ISOLATED: A SHORT STORY

Jess, Year 9

Mary sat hunched at her desk under a pale lamp light. A case file lay sprawled over her matte white desk, and a once full cup of coffee sat forgotten and cold beside her elbow. If you asked her if she was ok, she would reply with yes, but the tired bags under her eyes could speak the truth without fault.

Despite her obvious exhaustion, Mary continued to work on the case she was given, trying to crack it, trying to see the truth that lay within the sea of text and photos.

She stared down at the file; John Birch, 21, Caucasian male with brown hair and green eyes, found dead in his home. Cause of death was obvious; the picture taken at the scene depicted the young man in the foetal position under his kitchen table, with a gunshot wound on the left side of his head. Most evidence painted the case as a suicide, but there was something nagging Mary at the corner of her mind. Something didn’t feel right about the case. According to close friends and relatives, John had no mental issues and was overall a healthy man.

She clawed at her hair, desperate to force an answer, or a theory to link the events and evidence together, but nothing would surface but the overwhelming craving for more caffeine. Mary sighed, before rising out of her seat, retrieving her mug and exiting her windowless office. She checked the clock, 3pm; “one more hour of overtime, and then I can go home and rest,” she thought to herself. With mug in hand, she walked briskly down the hallway. She passed empty offices and empty conference rooms and she walked to the coffee machi- wait, empty?

She stopped in her tracks and recounted her footsteps. She peeked in her colleague’s offices and the conference rooms. All rooms were isolated. All the work in the rooms were filed neatly away; it was as if everyone had simply packed up their things and left. On the way to the machine, she noted that she had not seen any janitors at all.

She pushed her confusion away and tried to brainstorm a logical explanation, perhaps they were told to leave early? Maybe they gathered on the first floor for a meeting or a presentation?

She sighed and approached the coffee machine. The machine itself was a tall, thin and red machine, with a small touchscreen surface to choose the drink to dispense. It had everything, from hot chocolate to green tea. Mary seemed to note that there were a lot more options then when she came to get another cup a few hours ago. She once again shrugged off feelings of confusion, placed her mug under the dispenser and pressed the clip-art icon of a cup containing a black liquid labelled “coffee.”

The machine growled as it processed the order. Mechanical whirs poured out of the machine; it never made these sounds before. It was normally a calm buzzing noise. Mary stepped back, slightly shocked at the new behaviour of the machine. The growling went on and on and o-

Ping! With an audible dinging sound, the machine came to a halt. A dark liquid poured out of the dispenser into the mug; and with that, silence enveloped Mary once again. Mary stepped forward and picked up the mug – the mug was warm, and the smell of coffee drifted around her. The familiar smell immediately brought comfort to her, and she lifted the mug to her lips. The bitter but comforting taste of coffee flooded her tastebuds. As soon as the liquid hit her tongue, she felt herself awaken and it was as if she was never exhausted in the first place. A grin spread across her face, and she carried the mug back to her office.

She looked up at a clock that was above the first conference room. 4pm… or at least that’s what she hoped to see.

She stared up at the clock, becoming fully aware that there were no hands on the clock. Confused, she grabbed a stepladder, climbed it, and gently took the clock off the wall. As she stared at the device, she noticed that the hands hadn’t been torn off, but instead it was as if the clock had been constructed without hands. Mary frowned; she always checked this clock when getting coffee, and it was probably the most accurate clock in the building.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned it on, expecting to see the time; instead, where the time would be, there was nothing – just a blank empty space. Her eyebrows furrowed – what was going on?

She tucked her phone back into her pocket and walked back to her office, mug still in hand. Whilst walking back, she once again checked the offices of her co-workers, only to find them empty. She unlocked the door to her office shut the door behind her. She pushed the case file to the side and rested her elbows on the desk; with her head in her palms, she desperately tried to think of a possible answer for the disappearance of her co-workers and the time.

An idea forced its way into her mind – the window! Perhaps if she peered out of the window in her office, she could see her co-workers below her? Or by judging by the position of the sun, she could find out the time.

She opened the beige curtains and gazed inside. Inside, because, what was outside was not outside, but appeared to be an exact copy of the office she was in. She could not see herself in the copy nor her own reflection. But Mary’s blood ran cold when she noticed one significant detail about the copy. Inside the copy of her office, there was a message written in crimson above her desk, on the wall where a picture of her family and herself should’ve been.

“I know what you fear.”

Mary didn’t even realise she was screaming until it rang in her ears like an alarm. I know what you fear She aggressively shut the curtains with shaking hands slick with sweat. She stumbled back and slammed herself against her door. Her breathing was rapid. Shallow and fast. Her heart thumped in her chest. It beat as if it wanted to escape her chest. The rhythmic beating danced inside her head over and over.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to wake up. To wake up from this nightmare. Nothing happened of course, and in the panic and fear that drowned her, she had to accept that this was reality. Whatever or whoever torturing her, it was right, it did know her fear. Her worst fear.

Being trapped. Alone. With someone- no, someone couldn’t write that message, it had too many smears, and as far as she was concerned, humans don’t have 10 fingers on each hand. Something. Something was here with her. It knew what she feared. It was altering reality to break her down. Her worst fear, along with being trapped in a non-Euclidean office, caused all the blood to drain from her face.

She didn’t think it could get any worse until she heard it.

It was subtle at first, so subtle that Mary didn’t even register it as a threat at first. It sounded like - no, it was a dragging sound. It was if someone was dragging a sack of wheat on carpet. On carpet. The hallway flooring was carpet.

Someone was outside. Something...

Mary’s eyes widened – someone was here for her! She was safe and someone had come to rescue her from this nightmare! She clambered onto her feet and reached for the door handle.

That’s when she heard something that made her stomach drop.

A low, husky breathing. Like a metal pipe being dragged across steel. The breathing of a cancerous smoker. The huffing and puffing of a predator. A predator. A hunter. The thing that was toying with her reality to kill her no one will ever know that you’re gone.

The dragging stopped outside the door. She could hear the raspy breathing outside the door. She felt all the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The mastermind behind this nightmare was behind the door. It found her. It found her. She stumbled back in panic, and found herself pressed against the window that never existed. Her sweat trickled down her neck and soaked her clothes. Tears flowed down her face and she could begin to feel her knees become weak with fear.

Her mind was completely shut down with fear. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t act. She pressed herself against the window of her office which never existed. She clawed at her face which never existed desperate to think of an answer. Nothing would surface, no escape from the hell that she lay helpless in. Nothing could save her and nothing will save her because Mary never existed. Only I did.

My name is Mary. I’m not really Mary, or John, or Jessica. I deleted the real Mary from our reality and placed her in my dimension of lies and suffering, I wore her identity and stole her real world from her whilst she broke down in my little play area.

To exist is to be. I have no physical form. I can only live through others who have once been. Those who have once been do not exist anymore, because I live through their identity. All my victims cry and scream for help in their little domain of fear, desperate for help, but help doesn’t come. No one even knows that I have replaced them. No one knows that I wear their identity to search for more victims, to search for their fear. I want to know what they fear; to exist to cause fear is what defines me.

On the rare occasion my act is found out, I end my host’s life in both dimensions by a quick death, one of my favourites being a shot to the head. The police claim it to be a suicide, but no. Suicide is a beautiful mercy in my world, to those who suffer and scream in fear, and it doesn’t exist.

Oh, I’ll stop with the monologue. It’s not very pleasing for you, is it?

Yes, I know you’re reading this story, reader.

Did you really think this was a fictional story? A little suspense story written by a young girl called Jessica? No, this was merely a stepping-stone for me, to enter the world again through you.

Jess was a very detailed writer, wasn’t she? She loved writing horror stories and using detail to create fear in her readers. The more detailed the story, the better. The better for me to enter your world. To enter you. To replace you.

You’re next, reader.

I’m going to wear you.

AND IT WILL HURT.