I could try guessing what's in your head as you read this now. Hmm, let's see. Maybe you're thinking it was one of those things again. You know, the tentacle thing. The one and only tentacle women feared, or loved if they're into that kinda thing. That one tentacle that spurts out aphrodisiac with its suckers to… Well, you know what I'm trying to say.
But if you are indeed thinking of that right now, I suggest you find yourself a priest or at least a holy water. You need a helluva cleansing, bruh.
Anyway, none of that happened. As the tentacles shoot out from Betty's mouth, they wrap around the corpse. The suckers spurted out a weird sort of a coal-black slime. Squiggling and pulsating as though it was alive.
I couldn't decide whether to run or to gag or to smash the hell out of the pig as I watched the scene with Kristina. She instinctively clung to my arm, squeezing it. But despite it all, we couldn't peel our eyes off of the thing.
The coal black slime wriggled its way into the poor man's corpse which then began to stretch. It looked exactly like when you stretch a condom. Darker on the edges, lighter in the middle except that it was coal black and probably didn't taste as good.
The slime stretched wide enough to cover the whole corpse. And from there, they began to penetrate into every pores of the skin that had gone purple. Making a tiny 'jump' before they entered with a 'thwip'.
Still with me? Great. Now that all the slime had penetrated successfully, Betty the pig crumpled to the floor, literally. Just imagine a hyper realistic pig origami that was yeeted down the staircase, violated, stepped on… You get the idea. Betty was very dead.
And the corpse? Well, honestly, I don't wanna talk about it but I'm telling you anyway.
"Dandan," Kristina whispered beside me, obviously frightened. Who wouldn't? Even I was frightened.
*creak!
The corpse's right hand shot up, and his other hand next. And while I fumbled for the butcher's knife that I tossed on the bed earlier when we entered, the corpse's eyes flicked open.
Kristina and I froze as its eyeball rolled and darted in her direction before it finally settled on me. And that's it. Call me a coward or whatever. I don't care. But at that moment, I only remember grabbing Kristina's wrist and making a dart for the door.
She was yelling something to me but I heard none of that. I continued to drag her, desperate to get away from that abomination but she planted herself to the floor, stopped me, and went in the opposite direction.
"What the hell, Kristina? This place is cursed!"
"I know that, you dunce! Don't forget the journal." She yelled back. She grabbed the journal that we left on the sofa, then she took my hand, and together, we sprinted to the door.
"Where should we go?" Asked Kristina between her breaths.
"I don't know. Uh, Lowlander Street?"
"Ha! Okay."
Now, don't ask me why I said Lowlander Street. It just came out of my mouth like it was only natural. Maybe because of what the 'delivery guy' told me. But I was supposed to go there the next day but it couldn't be helped. Maybe, just maybe, I was hoping he could lend us a hand.
Lowlander Street was a kilometer away from my place and since we didn't have any money on us, that meant we had to go there by foot.
It wasn't a problem. Kristina and I were fit and we used to join a 10-mile marathon in our previous plane.
People would stop whatever they were doing at the moment to stare at us. I couldn't blame them. After all, it was a peculiar sight to see two people, a grown ass man and a woman sprinting while holding hands, the other holding a butcher's knife while the other held a notebook. And please do take note I am only wearing boxers while Kristina still wore my hoodie and my boxers. A peculiar sight to see indeed. Especially at seven in the morning.
"Ah! Kids have no shame these days—" I heard the old woman say as we passed by her.
We ran and ran. And a few minutes later, we finally arrived at our destination.
And you see, here was when it got confusing for us. Everything was identical to the plane we came from. The buildings, the houses, the stores… All of them remained the same. But for some reason, in this plane, the Lowlander Street we know was gone.
There was supposed to be a salon there and across from it was supposed to be a bank. Beside it should be a mall and a little further to the right should be a thrift shop. But all of that was gone. What replaced it instead was this really, really expansive wall that stretched on either side.
It was very wide and very tall and all in all intimidating. It resembled a bunker more than anything. The only way in was the tiny metal gate on the side.
"Kristina. I'm not seeing things, right?"
"Haha. I wish you were."
At this point, I was totally lost at what I should do when we heard a deep, raspy voice coming from behind us.
"And here I thought I scared you but here you are," said the voice. "With just your underwear no less. And who could this woman be?" It was the man from earlier, still wearing a trench coat and a hat. Still puffing out smoke from his cigar.
"Oh! Uh, haha. Hi?" I sounded stupid, I know. But what was I supposed to say?
"I'm his friend. Tina. I'm guessing you were the one who delivered this to us." She said as she waved the journal in the air. Though it was obvious from the pitch of her voice she was nervous.
"Indeed. I was the one. Though I did nothing but pick that thing under the rug of your front door, drive a few laps around town and deliver it back."
"Oh! That—That cleared a lot of things." Then she side eyed me.
"Well, better early than late. Come with me," said the man. "The name's Franco, by the way."
He led us inside the, well, let's call it a bunker for now.
A wide field was what greeted us the moment we got in. There were people running in laps, both male and female. There were teenagers, middle aged, the youngest being around the age of fourteen or something, the oldest probably forty one.
There was also a group in the corner practicing a martial art I don't recognize that I only assumed to be deadly.
We passed the field and the building that looked like a burnt down apartment complex. Then something that looked like a mess hall, and finally, Franco brought us into what I assumed was an office.
Buried under the pile of papers on his desk was a burly man with brown hair and thick beard, with a scar that ran diagonally to his face.
"Old Klein, I've got two." Franco told him.
The man called Klein raised his head a tad and gave us a scrutinizing look, especially Kristina.
"I was informed of the man but not you. When did you switch?" Asked Klein.
"I, uh, just this morning." Kristina answered.
Then he shook his head. "They're getting aggressive," he mumbled to himself.
"I see. Pack all your things and come back here. There's no safer place for the likes of us than here."