C U SOON
We follow the flickering light on the back of the kid’s bike. There are no working streetlights. We pass narrow houses with overgrown gardens, Sitexed windows and doors.
The house at the end of the row is bigger than the others. It has a high fence around it. The kid gets off the bike and leans it on the fence. The kid bangs on the gate. A section of the fence slides away and a voice says something that sounds like ‘reticule’. The kid says something that sounds like ‘tumbrel’. The gate clicks. The kid signals for us to follow him.
The garden is dark. The path is uneven. I can make out a kennel to the left.
We stand in a hallway that is lit with a lamp on the bottom step of the staircase, making exaggerated shadows. Someone leans out of a doorway and tells us to come up. Alex takes my hand and walks ahead of me. He does all the talking when we are in the room.
The brown paper bag has ‘C U SOON’ written on it, with a pair of animated eyes underneath. Alex stuffs the bag inside his jacket and we run towards the lights of the bus.
I run a bath and we undress. Alex reaches into the bag. He takes out a small cube of Mud. He smells it and nods, says ‘it’s from the good fields.’ He tells me to stand back and I lean against the door. He drops the Mud in. The fumes are strong and burn inside my head. I rest my chin on his shoulder and see that the water has gone thick and brown with white swirls.
We cover each other in the gel they put in the bag. It smells like fresh concrete and stings. Alex holds my hands and steps into the Mud. He nods and pulls me towards the edge of the bath. He keeps saying ‘it’s legit.’ I do not feel my feet touch the bottom of the bath. The Mud is hot and squirming around my ankles. We get on our knees. The Mud seems to be climbing.
When I wake up Alex is not there. The Mud across from me has the faint shape of his body. I try to sit up but it feels like the Mud is hugging me. I have to fight to get my left arm free. My hand brushes the paper bag. I push myself out and land on the floor in our clothes.
I go into the bedroom and I start to say his name.
What I see is stretched across the bed, purple skin, bulging and snapping tight, slick from fluids that are bubbling from bunches of swellings like busted blackheads.
There is a trail of moisture going under the bed.
I crouch and tilt my head. It is a cluster of dripping white tissue, red at the edges, it has mouths all over it, and they are all trying to speak, but they just gasp.
It rolls towards me and I slip.
Someone says something that sounds like ‘reticule’. I press my face against the mesh. I can see the kid leading someone up the path.
by GRSTALTcomms
Authorised on behalf of the GRSTALT organisation.