Turn | A Short Story

Warning Some may consider the story below as graphic or distressing.

“I don’t know why I’m here.” I keep pressing the ball of my thumb into my forearm, clenching it as if it’s going to relieve the pain, even though I know it won’t. “I used to love coming to these things. These groups. Sharing my experiences. Our experiences. I’m not really sure this story is the right fit for you guys.”

I know why I’m here, but they don’t need to know. Not yet.

To my left, a man emerges from the shadows of the gym and into the light radiating down from above, like the spotlight knows it’s his turn to speak. He’s sitting in front of the basketball hoop, between me and a woman who looks like she just got off a twelve-hour nursing shift.

His voice is gruff but soothing to the ear, satisfying even. “It’s okay.” He says. The rubber feet of his fold up chair skid on the hardwood maple court as he inches his way closer into the group. His loose, jet-black ponytail ripped straight from a 90’s action star’s head, dusts his shoulders behind him. “You’re amongst people who will believe you. Paranormal. Supernatural. We’re all here for a reason. Please. Continue with your story.” Is that compassion? Well, hollow or not, I need that right now, at least while I can still get it.

I see emotions ranging from fascination to pure apathy from the various faces in the circle.

“Yeah. Alright.” I unzip my hoodie and relax back in my chair. My leg taps with celerity; a single piston pounding away. I can’t help it. Lately, everything is jittery, more so than usual. The sound of my best friend screaming is only exacerbating whatever transformation my body is undergoing.

“We’ve been looking forward to visiting it for a while. If anyone here has heard of the place, I’m sure you know why.”

A woman whose dirty blonde hair frames the gentlest, most attractive, freckle filled face sits across from me in the circle. She’s wearing a crimson-colored shirt in which two famous horror movie killers are shaking hands, like two world leaders taking a press photo. Under different circumstances, she looks like someone I’d ask to join me for coffee.

She uncrosses her leg and leans in. “I’ve always wanted to go, but our group never made it out there.” She says. A smile grows on that gentle face. “Apparently, it’s really well hidden.”

I indulge her. “Before that night, I would have told you to go, pronto. It looks so interesting. Mysterious. Now, well…” I scan around this varied group of people, landing on Gentle. “Stay away.” Any remaining apathy morphs into enthrallment. Though the Nurse seems to be in a daze.

I’m not sure how long I have. Nor do I know what will happen when my time is up. I wish I could have asked that thing.

“The entrance is impossible to find.” A man spouts. He looks to be around my age, mid-twenties, maybe a little younger, with a bowl cut, parted down the middle. He’s sitting next to Gentle and the Nurse. He leans forward like he’s about to share the world’s most valuable secret. He starts with a haughty tone. “Apparently, you gotta look for the cinder blocks that are of some beaten path in the middle of—”

“Don’t mention cinder blocks.” I tell him. Both of my legs are tapping. Twin pistons. Cinder, cement, concrete. The thought of that coarse, gray chunk of limestone and clay is enough to send a serrated shriek down my spine. Dirty glass scraping freshly dried concrete. The sounds are grouping up on me. I need to keep my cool. “And no, whatever you were about to say, that’s not right.”

“Uh, okay.” Bowlcut flicks his eyebrows up, sneering at the Nurse next to him as if he has any idea what he’s talking about. His hair bounces around with a jerk of his neck. “Prattle on.” He says, waving his hand.

I continue with a corner-eyed glare directed towards him. “Anyway. We read about it on some tabloid list that had abandoned places to visit. It was weird, though. The website looked outdated, almost from the primordial internet days, but it was still up, so someone had to have been keeping it running.”

“Whoop-de-doo.” Bowlcut scoffs, as if anyone cares. He whips his leg up and crosses the other.

I can’t help but chuckle as Ponytail backhands the top of Bowlcut’s leg. “Hey. Let the man talk without interruption. At least wait until the end.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” Bowlcut cries and I continue.

“To be honest with you all, we didn’t know jack about it before then. We did some more digging and found that other websites mentioned it as a ghost hot spot. It was never anything more than that. There was only one picture we had seen, taken after people abandoned it. A wide-framed shot of the whole place. The Concrete Circle. Still, with just one picture, we couldn’t figure out where it was. No one knew. Everywhere we looked, each page always included the same few sentences about what the place was, yet never mentioned where. Then, I found it. Someone on an abandoned location forum I had been inquiring on direct messaged me a bunch of numbers on a whim. The user had an anonymous name and didn’t say anything else. We took some time and discovered the numbers were coordinates. So, I took a chance. Prong and I—I’ll call him Prong, from here on out—my best friend. We figured we’d take a chance.” I take a long, well-earned deep breath, and continue while my legs halt their piston drive. “It was supposed to be part of his birthday present. Well, that and a bottle of superb wine.”

I see Ponytail look around the circle. “Were you guys drinking before you went?” He asks me.

“Nope. Not a drop. If anything, a little coffee—well, a lot of coffee. But that was it.”

He doesn’t need to know.

Bowlcut slams his shoe down on the hardwood. A squeak echoes throughout the gym.

“Why are we talking about what we drink?” He asks.

My emotions feel amplified. I can feel my lip squirm. My nose twitch. I want to push my teeth out of their sockets. I didn’t hate Bowlcut before. I’m starting to. Hopefully, he’s too busy basking in his arrogance to see he’s irritating me, though I’m not sure if it’s him, or if my body’s shift getting closer.

Ponytail lifts his hand up like a crossing guard. He glances over at Bowlcut with a piercing glare. “You need to relax. That will be the last interruption. One more and you’re gonna have to dump your free coffee out and come back next week. This isn’t the place for hostility.” Ponytail says, taking a sip out of his own cup.

Bowlcut jolts his head back in revulsion, like an irritable teenager. His eyes roll to the back of their orbits. They’d roll past them if they were able.

“The coordinates were spot on. It felt like we stumbled into a fairytale. There was a pergola hidden in the thick tree line with overgrown vines smothering it, giving way right to the Concrete Circle.” In reality, I can’t remember the entrance or what it looked like. After everything that happened, my brain seems to have draped a large shroud over that part. I’m not sure if it was a vine archway or marked by cinderblocks like Bowlcut said, but there’s no way I’m giving that schmuck the satisfaction. He doesn’t believe me. I don’t care.

Gentle leaned in closer for me to resume. She looks interested. I do care about that.

“It was gorgeous. And we were both ready to explore and bathe in that comforting, bizarre feeling of a liminal space, exactly like that single picture entailed.”

The Nurse adjusts herself in her chair. “I feel embarrassed to ask, but…” she asks, her voice trembling.

“No one should feel embarrassed here.” Ponytail answers. “Please. Ask away, though only if the speaker doesn’t mind the question. That goes for everyone.” He sneaks another quick glare at Bowlcut.

The Nurse raises her eyes to me. “What is the Concrete Circle? I’ve never heard—”

“Seriously?” Bowlcut chimes in, followed by a long sigh. “The Concrete Circle is basically a circular village of twelve concrete homes in a rural area. It was completed by the township, but abandoned shortly after, and no one moved in. I don’t think you’re even qualified—”

 “In the center was a park that was overgrown but appeared to be in decent condition, like nature protected it.” My turn to interrupt him. “The buildings, on the other hand, did not look protected. We headed for the left most home, then moved clockwise in the Concrete Circle.”

I grab my arm again, clenching it with more force. This time with my fingertips. It feels like a stress ball. It’s burning. If the holes in it were large enough, I’d lodge my fingers in them to disperse the pain. Maybe wiggle it around in the flesh a bit.

The sounds bullying me are growing sharper. The dirty glass that scrapes across the concrete is now broken. Shards get stuck in the grain, ready to prey on whatever soft object rolls over it. My brain.

“The sky was eerie that night, and I know what you’re all thinking. Of course it was. It always is. No. This was different. There wasn’t a star in sight. Nothing. Not so much as a cloud for us to guess its shape. Even the moon was afraid to show itself that night. It was black. Like that part of the Earth fell into a wormhole and landed in a void.”

I can hear whispering in the gym, though I’m not sure who it is.

Ponytail clears his throat. “What time did you guys get there?” He asks.

I don’t know the answer to his question, but I need to give him something. “About nine. I think it was nine, or maybe it was eight. I’m not sure.” I tell Ponytail. “So, we reach the first home in the Concrete Circle. It wasn’t too bad. Beer bottles on the ground. Cigarette butts stacked up in mounds, and a few dozen scattered throughout. Nothing too unusual. Though, one pile, a mix of white and brown cigarette butts, spelled out ‘KILL ME’ right in front of the staircase that led to the second floor above. That was a new one.”

“That easily could have been vagrants messing about.” The Nurse says. I glance over at her.

“That’s true. And we did think about that. Obviously.” I lean in towards her. “But trust me, it wasn’t vagrants.”

The Nurse grows a befuddled face, and I leave her with it.

“It was freezing in there, which was weird, because it was nice outside. Inside this place… it felt like it could have been snowing. Of course, with that rapid temperature change, Prong brought out his EMF meter. We both knew we would have to find something in there. We felt it.” I need to let go of my arm. My hand is sweaty. Arm feels the same, though. Burning. Like rolling balls of fire. It’s getting worse as I sit here and tell my story. It’s all getting worse.

“What brand do you use?” A voice asks, who isn’t Bowlcut or Ponytail. He’s sitting right next to Gentle, and I can smell him. He has some sort of homemade concoction of cologne on. It’s hard to focus on the question with that stench. “I mean EMF. What kind of EMF do you use?” He asks.

“Homemade.” I say, looking at him. This is the first time he spoke up, and I get it. It’s hard to speak when Bowlcut is running his mouth the entire time. He’s just glancing back at me. I had never seen him in one of these groups before; he isn’t from around here, at least. If only Gentle could smell the stench on him, she would have sat next to me. It’s horrendous.

“Really?” Stench asks. He aims his thumb toward the person next to him like a hitchhiker. “That’s pretty amazing. I thought we were the only ones.” A woman sits there wearing a trench coat that’s tied around the waist. Her hair’s up in a bun. Tight. She throws a quick introductory smile my way and I grow even more anxious. I just now realize how many people are actually here. Listening to me. Watching me. My legs are twitching again. The sound of broken glass scraping concrete is turning into nails scratching a chalkboard. I can see long claws getting duller as they slide down. Scraping the board. They’re leaving indents in my brain. I need to close my eyes. I need the dark.

“Hey.” Ponytail’s voice emerges from the abyss I threw myself down. “You okay?” He asks me. I flutter my eyes to wash my thoughts away, then force my legs to a halt.

“Yeah. I’m good.” I say, as I swallow my ever-growing unease. I clear my throat. “So, Prong turned on the EMF and started scanning the place. The gauss was off the charts immediately. He walked in and out the front door plenty of times. Nothing outside. Maximum inside. It was insane. It was only right for us to contact whatever was occupying the space. Or try to, at the very least.”

“Ghost box?” Trenchcoat asks.

“Prong began.”

His voice still echoes in the halls of my head, reverberating around like a soul trapped in its body’s coffin. “‘Whoever’s here, can you tell us who we are addressing? And we do know we are addressing someone.’ After that question, the EMF meter went down to absolute zero. No reading at all. I spoke next. I remember asking, ‘when did you die?’ Then, the EMF meter shot back up shortly after. Maximum. Next thing we know, a bottle rolled down the stairs from the floor above, landing in the kill me pile of cigarette butts. Prong looked down at the ghost box and it said—”

“… kill me?” Bowlcut asks, interrupting in a sensitive tone. He seems excited, at last, yet I still don’t care, nor do I like him one bit. Shut up and listen.

I look around the room. Gentle, Bowlcut, and Ponytail seem invested. Weirdly, Stench and Trenchcoat are completely relaxed, resembling scientists studying their subject. Like they already know something. I’m going to miss these groups. Meeting different people.

“No.” I say. “It said Turn.”

Gentle leans towards me. “T—turn? The box said turn?” she asks.

Ponytail addresses the group. “Turn back maybe? Around?” He asks. “Anyone?”

That burning sensation in my arm is back, not that it ever actually left. Napalm is covering my arm. Twin pistons are firing again. Claws against a chalkboard, getting duller by the inch they’re dragged. The involuntary urge to bite my fingernails just to appease my growing nervousness is becoming irresistible. This can’t look good. I need to stop. I need the dark again.

“What was the follow up?” Stench asks me, breaking me out of my funk. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a notepad out. One of those yellow ones, maybe. I could see it. It could have been useful after this meeting ends. After my story. Someone will need to tell it.

I clear my throat again. “After that reply jolted Prong and I with excitement, we ventured upstairs where the bottle fell from and…”

Ponytail swallows in the silence I left in the middle of my sentence. It’s loud. It sounded like the climax of a toilet flush right next to my ear.

“We asked the house, ‘turn what? Turn back? What’s your name?’ And after no reply for some fifteen minutes… onto the next place.”

“You just… left?” Bowlcut asks.

“So, moving onto the next home in the circle. The first one felt lived in, like people came and went. There were signs there, you know? Homeless. A gang’s hideout. Something. But this one, the second one, it wasn’t touched. At all. No graffiti. No litter. Not a spec of dirt anywhere. This one felt as if someone was there sweeping the dust away. Keeping vagrants out. There wasn’t a single sign of anyone or anything ever stepping foot in there. I don’t know. It felt wrong. Like we discovered an untapped land that was cared for.”

“Did either of you have a thermal monitor? Or something of the sort?” Stench asks.

“A while back, Prong splurged and bought a thermal imaging camera. Before then, we used a monitor. So first, we brought out the EMF meter: zero. The Ghost box: zero replies after asking a dozen questions. Nothing. Then we brought out the thermal camera. We went through the entire place. Not a single temperature change.”

“Was it warm or cool?” Gentle asks.

“Well… that’s the thing. The thermal camera said forty-five degrees, but it had to have been reading wrong.”

Thoughts are flooding the halls of my head. Voices are melding together, then breaking apart like an artery flooding with plaque, then unclogging.

“It was cozy in there. Like sitting in front of a fireplace in a cabin, with a cup of whatever hot drink you like. Cozy. But there were no sources of heat anywhere. It was an open home, unfinished, with no windows or doors in their frames. Yet, it still had that wrong feeling. Forty-five degrees inside and cozy? Nothing made sense. It felt like I was having an existential crisis and a panic attack, while this voice would whisper in my head, ‘everything is okay.’ I still feel that way.”

Nurse’s heart, it’s beating much faster than it was before. I can hear it now. Something’s going on.

“Prong wasn’t doing too good either. I looked over at him sitting on the ground with his head between his legs, until I got him up, took him to the playground to get some air. He was shaking.”

“Oh god.” Gentle whispers.

“You guys actually took a break.” Bowlcut says. “You’re wasting time. This is like some kind of hunting show on TV. You’re playing this up. And you’re killing me.”

Yes, Bowlcut, I’m going to kill you.

“We took a breather at the playground. There was a bench that reeked of sulfur right next to the jungle gym. The source of the smell was creeping us out, so we didn’t sit. Instead, we walked to our final destination. The last place we would touch there. The fact the sky was missing its tenants wasn’t even phasing us at this point. It almost made sense that it didn’t make sense. And we were determined to get more of that.”

Stench and Trenchcoat glance at each other. Trenchcoat taps something in her inner pocket, like she’s making sure it’s in there. Weird.

Ponytail finishes the last sip of whatever was in his cup. “I need to ask. Why weren’t you filming anything? I didn’t think about it before, and I’m not discrediting you at all, but… It goes without saying that it’s just something you do when you’re hunting ghosts.” He motions toward the group. “Something we all do when we hunt ghosts.”

I take a deep breath, blocking the pain in my arm. The rising anxiety. The anger. I think of my best friend, and the sorrow that’s been building up, waiting to burst through the doors.

I turn towards Ponytail. “Listen. We never hunted for anyone but ourselves. We didn’t care about showing others what we saw, felt, or ran into. It was for us. We did it because we liked it. We never thought we owed anyone proof or anything like that. Childhood best friends doing something they’ve always done. We saw it all. Together.”

Ponytail is dead silent. I catch Gentle’s sympathetic grin. My gaze shifts to the floor. Those forsaken feelings bubbling like magma in the chamber of a volcano. My arm. The glass. Concrete. Claws. Chalkboard. I know what’s coming. So, I take a deep, dramatic breath, letting my cheeks fill up, then deflate like a balloon.

“The last house. Home. Whatever. The last concrete structure. There was nothing special about it from its exterior. It looked like the first, and all the others, except it sat up on its own little hill. This was going to be the big one.” Twin pistons are firing their fastest yet. My arm feels like it’s trying to pull itself away from my body; it’s getting sucked into a black hole. I can hear my best friend’s screams like they’re happening in real time. I’m not ready for this part of the story, or my life. But we’re here. It’s going to happen here.

Stench crosses his legs and cups his knee with both hands overtop one another. “Before you continue, in your opinion, what do you think was in that first place? Poltergeist? Funnel Ghost?” He asks. I don’t answer though, and instead continue with the rest of the story.

“The sky was darker. There was some sort of fog that came trickling through. I’m not sure. We felt locked in a dark closet. Our flashlights struggled to shine in front of us.”

I can see Stench and Trenchcoat mouthing something to each other. That’s weird. I bet I could hear everything they’re saying if I tried. Ah. It doesn’t matter.

“We approached the place, and as we got closer—” I swallow, in hopes of keeping down whatever feelings are about to emerge, or rather, ones that have been waiting to emerge. “We heard that sound.”

Everyone leans in but Stench and Trenchcoat, who aren’t even hiding their studying me anymore. I don’t think they’re regular old ghost hunters.

“It’s been stuck in my head ever since that very moment. We reached the doorway, and before we saw or felt anything, we heard—or I heard what reminded me of two rough pieces of polystyrene foam rubbing together, slowly. I only just glanced over at Prong and asked him if he heard that. He did, but we didn’t let it phase us.”

I need to take another deep breath. I can feel my heart’s urge to race faster while my brain traces back over the memory. I look over at Trenchcoat, who’s making a particularly confused face, with the skin around her eyes scrunched.

“We walked in the front door, and the sound only grew in volume. It was definitely coming from inside. I was afraid to keep shining my flashlight, in fear of whatever was making the noise would notice it before we could get the jump, but Prong kept his torch lit. We hit the living room area—I guess what would have been the living room area—and there was nothing. Graffiti and litter? Of course, but nothing we could see, living or inanimate, made that sound. So, we went upstairs. The noise was louder. Whatever was doing it, it was up there. We hit the top of the steps, and Prong shined his light at the far end of the room. The source of the sound. In the corner was what we thought to have maybe been a man at one point in his life, but not anymore. This was no man.”

Stench whispers something in Trenchcoat’s ear. Their irreverence is bothering me. Gentle leans back in her chair. Bowlcut, Ponytail, and the Nurse are silent and still. No one has any idea.

Forgive me.

“Prong’s light gave way to a towering… thing. It had no clothes on. It had no breasts, and it was barren between its legs. It had gray skin that looked almost like old, loose leather, like that of an elephant, but shiny. Not dull in the slightest. It seemed ancient, like it had been there forever. It might as well have been a skeleton by how slender it was.”

Stench and Trenchcoat look at each other through the corners of their eyes. I’m not sure if they don’t believe me, or something else is going on over there.

“Prong raised the light until the beam reached its face. It had various lengths of teeth. Some were short and stubby, others were sharp, and poked out in front of its chin. But the sound. That—”

My ears are ringing. Never had tinnitus before. While a little late, it only makes sense I would get it now.

“What I thought was foam rubbing together—it was holding a cinderblock to the side of its face, grinding its long teeth against it. Grinding. Grinding. Grinding. Like a dog gnawing at a bone that was way too big for its mouth. I’m surprised we didn’t see sparks. And his head. It switched from its teeth to the side of its head. Its skull had small spikes, as if some kind of bone cancer had engulfed it, but it survived while the sickness kept spreading. They were poking through the thin skin on the side of its face, but the leathery flesh grew around them, like needles puncturing latex. It would grind its teeth some, then the small spikes on its face. It had long hair, but there were only twenty or so strands sprouting from the top of its head. Ears that pointed straight to the sky and were about two fingers in length from tip to lobe. They were skinny, and their tops looked sharp to the touch, just like the side of its face.”

That noise. Sheet metal against a grinder.

“In my awe-filled state, I shined my light towards it, and seen its eyes. They reminded me of a dull moon in the center of a black sky. Its eyes. Maybe that’s where the moon above us went.”

“Blind?” Gentle says.

“I assumed they were cataracts, or at least that’s what I seen. But yes, blind. As far as we could tell, it couldn’t see us directly. It was just gnawing away at a cinderblock.”

Stench and Trenchcoat are looking at me with a blank stare, appearing to scan my body. My arm is burning again, and it’s moving around my body. I’m caught in a pool of gooey napalm. But I’m relaxed. I don’t know what is happening. I don’t think anyone else wants to say anything, so I’ll keep going.

“Prong brought out the thermal camera and shot towards the thing. There was nothing. No temperature reading. Whatever it was, grinding its teeth and skull in front of us, didn’t even show up on the camera. Like it wasn’t even there. But it was there… I promise you all. It was. There was motion, but there was no reading. We were both looking into the camera when I saw Prong’s hand tremor. Before I could help him steady it, it was already too late. The camera was on its way to the ground. It hit the concrete. The grinding stopped. I pointed my light towards the thing and could see its face convulsing. It was twitching. Its hands tensed up like the worst case of arthritis and carpel tunnel you’ve ever seen. Its fingers locked in unique positions at their joints. I could see its nails digging into its own skin. The cinderblock fell to the ground and broke. We jumped. It stopped. It still had its mouth wide open from all the grinding. Paused, frozen in time. We both had our lights aimed at it, trying to back up towards the stairs. It didn’t move. It knew we were there, it had to have known we were there, but it wouldn’t move a muscle. It started making this noise with its mouth. Like it was trying to say something, but stopped before any semblance of a word made it through. A whispered burp, almost. A squeak. I tried to look closer, and there were these little white dots moving around in its pitch-black mouth, behind the catalogue of various sized teeth. Like dim, glowing white eyes.”

I’m still not sure if I hallucinated the eyes or not. I think they were there. The group doesn’t need to know otherwise. I can tell it’s getting closer.

“The eyes in its mouth disappeared, and it screamed. Squealed. I’m not sure what to call it. I remember my ears feeling like they were going to burst. All I could hear was the sound of speakers reaching their absolute limit, clipping beyond their capability. It went on for a few seconds, then it stopped. Prong’s sanity was scurrying away. I could see his bottom lip quiver. It could sense the fear coming from my best friend. It knew his lip was quivering. Whether it heard it or felt it, it didn’t matter. Prong inhaled with his cry, whimpering too loud, and in a split second, the thing’s head snapped towards Prong like a jaguar spotting its prey and sprinted towards him. It took scurrying little strides, but it was quick. It lunged straight at Prong with its mouth wide open, and—I don’t want to say bite, because that would be underselling it.”

His screams. God himself would have winced at his screams.

My body wants me to cry, but it’s too late. I’ve been burning all over for a while now, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. It could happen any moment now. I’m not sure.

“It destroyed Prong’s neck with one clench. It sunk its teeth straight through. Complete closure of the jaw. Thinking back to it grinding its teeth, I’m not sure if it was sharpening them, or trying to cause itself pain. Maybe both. I just know that Prong’s scream was almost as loud as whatever that thing was until it wasn’t.”

Pain.

“I kept my light pointed at it, standing there like an idiot. I’m still not sure why I didn’t start running. Seeing my best friend getting bit by something like that I—I didn’t know what to think. I froze like one of those horror movie victims we all yell at for doing nothing in a dire time. I could see its Adam’s apple moving up and down rapidly as it swallowed Prong’s blood, like a ball bouncing infinitely, stuck in a skinny cylindric tube. A few seconds later, Prong’s head fell onto the ground. Sucked dry. Just like that.”

I see the Nurse lean down into her hands.

“The thing was breathing at an insane pace, like it ran around the Earth a few times. I watched its chest compress and expand a million miles per hour before I turned and ran down the steps. I was overthinking way too hard about making sure I hit each step so I didn’t trip. Of course, I missed the last two, and I went down hard. I dropped my flashlight, and it landed in the corner of the room. I could hear the thing’s bare feet slapping the ground, dashing down steps. I turned back, and it was right there. Staring towards me with those clouded eyes. It was blind, but I knew it could see me. It inched closer with spread out feet slaps but didn’t lunge like it did with Prong. I felt like it was toying with me. I noticed some of its teeth were missing, and it looked like miniature tendrils were flailing around in the gum spaces where the teeth used to be. Some sort of organism took refuge in those pits.”

My Adam’s apple is pulsating. I need to hide it. I zip my hoodie back up as if I was cold, even though my skin is on fire.

“It kept its mouth open as it got right up to my face. I could see dried streams of tears on its leather-bound cheek. I stuck my arm out in front of my face out of fear. I remember asking it to let me go, which was useless. Then it reached out for my arm and bit into it. Lightly. It felt like it was trying to be kind about it. And it kept its teeth in me for a moment. It didn’t hurt right away. Shortly after, I felt something moving around in my skin as its teeth unclenched my arm. Its grip gently loosened. It backed up to the steps and went upstairs. I heard a thud, but never went back up to check what it was. It could have fallen over and died. I left immediately after. I hurried out of there like Prong and I should have the moment we heard the teeth grinding against the cinderblock.”

It’s time.

Ponytail shoots back into his chair with a middle-aged sigh. “Man, I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Stench and Trenchcoat are whispering with each other. Again. I can hear one of them saying, “It’s him.” While the other replies, “are you ready?” I don’t think they’re ready for anything.

Gentle is staring at me. I hope she’s not judging me. The thought of asking her out on a date makes me happy, and I don’t wish to scare her. Maybe we can go out in another life.

Ponytail glances at me. “Okay. This is the part where I ask one last question. You need to be honest with me. This is a safe place. You know that.”

Not for long. I look back at Ponytail. “Shoot.”

“Are you using?” He asks.

“Am I what? Are you serious? That’s what you got out of all that?”

“I just want to know. That’s all. It’s safe here, like I said.”

“Yes, he’s serious” Bowlcut yells, keeping the circle quiet. “That was ridiculous.” He says.

Twin pistons. The engine is purring. Ready for my foot to hit the gas. Ready for me to release. Ready to let it all out. I knew this was the right place to go.

“Is that right?” I ask, even with the pain now coursing through my veins. The feeling of my bones trying to push through my skin is growing. It feels more like adrenaline than anything else. My gums are tingling. They’re ready. So am I.

“You don’t believe me?” I grab my arm where the bites are. Hard. Retaliating against my bones, trying to calm them only for a few seconds longer. I can’t let it end like this. He needs to go out on a dramatic note.

“Not for a second.” He says. “Not a word. This is a group for real hunters. Not a group for sharing bad trips or kiddie stories.” He laughs. I mean, he’s actually laughing at me. “You probably never even had that friend, let alone any friends. What a joke.”

I’m ready.

“Plus, ‘turn?’ You couldn’t think of anything better than that, at least? What is that even supposed to mean?”

I keel over for a second. Those little buggers have their tendrils spread in my body, crawling all throughout my skin. They’re latched onto my gums, disguising themselves as my teeth. They’re eager for me to get some of this prick. To rip him in half. Tear him to shreds. To drink that blood he doesn’t deserve. This fusion of pain and euphoria is intoxicating, overtaking any other feeling that existed in my head. Just agony and ecstasy. God, it feels invigorating and exhausting. I want to die but live forever.

I keep my head down. My teeth and their new friends are sticking out of my mouth. I can feel them. My skin went from grape to raisin in seconds. My legs are calming down. My fingers feel stiff. This has to be it.

I glance up at Bowlcut. “I’ll show you what it means.” I say. I’m not sure what I look like to the group at this moment, but I know what I feel. I want to kill him. I’m ready to disembowel every entrail in his body and shove them down his throat.

In seconds, I heard almost every chair in the group shoot out, sliding across the hardwood floor, sending skidding echoes throughout the gym. Every chair except for Gentle’s.

He’s mine.

I jump out of my chair towards him. I see nothing but red. I open my mouth wide, hungry for his plasma and innards as much as the friends in my gums. I close my eyes and chomp down. I can hear his skin crack, and it is music to my ears. Like my new favorite song. I can feel his corrupted blood run splash down my throat. He tastes terrible, and despite that, I’m swallowing so fast I need to rest. I open my eyes to see the gentlest face before me on the floor. Lifeless. Dead. It was Gentle. I killed Gentle. oat

“No. No, no, no. I—” I don’t know what to say. I look around before a screech shoots out of me involuntarily. It came bursting out, like the spontaneous feeling of needing to vomit when you have the flu. I can imagine it sounded like that thing in the concrete structure. Like some sort of monster. I look up to see Stench standing next to me, unafraid, though almost amused. Then, a machete in the hands of Trenchcoat as Bowlcut cowered behind her. She swings down and I don’t flinch. I feel the blade chop into my neck. Deep. But it doesn’t end me. I still feel plenty alive. Plus, the glorious balance of agony and ecstasy is deafening to any other source of feeling. I’m not even sure if I’m bleeding, nor do I care. But Bowlcut. That coward. He must have pushed Gentle in front of him like the weakling he is. He definitely did. He had to. I didn’t mean to kill her. I wanted him. I wanted to end him.

I can sense the machete is on its way back down to my neck, ready to finish the job. It’s too slow. Trenchcoat is too slow. I jump up and sprint towards the door, pushing into the metal latch, leaving that group behind. Leaving Gentle’s dead body behind. Leaving my life behind.

What a waste. I’m right back here. I’m back in The Concrete Circle, taking refuge in that building where we found that thing. I thought biting into Bowlcut—I mean, Gentle, would have worked, or did something, but it didn’t. Now, I’m sitting here, feeding on stray animals, drinking whatever remaining alcohol or liquid hasn’t evaporated from decrepit bottles lying around. I need someone to show up so I can get rid of these things. Whenever that is. I really hope it’s soon. I’m losing myself, and these little things living in my gums are getting too comfortable. I can feel them squirming around, tickling my brain. How long have they been there?