Heather sat in the lounge, waiting for her name to be called at the human resources department. She scanned the area, trying to make sense of the people passing by. They were sullen, their eyes darting across the semi-polished tiled floor, as though their only destination was the dark hallway.

“Heather Marshall!” called a woman with a raspy voice from inside the office.

Heather stood up, wearing a wrinkled chiffon blouse and faded trousers. She yanked her shoulder bag up and clutched a thick envelope to her chest as she inhaled nervously. When Heather reached the door, she saw a woman in her forties, a bob-haired brunette wearing full glam makeup, staring at her. The woman raised an eyebrow, eyeing Heather as she stood in front of the door.

“Uhm, Ms. Marshall, I suppose?” The woman pointed a bony finger in her direction, her eyes piercing.

She felt more nervous than before as she moved the metal chair and sat down.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heather whispered.

The cold air from the AC sent shivers down Heather’s spine. She pulled the sleeves of her blouse down to cover her pale arms.

“Cold?” asked the woman.

Heather nodded and cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I read in the post that you were looking for a night shift worker for your data collection team?”

The woman paused a moment, still looking at her. “Yes,” she muttered, fixing her spectacles.

“You must be three hours early. Arrange the documents in the storage room. Do you have experience with computers?” she continued.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heather answered.

“On your way out, please let Mrs. Dwight assist you with your corporate ID and uniform, yes?” she instructed.

Heather felt uneasy that the woman did not even bother to introduce herself. Her office smelled of dried paper, mixed with mold and coffee. A dying cactus was carefully displayed among books and piles of crumpled papers. The only lighting in the room came from an old Baroque lampshade.

When Heather was outside the human resources office, she was greeted by a very enthusiastic woman with short curly hair and a gentle smile.

“Ms. Marshall?” she asked.

“Yes,” Heather mumbled.

“Here’s your ID and uniform. You may report immediately today.”

The woman abruptly turned around without hearing Heather’s response.

Three hours early, Heather returned to the office. But the people who walked sullen, hunched figures were gone. The human resources office was also closed; no one was in sight except for the man at the reception area. He was a tall, blonde, blue-eyed man with a thin build, a pointed nose, and thinning lips. Heather greeted him with a wave and a smile, but he never once turned his attention toward her. He stood there with his arms resting on the counter and his eyes staring outside. But as she left the ground floor, the man turned his head, his gaze following her.

Heather shook her head as she boarded the lift. When she arrived at the seventh floor of the building, the lights flickered, and the smell of smoke, almost like burning flesh, lingered. She turned around, but there was no one in sight.

Meanwhile, at the data collection office, Heather sat in front of the computer and organized her desk. She had forgotten to arrange the documents in the storage room.

On the computer, certain folders lined the desktop neatly as she clicked through each one of them, they were empty. Heather scratched her neck, confused.

“What’s this? What am I going to collect? Where are the files?” she muttered. Heather continued to navigate the computer but found nothing helpful. No browser, no documentation, and no manager to seek assistance. She was alone in the office, surrounded by a large number of cubicles.

Heather stood up, intending to leave the office, but when she turned the knob, it was locked.

“Hey! Someone’s here! I’m on the night shift!” she yelled, pounding on the door.

“Sshh!” hissed a voice behind her.

The sudden sound startled her. Heather turned around once again, but there was no one there. She pulled out her phone to call for help, but there was no signal in the building. Her chest pounded as she ran to the door and banged it repeatedly until her body ached.

Desperate, she threw a chair at the glass window and continued trying to break it. Heather was breathless from the wasted effort. Then suddenly the knob turned, and the creaking sound of the door slowly echoed through the room. Heather quickly hid behind a cubicle. A flashlight illuminated the room as it swept across the space, and the jingle of keys grew nearer and nearer to Heather.

“What are you doing here, miss?” the guard asked.

Heather was flabbergasted by the man wearing a mask. Her eyes went agape and her mouth hung open. She stared back at the room, but it was a mess, filled with dust and the smell of smoke.

The guard nudged her shoulder to get her attention. Heather flinched at the touch, stepping aside as she lowered her head, trembling. She remained stunned for a moment before finally understanding the situation.

“I work here,” she whispered.

“Sorry, what?” the guard asked in disbelief, taking her arm. “Come on, miss. This place is not safe for you to be wandering around.” The man radioed someone while escorting Heather outside the dilapidated building.

Heather looked around. There was nothing but bushes and large trees. The man instructed her to rest for a while while he called emergency services.

“Miss, what are you doing here?” he asked again, wiping his forehead. “I’m a guard here, and this place is restricted.”

Heather looked down, then turned when someone pinched her arm. When she checked, there was a shadow standing behind the wall of the building, its eyes staring directly at hers.

A week later, Heather woke up from the same nightmare.

But when she opened her eyes, she did not feel relief.

The eyes were already in the room, waiting for her.

^{Image by: Dasha Yukhymyuk}

Buy me a Ko-fi?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I saw Jaimie last Friday during lunch at the school library. She had beautiful green almond-shaped eyes and wavy auburn hair. Her casual, sporty clothes did not match the wooden interior of the library. Jaimie slumped there, buried in her books, while she wrote in her spiral notebook. She had a fierce look, with a little innocence on her face. Every day, behind the corner desk, I sneaked out of class just to see her. I got sudden hot flushes whenever her eyes darted in my direction. I could not help getting so infatuated with Jaimie. She was the campus crush.

“Hey, Isaac! What are you doing over there? And since when were you interested in books?” said Marion.

He was my childhood friend. We had been partners in crime ever since. With his freckled face and noodle-curly hair, we had called our group the Outcasts. I carved my initials on his arm as a sign of loyalty.

“Oh! You startled me, Marion. I was just checking out some books to borrow,” I muttered.

“Sshh!” hissed the librarian.

Marion and I bowed our heads and ran to the exit as we burst out laughing in the corridor. Out of the corner of my eye, I peeked through the window, still staring at her. Marion poked me in the back teasingly, a large grin spread across his face.

“Oohh! It’s Jaimie!” he laughed.

Later that evening, I saw Jaimie’s cat, Snowbell, running down the sidewalk. I quickly grabbed her and carried her silently through the back door to my room. My mom was in her room, folding the clean laundry.

“Isaac? Where did you go? Did you finish your homework?” Mom yelled from the other room.

“Yes, Mom!” I answered quickly, pulling up the sheets and hiding Snowbell inside the cabinet. I opened the cabinet door just enough to let air in.

My parents’ house was a shabby bungalow that had previously belonged to my grandparents. The cream paint in the hallway was chipped, and there was a mirror on the patio by the front door. We only had one sofa, full of holes, and an old set of brown curtains. Before going to bed, I let Snowbell out of the cabinet and carried her with me while we both slept.

The next morning, I heard Jaimie calling out for her cat. She was frantic, looking everywhere while holding a freshly opened can of cat food in her right hand.

“Hey, Isaac, have you seen my cat, Snowbell? She has white fur and a gold bell,” she said, her brows furrowing with worry.

“No, I haven’t.” I shook my head. “I gotta go now. Hope you find her.”

“Thanks!” she replied.

On the dirt road, I circled back toward the forest to watch Jaimie continue searching for her missing cat. I pulled out a few biscuits and ate as I walked toward an old tree house where I could easily observe Jaimie’s room. Her curtains were open, but the room was still dark. It seemed like she was still outside.

A few hours passed. I was still holding the binoculars when the light in her bedroom suddenly brightened. Jaimie was changing her clothes. I watched closely as she unclasped her baby-blue lace bra. My chest pounded faster as I stared at the sight. Before she closed the curtains and left, my mom called for me, and I realized my pants were wet. I sprayed alcohol on the garment and prepared to leave the tree house.

Every weekend, I did the same thing. I hung out by the tree house and stared at Jaimie. I never had the courage to talk to her or ask her out. She was way out of my league. I was a class clown and a total loser, though I wasn’t an unfortunate-looking guy. I thought I was average.

The night sky and the sound of the stream beneath an old bridge accompanied me as I walked my bicycle. Suddenly, Jaimie approached me, handing me a flyer with Snowbell’s picture printed on it. She was with her girlfriends, Susie and Jenny. Both were taller than her, wearing the same knitted sweaters and carrying the same snobbish expressions. Their lips shimmered with pink gloss, and they wore light-blue braces. In contrast, Jaimie wore a pink tracksuit, black Converse, and a canvas backpack. She smiled at me before leaving, saying, “Please let us know if you find her. Thanks, Isaac.”

She waved, and her fruity scent mixed with magnolia lingered as she walked past me. I stared at the flyer in my hand before carefully folding it and slipping it into my jacket pocket.

Meanwhile, in my room, Marion and I were playing Diablo. I was interrupted by Snowbell’s cries. I had just fed her a while ago. I immediately closed the game while Marion continued talking. He was yapping about the jocks at school. I had no concern for them. Sure, they annoyed me, but I would not waste my time hating them that much. Sitting on the bed, I called for Snowbell. Her white fur brushed against my arm as I petted her. As I stretched out on the bed beside her, she leaned against my leg and slept peacefully.

Monday arrived, and Jaimie was more downcast than before. She missed her cat. I wanted to take the opportunity to talk to her, but I shook at the thought of having a real conversation with her. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, she wore nothing but her pajamas, and her voice sounded nasal. Jaimie must have been sick. She sat on the front porch, still holding an open can of tuna, slouched in her chair with her legs crossed.

“Hi, Jaimie.” I approached her with a smile. “Is this your cat?”

Her eyes widened as she almost lost her balance, dropping the cat food onto the lawn. Mr. Brooks, her father, peeked through the window and waved at me. His expression quickly changed to a gasp. He threw open the green front door and rushed toward Jaimie.

“You found her! Oh, Snowbell, I missed you so much!” she cried.

She laughed through her tears at the reunion while her dad thanked me.

“Have you eaten breakfast?” her dad asked, glancing at his wristwatch.

“Yes, Mr. Brooks. I have to go now,” I said, waving goodbye to Jaimie.

As I walked toward the sidewalk, Jaimie called my name twice. I felt jittery at the sound of her voice. My chest pounded as I slowly turned around to face her. She was closer than before.

I could smell her right there, her breath and everything.

“Isaac, wait for me. I’ll come to school with you,” she offered as she ran back to her house while I waited on the front porch.

I still carried the flower that I was supposed to give her last Valentine’s Day, though she had a boyfriend back then. It was a blue flower. I had dyed it and sprayed cologne on it so she would remember me. After thirty minutes, Jaimie and I were walking down the sidewalk. Her hair was in pigtails, and she wore a blue dress. She had the same smile I had seen back when she was with Brad, her ex. I guessed she was happy with my company.

“Isaac, where did you find Snowbell?” she asked.

Her sudden question felt like a stone lodged in my throat, almost choking me. I coughed.

Clearing my throat, I responded, “I found her in the woods near my old tree house.”

“Thank you for bringing her back. I was so worried,” she said.

“I’m glad to help,” I mumbled, clutching my backpack.

As we reached the school grounds, Brad saw us together. I immediately slowed my pace, falling behind. I lowered my head as he approached.

“What are ya doing hangin’ out with Jaimie?” he scowled. “Jaimie, didn’t ya know this guy smells like piss? Because he’s still pissin’ his bed!”

He laughed while his two minions looked at each other and joined in. The students stared at me, their eyes pinning me to the pavement. I felt cemented beneath their stares, and I quickly ran away from the schoolyard.

“Isaac!” Jaimie shouted.

After the humiliating incident at school, I hid myself inside the tree house. I was crying, bawling my eyes out. I whimpered alone in the dark.

An hour later, I was standing in front of Jaimie’s room. It was the dead of night, and she was reading a book. My pants lay in the bushes while I stood there, touching myself as I watched her. I was still crying, nearly out of my mind, when suddenly the patio lights lit up and a shadow appeared holding a bat.

I did not realize it was Mr. Brooks.

He swung the bat into my hips, forcing me to my knees. My face hit the bushes, and my eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as he dragged me onto the patio.

The last thing I remembered was sitting in front of a uniformed officer answering questions while a woman told me they had already called my mom. There was plenty of yelling in the room, and I saw Jaimie staring at me in shock. Her eyes were puffy. She had been crying for some reason.

But I just smiled at her, silently telling her that it was going to be okay.

Mr. Brooks came back and knocked me out. Everything turned dark.

I did not know what happened next. I could only remember Jaimie and her puffy eyes staring at me.

^{Image by: Daniil Onischenko}

Buy me a Ko-fi?

Damien was a hardworking craftsman living in an apartment complex near Shredwoods Field. He had a playful gray cat named Milo.

One night, Damien came home drunk and darted straight to bed without even brushing his teeth or checking the locks. His work clothes still clung to his musky skin, and his bearded face carried the smell of sardines from the dinner he had eaten earlier that evening.

Damien slumped onto the sheets uncaring, his mouth hanging open as he snored through the night.

Meanwhile, Milo jumped onto the soft mattress and padded toward his owner. His whiskers brushed against Damien’s face as he sniffed the fishy scent lingering around his mouth. Slowly, the cat began licking the leftover sardines from his lips.

Thereafter, Milo grew to like the oceanic taste mixed with the metallic flavor of flesh. Nibble by nibble, his owner’s upper lip was slowly torn like shredded meat.

Blood trickled down Damien’s mouth.

He woke from the pain, though he was still too numb and groggy to fully understand what was happening. His eyes flickered open just as a passing train blocked the lamplight outside, plunging the room into darkness for a brief moment.

Blood spilled onto his dirty shirt.

Panicked, Damien staggered toward the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. Horror spread across his face as he screamed, wiping frantically at the blood while trying to stop the bleeding. Medical supplies tumbled from the cabinet onto the floor as his trembling hands searched desperately for something to help.

Then suddenly, Milo transformed into his owner.

The reflection staring back at the mirror wore Damien’s deep-set eyes, confused and frightened. His hand touched his mouth while his trembling palm pressed against his temples, feeling the heat rising beneath his skin.

“I could be sick,” he whispered.

With bloodshot eyes, Damien rested on the wooden chair, still confused.

What had just happened?

Buy me a Ko-fi?