“..And when Hell comes forth, the basilisk will open its jaw wide, so as to swallow all who oppose the capgras’ laugh.”
From the winter nocturne that bore through the skin and of those unfortunate the bones, nothing had quelled the raging snowstorm like a quiet game of poker. We’d been starved of all but each other, eating and breathing and drinking and sleeping each other. This was a routine, said Jack with all the conviction he could muster, even though his confidence was waning more so than the moon. This was no routine, screamed Bill, all the anger in his chest bellowing out like a stovepipe being overloaded with magma.
When working in the arctic, it’s crucial to bring the necessities: clothing, food, drinks, entertainment.
This time was different.
Our last excursion, detailed and chronicled, christened as one “ex-13-p2-5” was a critical failure. Two deaths, ice melted, sun forgotten with feverish hate.
This was no routine now. In fact, this was a death sentence.
When the nature of your job concerns your death being investigated by a private company and not someone like the F.B.I and or other several government entities, there is only one conclusion to be made: something deeper than the public is at stake.
The way we landed this job was our backgrounds in entomology and etymology. We (Jack M. Hirschfield, William F. Archer, Wilhelm L. Geißler, Leonard T. Meier) all had our communal interest in those topics, leading to us meeting as the next-in-lines for our respective higher ups.
We had been sent to the arctic on several missions to uncover the true fate of the Triamyxa genus of beetle.
Presumed to be long dead (at least since the triassic), a floating cadaver of something resembling it was discovered washing ashore, drifting for quite some time as evident by the wear on its body. Our job is to seek out remote locations and use our proverbial “sun” as they call it to melt out frozen beings trapped in their snowy-ice grave.
Our last excursion ended rather abruptly, as did the lives of two cohorts in our daft task, Samson & Ignacio.
I told these three they should leave and let this all behind, myself filling the role so that they could live normal lives.
Of course, that was assuming that any of them would be so willing as to bend the knee and admit we’re in over our heads with this impious and thankless job.
The company we work for (I.R.L.R, sometimes styled on company emails as INTRMLGHTRL due to the periods making formatting a nightmare) were a private owned company who never let on too much with their vague and consistently flowery worded messages. They explained to us all within a month of each other that they believed they had found the previously mentioned genus and that it could be of some use to the greater populace. They had then searched for four willing and caring people to go trudge through arctic conditions for days on end.
Sometimes being pragmatic can make a world of difference, you know the adage “Hindsight is 20/20”. In this case, however great sounding and beautifully promised, we’d hit a fault-line. An error bereaving us of command to our natural selves. Our last job, once more as mentioned, had gone rather sour turning the twelfth hour. Samson had fallen mysteriously ill, shaking violently and shouting (frankly overused) slurs at Wilhelm. Following this outburst was a quiet period where he began to breathe normally once more, only to flywheel into another fit of excitement (perhaps too literally) and began grasping at us five until finally relenting once Ignacio had stuck his arm with some mystery fluid that our designated “doctor” Leonard had told him to use. I say doctor in quotes because none of us had truly formal training, though Leo had at least been to medical school (if not for long). That night we sat around our fire, stoking it repeatedly while staying silent as a church-mouse. “There’s something wrong with him, now who’s gonna check?” asked I with dread, not wanting to be the one to see his corpse that I suspect lay dormant beyond that frivolous bulkhead. A long period of silence went over us before Ignacio finally gave the thumbs up. “I’ll do it, chief. Nothing would be worse than letting him rot.” A fine and true answer, I thought. Altruism showing, readiness to face uncertainty (though that comes with the job itself). All good marks that we can collectively add to his performance chart, if they even meant anything.
We sealed the bulkhead behind Ignacio as he went inside.
Let me paint how this camp looked: there was one entrance, to the right was a bulkhead which had behind it a door with a glass window which had behind that a vibranium glass wall which locked. To the left was a communal dining room fitted with a small table and six stools, a fireplace and a pot to cook our rations in during the storms. Behind the fireplace was the sleeping quarter, usually plumed with smoke unless we could rouse Bill from his sleep to fill the cracks, him being the only one authorized to carry a substance they call “Plastcrete”. The place was blanketed with snow daily unless Jack would operate the remote sun and burn it off. Consider: though the conditions were not favorable to human life, they were comfortable enough to get six people together and make it through arctic journeys almost every three weeks. After around an hour, we had all worked up the courage to speak, Ignacio of course still in the adjoining room to Samson and, while the bulkhead was sealable and extremely strong, it was not scream-proof.
“That fella ain’t right, Leo. Somethin’ real wrong wit’ ‘em”
“I do believe he was experiencing a simple case of psychosis, Bill.”
“Hmmph. What says you, geist?”
“I’d zike ta believe he’ll be coming around za bend soon.”
“...That ain’t exactly too helpful, now is it?”
“What grand insight do you have for us ‘ere, JJ?”
“Aye.. There certainly be somethin’ wrong with’im. Could be ta freezing cold, perhaps ta fire be dyin’ down in ‘is heart.”
“You’re sayin’ he just ain’t made fur this kinda work?”
“Much as it pains me to, aye.”
The room delved once more into impenetrable quiet. The same kind of quiet you hear at a funeral: marred by sniffling and the wait for something to break that silence. We’d gathered by this point around the bulkhead, not having heard from or seen Ignacio in well over two hours now.
As a note, the only reason we’d waited that long was because he was naturally a very slow observer, the best of his class.
He wouldn’t miss a detail unless it was on the scale of the sistine chapel and - quite frankly - even then he’d probably spot it given around ten minutes. Single file we lined up to the mighty door, so strong that it deserves its own name.
Upon twisting the handle, we dropped our jaws to the ground, Jack leaping backwards and Leonard stifling stomach acid bubbling his throat to shreds.
Ignacio was inside the room, beyond the vibranium (despite it being locked from the outside, which was possible if you locked it before going in), devouring Samson's still twitching corpse. The most gruesome sight I’d seen in all my years.
He was on all fours, slathered with blood and mung from head to toe, disemboweling Samson while he still moved.
Wilhelm called out: “Vhat do you sink you’re doing?! He’s vis us, you dummkopf!”
Ignacio’s smile once turning around sent shivers to my core.
If you’ve never seen something like it, it will be indescribable. The look of pure glee and bliss, mixed with the look of a predator taking joy out of his prey’s suffering.
A smile that winds far wider than any mouth could go, one that extends like the Cheshire cat. His hazel eyes bloodshot, wide open as they could ever be and clothes tattered, it was like a classic werewolf story yet there was no fur, no teeth, no moon.
“Ahhh~ Wilhelm. Care to join the feast?!” He screamed while lunging against the glass similar to how a silverback will intimidate zoo-goers. “We have such a fine course here…”
Again, shivers. Leonard took a step forward, examining him up and down to a point. Leo looked at us with the stare of a dog you just removed a toy from.
“I don’t believe there is anything I can do to save him. Gentlemen, I’m sorry for what I am about to suggest.”
Ignacio’s voice beckoned Leo, now in his normal speech pattern: “What.. You’re gonna kill me? What have I done?”
As much as it was heartbreaking, he was still covered in blood and gore and viscera.
It was as painless as it could’ve been, though I can’t imagine nerve gas being a fun way to go out. Certainly not how I plan my time of dying. The next day, unable to clean anything properly due to lack of supplies, we radio’d I.R.L.R to inform them of the circumstances, ordering ourselves back at once after burning out the ice frozen being. Getting no response because the radios were one way. Even the camp’s. Why they made that choice, I’ll never know.
Then came the second error, where the sun wouldn’t turn off, burning directly through and (practically) vaporizing the poor bug. Once they heard that, they were furious. They had an obligation to fulfill our pay and help us survive, though if they didn’t have a caring boss working for them… I shudder at the thought of what would’ve happened.
Wilhelm remembered the manual shut off for the sun, turning it off just as the ice was collapsing, our camp sinking down inside.
Say farewell to Samson & Ignacio.
They had a life lived in full with an extremely unfortunate end, though just as us, they had signed up for this miserable and tachycardia-giving job. I say unto thee: celebrate not what was lost, rather what was. For despite their absence now, their discoveries from the mainland and general thought will live on in the scholars of those whom they interacted, bonded and levied with back during their tenure on earth. God bless the crew of ex-13-p2-5.Farewell and goodnight.
That leads to the current expedition. Clearly I.R.L.R were furious with us, even just one day of these jobs costing them well over a million dollars. Now two crewmembers down, they had sent us out to find a (again, once mentioned) genus of beetle that was thought extinct from the triassic period.
It doesn’t take a leading mathematician using trigonometry to tell you why that would be an amazing find, mainly because trigonometry has no bearing on paleontology, though that’s besides the point. There isn’t much more exciting, especially to an entomologist than finding a completely new (or in the case, revived) genus.
They gave us a sermon hosted by a digitized voice that resembled an early version of Macintalk.
The speech lasted nearly thirty three minutes, detailing every single small detail that we might or might not face, down to the weather stripping tearing. Despite however sarcastic this was, they did include eulogies for the two lost.
Slowly we all filtered out of the hall, into a tight room.
“Y’all know what they’re doin’ ‘ere don’tcha? They done saw us fail.”
“Am I to assume you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Bill?”
“Aye, Leo. I believe he is.”
“You sink zhey’re going to replace us? Vis who? Ve are ze only fools brave enough to come out here for zis.”
“Open yur eyes, geist. I know the rest of youall love to be all hopeful and whatnot; let’s face it. We’ve cost ‘em well~ over twenty millyon dollars, we killed a specimen, hell, we blew right through two of our own men.”
A solemn look befell the cast of Bill’s brilliant play.
“Ah well. Might’as well ride this one out. Take that sad look off allyur faces. Dudn’t fit ya. ‘Specially you, JJ.”
Despite the reality that Bill had brought, we funneled into the transport pod in silence, eventually landing somewhere in the far northern corner of what they’d prospected.
Once arrived fully and prepared, we began our search for a good campsite. After what seemed a millenia, we’d found a stable piece of ice to stick the spokes into, erecting the full camp in just under an hour. As with all excursions, we waited until the second day to begin, affirming our viewpoint there was no illness in the air where we’d dug.
A night of chatter by firelight, we all were in a mortal state. The loss of someone, whether it someone you know or someone you don’t, still affects you in a way.
“I remember back in za states, both of my parents thought I should be a doctor. Zhey always told me I had ze uncaringness for it.”
“You got a damn rude set of ‘em, ain’tcha?”
“Oh hardly. For ze most part zhey vere very kind. Just a little insensitive.”
“I hear ya. Mine always blamed me for every little thing that went wrong. Started turnin’ ta books and papers for some kinda escape.”
“Both of my parents were, uncharacteristically to your sides, rather supportive, if slightly afraid that my name would overshadow them. Well… Honestly, they were horrified. They tried to have me change my name at least twice.”
The room collectively sighed at not only Leo’s verbose way of speaking; also his family's actions.
“When I furst married, I knew they’d be all up in arms ‘bout how I’d been goin’ interracial.-”
The room roared with anticipation for the next few sentences. No one knew that Bill was married, let alone that his family was (apparently) rather racist.
“Aw boys now, take those surprised looks off yur faces. ‘Happens everywhere unfortunately. ‘Nyway, dad took a remington to my door, asking to see her. Said some things I shouldn’ta said. Notice I don’t wear a ring.”
“You mean..?”
“..Yep. He killed ‘er right then ‘n there. Thankfully that rotten sum’bitch is sittin’ in a cell now.”
“Do you.. Still have ze ring?”
“Bound in epoxy so that I never lose it.”
The room stopped with shock so loud a tesla coil wouldn’t be able to match it. Leo grew taller, putting his hands behind his back, coughing a few times and then saying:
“I suppose I’ve been rather untruthful. The ‘parents’ you’re hearing of are actually adoptive.”
Even Bill showed some kind of surprise.
“When I was born, the two that created me were under a national arrest warrant. My father had robbed a bank with complicit help from my mother. I had lived on the run from officers until I was around seven, that being when they were fully run through and caught. It was the only reason I went to medical school. I wanted to find a cure for some disease, become rich and bail them out. They were only doing what people with no options left would.”
We all gave our pleasantries and he sat back down, Jack & Wilhelm sitting quietly.
The next day came as the alarms began beeping that there was a squall approaching us, with little time until impact. I immediately woke up the other three, barreling at high speeds to fortify everything into place while we went out to search for the beetle. Donning our protective gear, we strided outwards for around an hour, traversing the white and soft plane finding nothing but chipped ice and hills of snow. Once impact became imminent, we returned to the inside shelter of our camp, now fully fortified.
They had given us five days to complete this task and we’d already burned through one. Towards the late night, we ran a game of 21 to see who would be going out. As it turns out, the dealer was Leo (whom we all decided should be the one staying in, knowing he was under stress from the previous excursions incidents involving our associates).
Jack and Bill busted, meaning they would go out first and during the worst of the storm. They donned their gear and traipsed through the unending blanket of white wind, sometimes dying down enough to be able to see.
“Idn’t this shit terrifying? Just a little?”
“Aye. Gives ya the creeps, doesn’t it?”
“Mhm, that’s a way of puttin’ it. Reminds me of the fuckin’ Thing.”
“Pardon me but I’m unfamiliar.”
“You dunno the?! D’you never watch any movies, boy?”
A long stare set Bill back in place, realizing who he was conversing with. Bill received a radio from Leo, telling them that Wilhelm was heading out now, going on that it wasn’t fair to the group and that 21 is pure chance. He told Jack and despite his shock, he knew it was in character.
“What a daft one he is, isn’t he?”
“Certainly could speed up our progress, I s’pose”
With a short trek halfway back to the base, they met up with Wilhelm, Leo now looking through the cameras on their visors. Minutes of walking go by with nothing but white to show for how far they’d gone, minus the occasional cough from Bill, his smoking habits coming back to bite him.
They trudge through the winter more and more until eventually reaching a wall of ice as tall as a skyscraper.
“Aye, we saw this before coming here. There should be a cave over that’away.”
With snappy movement, they followed the leader into - sure enough - an icy, gemstone-like cave.
“Well now, idn’t that just marvelous. Bet Leo would love seein’ this up close, don’tcha think boys?”
We’d all been so tired and misfortuned the last few days, something of this beauty didn’t even seem real. Wilhelm was looking over the walls with an affixed gaze.
After several minutes of glaring at the oddly comforting walls, the three turned to the icy side of the cave, flaring up the sun to melt some small things out of the ice. The skittering of the sun was nearly silent as the snow poured in from the outside squall. Each second burning the ice more and more. After freeing all the specimens (of which they had direct orders to not bring anything back except the Triamyxa), they turned the sun off and began their way out of the cave. They radio’d in they’d found nothing of note, heading back out into the wastes. The three began trekking due north at this point, the next cave being only a few hundred feet away, still setting up recovery lines just in case.
As they reached the northern cave, Jack started getting an alert signal directly from the camp’s mainframe, alerting that either a new presence had entered or one had left. He told Bill & Wilhelm, them agreeing it false-positives enough that they’d give it thirty seconds for Leo to turn off. They turn to the cave and begin digging out several small creatures, once more, nothing of note. The alert was still blaring, Bill sighed and started to head back, knowing it was just a fluke of the system.
“You two know this is another one a’ them false alerts that computer loves throwin’ in there, right?”
After a long sigh, mixed with shivering from the extreme frigid cold (Jack unknowingly had a small hole in the back left spinal column of his suit), he replied “I know. Just better ta be safe than sorry.”
Once around halfway back, a sudden sight appearing through the thick blanket of snow rattled even Bill to his core. The shadowy silhouette of a humanoid shaped being was standing before them, details scrubbed clean by the pestilent snow. Hitherto lie before them a man who could not be. Leo wasn’t that tall, nor was he outside of the camp.
The three stood frozen, frigid to the core now more than any glacial environ could instill. The nebulous and slender figure stood with arms at side, as if waiting for an answer.
The squall of the snow seemed to stay strong for an eternity by this point, the frequent fading on and off never occurring. The raw hyperborean chill stung the three’s noses, making their eyes water through the suits, teeth chattering from a mix of fear and cold. Despite the wispy shadow that made up this man in front of them, the two stood their ground and waited for a movement. That was until Bill turned his loudspeaker on. His voice was (though he’d never admit) quite shaky and doubtful. He mustered the strength and barked out:
“Identify yurself! We harbor no ill will, though should you raise a weapon, boy, we’ll melt you into paste!”
His accent seemed to completely fade, aside from his characteristically southern “boy” exclamation. As if challenged by this, the snow drove even harder, knocking the two to their knees. The man still stood tall, however, staring with its blank gaze, instilling the primal fear a beast would have seeing its aggressor.
Through fighting the snow and the will to be, Bill once more shouted while Jack stood in abject terror:
“I warned ya once, boy! This’s twice we’re goin’ now! One more n’ you’ll never have existed!”
His accent returned. Confidence is a hell of a thing.
The snow finally died down, revealing it was Wilhelm.
Another wave of chills, the body now warm, had run down the two. Wilhelm? They thought. The two cautiously moved over to him, speaking clear as day.
“Damn you, you were just with us, boy! What kinda sick prank d’you think this is?!”
“Vis you?! I vas coming to find you! Leo needs help, he’s spouting delusions!”
“With all due respect, sir, we just investigated the icy caves with ya. You even…”
It dawned at that moment, for Jack & Bill. He hadn’t said anything. There were no words spoken by him. None at all.
In fact, in one stare that Bill shot to Jack, they both recounted that he physically couldn’t have been there, at least at the location they’d found him. The three began walking back, Jack and Bill glancing over at each other every few moments, wracking their brains making sure they both saw the same thing.
With hushed whispers, they went to a custom channel.
“You never heard that radio, did’ya?”
“Sir, I think you know better than anyone those are one way.”
Bill, the usually stoic countryman he tried to be at all times, began tearing up ever so slightly.
“I.. Didn’t even think ‘bout that…”
“Aye sir well, neither did I! Didn’t even question it.”
A sharp, angry look went back to Jack.
“That dudn’t matter, boy! Do you see what I’m sayin’?! There was a man with us out there. You saw him, I saw him, hell, I even heard a phantom Leo!”
Silence, silence, silence.
Once arriving back at the camp, they observed a toppled over Leo with black stains running down his mouth.
Wilhelm explained that he was laying down when all the sudden he heard this clattering and struggle, waking to Leo like this on the floor.
Bill began taking off his suit and helmet, followed by Jack and Wilhelm. Leo turned his very sodden eyes to the three and gave a smirk. He opened his mouth but only air escaped with no audible words, let alone movements.
“Com’on now, what happened?”
“Ignacio.. He told me he was hurting..” A stillness went around.
“Said.. it was burning.. That it hurt..” Leo began sobbing.
“Hurt.. so badly.. I..” he began coughing blood
“Helped him.. Leave my head..”
A long silence went by as we awaited the next word, his time growing ever shorter it seemed while the rampant crying and coughing grew ever harder.
“Did… Did I d-do the right thing?”
“Please.. Tell me………”
His heart monitor dropped to zero. Flatline. You may blame us for not doing anything, though not only were we watching our friend die of a mysterious affliction, the medicines were never labeled. The stillness grew into a choking hazard, proverbially if the water in this room were poked you’d fry your lungs out.
Wilhelm stood up, pacing back and forth repeating something too mumbled to hear. Jack stood up and recorded what happened and how it happened in his log.
Bill held Leo in his arms for a while, shedding tear after tear like a duck coming out of water.
“Goddammit boy!” he began thrashing Leo’s head.
“Wake up you.. Damn.. Doctor!”
Yet there was no waking up. His sleep was final. Once upon a wind there was a shadow that grew wings, no matter how gentle or comforting, it was always feared. Some say that once that winged shade arrives for you, there’s closure.
Some pray the holy ghost will save them from the grave, that they can play a trump card to the natural lifecycle of all beings that exist or don’t exist. Even that winged shade fears some times, thinking: “Where do I go when it’s time?”
And hopefully, when that time comes for it, it receives its due closure, just as Leo;
I can only hope that Leo had some form of it, for we surely did not.
Farewell, Leo Tiberius Meier.
From Bill’s rampant thrashing, a small bug crawled out of Leo’s ear, skittering across the ground with fervent haste.
“Wil, Jack! Catch this damn thing!”
We both turned over shocked, though both of us with enough attention to actually comprehend what was happening. With swift hands, the beetle was captured.
“Huh. The beetle we’d be looking for.”
It displayed an extreme agility and hyper-resilience to cold.
We gave Leo a proper burial (as proper as one could be out here) and gave him an epitaph, eventually leading us to go to bed, no words having ever been spoken since Bill called that out.
The next morning was almost instantly filled with urgent haste as the bug had disappeared from inside the container.
“Which one a’ you sum’bitches opened this damn container?!”
“Vhy vould ve open ze container you südländisch arschgeige?!”
“Aye sir, he’s right. Why would we open it-”
“Shut your damn mouths, both of ya’! The little bitch that got out was most likely what up n’ killed Leo!”
We actually took that advice and went to searching, to no luck of course. We had surmised that it was resistant to cold, though being where we are, we hadn’t tested heat.
“Sir, would ya think maybe it doesn’t like the hot of the summer?”
“My God in Heaven.. It really is the Thing. You ain’t wrong, boy. Geist, get somethin’ to poke with.”
“Surely you don’t mean-”
“I sure do. Now get goin’ boy!”
We found a small key that was left over from one of our previous excursions. At this point, despite the intense cold, we were sweating bullets. None of us wanted to go out the same way, especially not from a bug diving in our ears. We superheated the key to the point it was nearly red hot, Jack being deaf in one ear prompted them to let them try it on him first. With searing agony and screams louder than the Ottoman standing in front of Vlad Tepes, nothing happened. Between fits of panting, crying and screaming, Jack said:
“Ya know, the biggest fear I’d ever had was imagining that my friends were replaced by body doubles. Never bought into it, just the idea.”
“Used to call that ‘capgras syndrome’. Your point bein’?”
“That thing that was with us at ta cave.”
“Well don’t worry, we’re here now.”
“Bill..?”
“What is it, Jack?”
Eyes widened, hearts sank.
“What did you always call Samson?”
“...”
A blank stare was met back with the mouth moving much faster than it should’ve been. With thunderous steps and mighty ferocity, Jack bounded outside only to find Wilhelm and Bill standing around.
“What are ya doin out here, they’re in-”
Upon them turning to face Jack, their suits erupted off, the skin tearing as it grew upwards into a seven foot tall spire that grew legs as its saliva dripped from what can only be described as a vague mouth. Bill and Wilhelm stood at the door, beckoning Jack back in as he was chased by the nothingness.
Once back inside, Jack ran to the bulkhead, finally calming down once hearing a sharp
“Sammy, boy! Sammy! What’s the matter with you?!”
Jack felt his heart start back up, his eyes dilate and his life flowing back into him.
“The minute I told ya about my fear, ya… changed, sir. Your eyes got all big and your mouth wouldn’t stop movin’!”
“..This thing is listening. Boys, now is the time we say nothin’ ‘cept what we’re doin’. Listen, anything we give it, it’ll use.”
“Zhen how are ve supposed to make any progress? How can ve know if ve’re infected?”
“We’ll find that out. Let me lead now, you two folla.”
We sat dangerously close to the flame, hoping to drive out whatever it was giving us hallucinations, Jack specifically was nearly on fire all night. Bill broke a deck of cards, flowing them out across the ground.
“Let’s keep our wits now, eh boys?”
Of course, under these circumstances, with nothing else to do, we agreed.
“How’s poker sound?”
“Wunderbar.” “Excellent, sir.”
After playing several rounds with no real stakes, we put the cards back into neat file while watching the outside cameras. Jack was rumbling back and forth, saying “This is just a routine.” over and over. “This ain’t no routine, boy. They sent us out ‘ere to die.”
“They done know we did wrong; they know how to git us back. If we wanna live ‘ere, we gotta stay side-by-side. Got it? Jack, you seem susceptible to the.. Whatever it is. ‘There any signs you can tell us to avoid?”
“It makes ya hallucinate. I saw Wil and you outside talkin to each other, when I went out ya two erupted into flesh pillar things.”
“...That helps..? Listen. You two go get some rest, I’ll stand watch.”
“Zhat vould be pleasant." “Aye, sir, if you be up to it.”
As the cold nocturne kept plowing the outside world, us three as close to safe as possible with an unknown bug potentially burrowing in our heads. Several hours after Jack and Wilhelm fell asleep, dreaming of a wonderful land where there were no ear burrowing bugs, where there was only sunshine and happiness, dreaming of family.
A noise awoke Wilhelm. Bill was talking to himself. He got up to investigate but quickly found out himself that Bill was fast asleep. There were no people awake inside the camp and yet the sultry baritone voices kept ringing out.
Wilhelm covered his ears but he could still hear it.
He turned to go back to bed only to see his father.
“Look at this, you sad, pathetic, Heißluftgebläse. Never could do anything right, could you?!”
His heartrate began rising
“All these years and you end up on a frozen icebox with two stecknadelkopfs! Your mother would be ashamed of you!”
He began backing up as the apparition moved closer.
“You couldn’t have been more of a disappointment than if you were stillborn, you fucking freak! Get out! Leave!”
The creature began growing, its voice lowering and its skin becoming naught but gore.
“There isn’t a world in which I could inflict enough pain upon you to make you fully understand how much of a useless, whimpering dog you are! Our German Shepherd was less of a bitch than you! Die I say, die! Freeze to death for all I care! It’d do the world a favor!” Hearing the words his father said, Wilhelm opened the door and escaped. Wilhelm was never seen, except for the recording he got.
In the morning, once more, Bill and Jack shared mutual agony at what had happened.
They poured over the recording sent back once the suit had determined Wilhelm dead. What they heard made no sense. If these were illusions, how could it have picked up the voice? Jack slaved over the recording for hours, listening to each detail when he noticed something. The tape view blocked out where the father was standing the entire time. He called Bill over, asking him to unscramble the tape.
“Boy, that’d take hours. Idn’t there somethin’ better we could-”
Jack pushed until he finally relented, his southern will faltering for a split second might’ve saved the two. With intense labor of trying to figure out how to decode the corrupted signal, a breakthrough made by Bill instituted knowledge boundless to them. It wasn’t Wilhelm’s father. It was Bill, standing and berating him with a voice unlike his own. With a Germanic flair, with increasing lows unlike anything a human could produce. “I’m gettin’ too old for this.”
The two poured over this and thought about what it could mean. If they were to isolate themselves from each other, would they both be safe? Who would be the one locked behind the vibranium? Who would (effectively) sacrifice themselves?
They went to bed, sharing the same pod so as to not disappear during the night. Jack still awaking to find Bill gone. He crept out of the pod, entering the living space, seeing Bill talking to the nothingness. The nothingness conversed with Bill for quite some time, Jack not wanting to be on the receiving end of Bill’s mean-streak. Jack eventually noticed a small bug on the floor doing a sort of dance back and forth, swaying to each word Bill was saying.
Jack went over and stomped the bug. Bill came to:
“I tried, Crystal! I tried. He’s gone now, he’s..”
“Are ya alright sir?”
“I.. I’m fine. Thanks-thanks for the assist.”
Jack had never seen Bill that emotional. Ever.
They decided that since this was the last day of the excursion, they’d just wait for I.R.L.R to come get them. That they’d both lock themselves in the glass. They grabbed all supplies they could, knowing it’d be a day or two. They grabbed cards, they grabbed fire. The only thing they couldn’t grab - however karmically funny - was air.
Out here in the arctic, the only thing certain is the air you breathe. The glass was sealed completely shut, meant to contain those with illness so that the crew does not become infected. They went behind the bulkhead, only to find that two of the four oxygen tanks had been slashed, scored with a phrase in small print “Scheinberg”
Now the two were lost again. Jack didn’t want to be selfish and save himself, Bill didn’t want to go down without a fight.
“Well. Looks like it made sure only one of us got any chance.”
“Sir. No matter what happens, I’m glad I took this job. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
“Don’t gimme that shit. Let’s make the pleasantries count when they’re really needed.”
“I intend on staying out, sir. You showed bravery and commitment, much more than us.”
“...How ‘bout this: one last game for the road?”
“That’d be lovely, sir.”
A quick game, Jack cleaning the house at mach-4.
Bill bowed his head, shaking Jack’s hand for what he knew would be the final time.
“JJ. Listen. I’m a tough guy. You seen that yurself. You get on in that pod and, who knows, maybe we’ll both be saved. ‘Doubt it, but it could happen. When they get here and… Find me, out there, I want you to let them know just how much I fuckin’ hate that they packed the cards but no chips. Got that?”
The two share a chuckle before reality sets back in.
“I’m sure you’ll go far in life, kid. Could’a taught an old fool like me a lot.”
“As if you aren’t the bravest of us.”
“Hah. Maybe I do have that goin’ for me. No matter how I end up, keep livin’. For me. For us six. Hell who knows, that thing was lettin’ me see my wife again. Maybe it’ll be nice when I go.”
“You’ve got to stop talking like you’re already dead, sir.”
“You know that song by Jim Croce? Time in a Bottle? Always lived by it. Maybe when you hear it out there you’ll think of me. God bless, farewell and goodnight, Jumpy Jack.”
“Farewell sir. Farewell.”
Bill turned off his recorder on his helmet, only the camp's cameras were on now. Bill had no life to go back to anyway. That’s how I reason it myself. I mean, why did he save me? What did I do? A little over an hour later I heard screaming as though arguing and a shotgun blast. I can only imagine what happened. At the door now I see a face smiling through it, completely inhuman. It looks as though someone were inverted, their tendons being their flesh and their smile being wider than a crescent moon.
I always turned to books and papers for an escape. Whether it be the news or science fiction or fantasy. Sorry for how this is written I suppose. I’ve begun to think that Bill was right. This might not be routine. It’s been at least five days now, every night that thing inches closer and closer. There’s more of them now, too. One looks like Geist. One looks like Bill. One looks like Ignacio, etc. They all have their unique features: Bill is missing a face. Wilhelm is frozen. Ignacio is still crazed. Sammy looks gutted. Leo looks overdosed and bloated. One more joined them, last night that is. One that looks just like me.
I’m beginning to think this isn’t routine, judging now on the fact there are records of this beetle already in the computers.
I’m beginning to think this isn’t routine because of the fact I’ve been in here for almost an extra week. If you’re reading this, it means my plan worked, digitizing as much of my writing as I can, uploading it somewhere. A website on the corner of the internet, a random recipe website. Somewhere. Somewhere it was found. And printed.
The one that joined this menagerie, the one that looks like me, I’m beginning to think this isn’t routine, because unlike the others, mine looks starved and rotten.
Thank you for reading. Death to Interim Lightrail. Death.
When that wispy shade comes for you, I hope and pray there is no closure.