaming that writhed in time with the words coming from Bob's mouth. "Invasion?" He chuckled, "There's no invasion here. This world is occupied territory."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Sadly, all you have to look forward to now is madness and death. But you can choose which you experience first," a tendril snaked out of the lifeless automaton. At its touch, Mark's flesh bubbled and melted away. Dozens more latched onto him, dragging him closer, burning through him, searing him to the bone, "You can have it your way."