Someone Comes Into My Room Every Night While I'm Sleeping
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I knocked at the door, looking through the smoked glass. Someone moved inside. They were little more than a human-shaped blur through the window. "Hello? I'm here about the room." The blur came closer to the front door, then stopped. They just stood there, a good ten feet from the door. "Hello?" I called, knocking again. The listing that seemed too good to be true suddenly made sense. It was a scam. A cruel joke.

There was no $500 a month room for rent, not in this godforsaken city. I pictured the blur inside the apartment, as a rich guy in a tuxedo with an eyepiece. Like the Monopoly guy, only with perfectly styled hair and model features.

In my mind's eye, his gorgeous wife came up beside him and started laughing. They'd both throw back their heads guffawing, mocking the poor wretch on their stoop, searching for a place to live for under $1,000 a month. Then the blur moved, snapping me out of the daydream. And whoever it was, man or woman, rich or only rich compared to me, moved away from the door. Soon, the blue disappeared from view.

I turned around and walked down the stone steps to the sidewalk, shoulders slumped. I scanned the street filled with brownstones, hoping to spot a miraculous "for rent" sign. No such luck. This was a nice neighborhood. Not the best by any means, but pretty nice. Nicer than anywhere I'd ever lived. I was sure all the units were already taken, and if one was available, it would be more than I could afford.

I sat down hard on the steps and held my head in my hands. "That's it," I said to my feet. "I'm homeless." "You and me both, buddy," a gruff voice said. I looked up to see an actual homeless man walk by. He grinned at me through his beard as he sauntered down the sidewalk. "Christ," I thought, "even the homeless people in this neighborhood are happier than me." Sighing, I got to my feet and started off, going in the opposite direction of the homeless guy.

A little man with a white goatee and a shoulder bag hustled toward me on the sidewalk. He raised a hand and caught my eye. "Are you Edgar?" he asked. "Yeah," I said, not daring to feel hope again. "Yet." "Oh good, you haven't left yet. My name's Cecil," he extended his hand. "I'm supposed to show you the room. So sorry for being late." I smiled as a little hope seeped into me. "No problem," I said.

Nice to meet you. I followed Cecil up to the front door, which he unlocked. We stepped into the brownstone. Cecil gave me a tour of the first floor, pointing out the room he called the parlor, although it seemed more like a TV room to me with its couch and television. We moved to the back, and he showed me the kitchen. You would have full use of the kitchen, of course. Only you would be sharing it with one other roommate. There's someone else living here?

"Not yet. Well, yes. The owner lives in the basement, but he has his own kitchen. We have another prospective renter coming later today to look at the second bedroom." I nodded, thinking maybe I'd seen the owner through the smoked glass of the front door. "So you're just the property manager?" "That's right," Cecil said. "I manage several properties in the neighborhood." He led me upstairs to the second floor and showed me the bedroom on offer.

It sat in the back right corner of the house, overlooking the small backyard. It didn't take me long to decide. At only $500 a month, the place was a steal, but I didn't want to seem too eager. I looked at the bathroom I would share with the new roommate. It wasn't ideal, but I wasn't about to complain. 15 minutes earlier, I thought I was homeless. Before that, I'd just been served an eviction notice by the management company of my rat trap apartment.

I tried to contact the landlord, but he was a ghost. I couldn't get a straight answer for why he evicted me, and I certainly didn't have any money to hire a lawyer to fight it. It pissed me off, but there was nothing I could do about it. I'd exhausted all my options, so I had no choice but to accept Cecil's offer. "So, what do you think?" Cecil asked as I came out of the bathroom. I pointed at the staircase up to the third floor. "What's up there?"

Cecil gestured for me to follow as we moved to the staircase. "The owner keeps some of his things up there," he said, gesturing at the pair of closed doors at the top of the stairs. "It's off limits." "Okay, and the price is $500 a month?" "That's right," Cecil said. "Pretty low if you ask me, but that's what the owner said. $500 a month for you if you want it."

"I'll take it," I said, grinning. "Good. I have the paperwork right here," he said, patting his shoulder back. There was a knock from downstairs at the front door. "Oh, that'll be the other renter. You two can meet." I followed Cecil downstairs and waited as he allowed the other renter inside. As Cecil led the other guy in, my first thought was that he looked like me.

His hair was longer and just a touch darker, but we both had green eyes, similar facial structures, and slim runner's frames. "This young man just agreed to rent one of the available rooms," Cecil said by way of introduction. "If all goes well, you'll be roommates." "I'm Edgar," I said. "Glenn," the other guy said. I knew what he was thinking because I'd been thinking the same thing when I first walked in.

"The price is wrong. No way this place is only $500." But it was. Glenn agreed to rent the room. We all sat at the kitchen table and sorted out the details, Glenn and I filling out paperwork while Cecil helped clarify the lease terms. Two days later, I met Cecil to get my keys. I moved what little property I had into the place that day after renting a van, mostly for my bed. Glenn moved his stuff in the next day, finishing before I got home from work.

No.

I said, mouth stuffed with my last bite of pizza crust. "But I think I saw him through the door." "What?" Glenn asked, laughing. "I didn't understand anything after 'no.'" I swallowed before speaking again. "I said I think I saw him through the door, but I didn't see what he looked like. He was just a blur in the hallway next to the stairs." "Gotcha. I wonder if we'll ever see him go up to the third floor."

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, he has to leave his apartment sometime, doesn't he?" "Not necessarily," Glenn said. "I have a great uncle who never leaves his house, has all his food and medications delivered. The last time he left was when paramedics carted him out after a heart attack." "Jesus," I said, "how does he make money?" "He's a silent partner in some multi-level marketing scheme. Makes enough to pay for everything he needs, I guess."

"That's no kind of life," I said, shaking my head. "Got that right." We watched the movie for a few more minutes before Glenn turned to me. "Aren't you curious about what's up there on the third floor?" I shrugged. "Not really. Cecil says it's off-limits, so it's off-limits. I wouldn't want anyone going through my room without permission." "Yeah, true," Glenn said. But the way he said it made me uneasy. I figured he meant to sneak up there.

He was welcome to it, but I wasn't about to jeopardize this living situation. I'd lucked out big time and had no inclination to press that luck. Not at all. Thud. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling. I hadn't been asleep, but dozing off when something thudded above. Thinking that the owner was up there, I let it go, closing my eyes to drift off again. But less than a minute later, there was another thud, followed by a scraping sound.

I remembered what Glenn had said earlier in the night about seeing what was up there. I stared at the ceiling, hoping it wasn't Glenn making the noise. A third thump sounded, and I threw my covers off. I padded to the door and opened it. Peering across at Glenn's door, it was closed. I moved across the hall and put my ear to his door, listening for any sign he was in there sleeping. Nothing. Knocking sounded like a good idea, but then I'd just be waking him up if he was in there.

Instead, I moved back across the hall toward my room, glancing over toward the stairwell. A dark figure stood on the stairs about halfway up. I stumbled and stubbed my toe on the door jamb. "Shit!" I hissed, looking down at my foot. As I turned my attention back, the figure was gone. I walked tenderly down to the first step and looked up. The doors were closed. There was no one there. "Damn horror movie," I said. Sure, I had imagined the dark figure.

I went back to my room, shut the door, and sat down on the bed. My toe felt better, but a dark pit formed in my gut. Standing back up, I went to my door and locked the simple knob lock. Then I got back in bed and, eventually, fell asleep. When I awoke to my phone's alarm, I hit snooze and blinked in the morning light streaming from my window. I considered going back to sleep for another 10 minutes when I looked toward my bedroom door. It was open.

Sitting up, I peered around to make sure nothing was missing. My wallet sat on my bedside table. My few other possessions seemed untouched, as far as I could tell. After pulling on my work uniform, I moved to the door. The knob was still locked. I tried to turn the outside knob, but it wouldn't move. The lock worked. Maybe I didn't shut the door all the way? I thought. I could hear Glenn in the bathroom, so I waited for him to finish.

There was another bathroom downstairs, but I didn't feel like going all the way down there. Plus, I wanted to talk to my new roommate. He stepped out, wearing a dress shirt and tie. What did he do for a living? Whatever it was, it had to be better than working at a fast food joint like I did. "Morning," he said, sounding chipper. "Hey," I said, then paused. "This might sound weird, but did you hear any strange noises last night?" Glenn looked puzzled. "Like what?"

"Like thumping from upstairs? Or anyone moving around out here?" "No," Glenn said. "But I was pretty tired after the move, and I'm a heavy sleeper." "Why? You heard some thumps from upstairs?" "Yeah," I said. "And I could have sworn I saw someone on the stairs when I came out to investigate. Maybe it was the owner. Cecil said he comes up here sometimes, right? What did he look like?" I shrugged. "It was dark.

The stairway light was off. All I saw was a dark figure, shaped like a man. "That's creepy," Glenn said. "Should I be concerned? I mean, we know nothing about this guy, right?" "Right, but I doubt it's anything to worry about. Honestly, it could have been my imagination. What with the horror movie we watched and sleeping in a new place. Could take some getting used to." "Okay," Glenn said. "But I'm going to lock my door at night from now on." "Yeah," I said, smiling weakly.

I didn't tell him about how I locked my door the night before and then found it open. I guess I didn't want to freak him out. I liked Glenn, and if he left, there was no telling what kind of weirdo would move in. After another long day making minimum wage, I got home reeking of fry grease and soda syrup. Glenn was already home, watching a movie while eating his dinner. "Want some grub?" he asked. "I'm good," I said. "I ate at work."

"I'm just gonna take a shower and watch something in my room." "Cool." "Oh," I said, turning back. "I talked to Cecil today on my break. I asked him the owner's name since I don't think he ever told us. Cecil said to just call on Mr. Dargis if we ever see him. He also said it's possible he's the one moving around at night. Apparently, he's a shut-in." "Good to know," Glenn said through a mouthful of food. "Thanks." I'd been hoping for more concern from my roommate.

All day, I couldn't stop thinking about the previous night, and my conversation with Cecil only made my fears worse. When asked about previous tenants, Cecil said that he'd only just started managing the property, so he had no information about previous renters. For all I knew, Glen and I were living with a dangerous man we'd never even met. Or, at the very least, a pervert who liked to watch young men sleep. With my head buzzing, I went upstairs and took a shower.

When I was done, I was drawn to the stairwell again, where I saw the figure. The doors at the top of the stairs were closed. As I listened, all I could hear was the television downstairs. I headed back to my room, made sure my door was fully shut and locked, fired up my laptop, and put on a movie, a comedy this time. Earbuds in, I propped myself on the bed, laptop in my lap, got comfortable. I fell asleep while watching the movie.

When I woke up around midnight, my door was open. I swallowed loudly and my throat clicked. It was dark out in the hall. Someone had turned the light off. With a stab of fear, I also noticed my light was off too. I left it on intentionally. After putting the laptop aside and removing my earbuds, I got out of bed and crept toward the open door. The switch for the hall light was over by Glen's room, near the top of the stairs.

I stepped into the dark hallway, heart thudding in my chest. Something moved in the dark, or was it my imagination? I rushed over and flipped the light on, revealing nothing but an empty hallway. Glenn's door was closed. I pressed my ear against it and heard nothing. He was probably asleep. Looking down the stairs, I went down to investigate. There was no way I could get back to sleep if I didn't. The stairs creaked faintly under my footsteps.

I turned on all the lights on the first floor and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then I moved over to the stairwell, down to the basement, and looked down. Flipping that switch revealed another closed door at the bottom. Listening hard, I could hear a voice. Maybe a television? Maybe Mr. Darkus talking to himself? I started down the stairs to the basement, stopping when I heard a creak from the staircase above me, the one that led to the second floor. I looked up, wondering if Glenn was heading downstairs.

But the creaking stopped. As soon as I started down again, the stairs overhead creaked once more. "Glenn!" I whispered loud enough for him to hear. No answer. I started down again, when the stairs overhead creaked again. I turned and sprinted back up, whirling around the railing to the front of the house so I could look up the stairs. They were empty. I jumped as a door slammed on the third floor. "What the hell is happening here?" I asked myself.

Leaving all the lights on, I headed back to my room, locked the door, and sat in my bed. I stared at the door until the sun came up. After work, I used what little money I had to buy a camera. I also stopped at a hardware store to buy a new doorknob, one with a key lock, but my debit card was declined for insufficient funds. I'd forgotten that my phone bill had just been taken out of my account. I wouldn't get my direct deposit paycheck until Friday, two days away.

but at least I had a camera. I set up the camera and downloaded the companion app so I could watch the cloud-stored footage on my phone. I positioned the camera on the little card table desk I had in my room, camouflaging it with a t-shirt made to look like I had thrown it haphazardly onto the cluttered desk. I aimed it so it would capture both the doorway and my bed. Once again, I double-checked the lock before I went to bed. It took me a long time to get to sleep,

but I was tired from the previous night, so when sleep came, it was heavy. A low noise, like the click of a door closing, woke me. It was still dark out. I sat up in bed, feeling something vaguely cold and wet on my neck. The floor in the hall outside my closed bedroom door creaked. I grabbed my phone. A wave of nauseating fear slid into my chest. Had someone just been in the room with me? The time was 3.13 a.m.,

I opened the camera app and clicked to view the recorded footage. I had set it up to record whenever it detected motion, so the first clips it showed me were of me when I was rolling over or getting comfortable in bed. Then a recorded clip came on my phone, triggered by my door swinging open. I held my breath, watching as a man in a black hooded robe walked into my room.

I could see his pale, wrinkled face in the night vision footage as he came toward my bed and stopped, staring down at me, wearing an unchanging, angry expression. He stood next to the bed for ten minutes, swaying now and then. Once, he reached down with one gloved hand and stroked my head, prompting me to turn in my sleep. Then he stared down at me for a full minute, being so still that the footage ended.

The camera started recording again as the man retrieved something from the folds of his robe. He pulled out a small glass bottle and a cotton ball. After wetting the cotton with the contents of the bottle, he leaned down and dabbed the liquid on the side of my neck. As I watched on my phone, I reached up and felt the damp skin there. Next, the guy traded the cotton ball and the bottle for a syringe. I whispered, watching as the man leaned over me and stuck the needle into my neck.

He pulled on the plunger, filling the syringe with blood. That done, the man stood up and looked directly into the camera. The phone shook in my hand as I watched him walk out of the room, locking the door on his way out. A moment later, on the screen, I sat up in bed. It had just happened. He had just been here. The nausea moved to my stomach as I stared down at my phone. I couldn't stay here anymore. But what could I do? I had no money and nowhere to go.

It didn't matter. I had to warn Glenn. Maybe he had family in the area. Maybe we could stay with them. Taking my phone, I opened my door and looked out into the hall. It was empty. I padded across and knocked on Glenn's door. There was no answer. And he wasn't in the bathroom. I knocked again. "Glenn, you up?" Still nothing. I turned the knob. It was unlocked. I opened the door and poked my head in. No sign of him.

just a room like mine, but with even less stuff. I had a makeshift desk and a bed with a frame, but Glenn's room was sparse and his bed was a mattress on the floor. I figured he wasn't much better off than me financially, but it was only a brief curiosity, quickly replaced by the task at hand. I dialed his number and brought the phone to my ear. Standing in his doorway, I listened for his phone. It rang in my ear, but I didn't hear it in his room, and he didn't pick up.

I looked for him downstairs, pausing to glance down the basement stairwell. The door to the basement was closed. "Screw this," I said, running back up to my room. I pulled some clothes on, then I grabbed a backpack and started stuffing essentials into it, thinking I would leave and figure everything out later. Then my phone chimed with a new message. It was from Glenn, and it was only two words. "Help me," heart racing, I called him, and he picked up immediately. "Hello," he whispered, taking in a shaky breath.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Where are you?" "I'm in the basement, chained to a pipe. Edgar, get me out of here." "Okay," I said, voice shaking. "I'm calling the police." "No," he hissed. "There's no time. Please, he's in the bathroom right now. But I don't know what he'll do to me when he comes out. He's crazy. Please help me. He left the basement door unlocked. Bring a weapon just in case."

"Bring a weapon?" "Glenn, the police can get here in five minutes tops. Please let-" "Edgar, I think he's gonna kill me. Please, if you don't come here now, I'll die." Glenn was whimpering. "I don't want to die like this. Please, Ed, hurry." "Okay," I said. "I'm coming." I hung up and ran for the stairwell, then forced myself to slow down so I wouldn't alert Mr. Dargis that I was coming.

I crept quickly down to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find, then went to the basement stairwell. When I got to the basement doors, I paused, hoping it would be locked. I suddenly had to pee, and the knife felt heavy in my clammy hand. I didn't want to do this, but I had to. If I were in Glenn's position, I would want him to rescue me. Still, I hoped the door would be locked so I could just call the police and let them handle it. But when I tried the door, it opened.

The basement was dark and stacked high with books, magazines, and old newspapers. Mr. Dargis was a hoarder. Somewhere in the floor's bowels, a television murmured unintelligibly. I stayed low, closing the door behind me. The entryway was similar to the ground floor. Peering around in the darkness, off to my route, light came from under a set of double doors. The light flickered, and I assumed the television cast it. I moved between the towering stacks and opened one door.

The bedroom on the other side was stacked with more junk, only allowing narrow walking pathways through the space. The bed was half obscured, and a television sat on a tall dresser across from it. There was no sign of Glenn. A toilet flushed on the other side of the room. A man cleared his throat. I backed out, shutting the door, panic tightening my chest. I moved away from the bedroom toward the back of the floor. There was a den, but I didn't see Glenn there either. The only place left to check was the kitchen.

But as I moved toward it, I noticed another stairwell. A cellar. Not wanting to go down there, I headed to the kitchen. But as I did, I heard the bedroom door open behind me. I squeezed between two stacks of newspapers and froze. The man mumbled to himself as his voice grew nearer. It sounded like he stepped into the den. Then he must have stopped mumbling because I lost track of him. I stayed where I was for several long moments, gripping the knife tightly.

When I thought it was safe, I peeked out from between the stacks and looked both ways. It was clear. I moved to the kitchen, which was completely dark. I stood on the threshold, reaching in with my free hand to find a light switch. Then I thought better of it. I had to search in the dark for Glenn. A quick search ensured Glenn wasn't in the kitchen. The only place I hadn't searched was the bathroom, but he couldn't be there. He would have said so. There was only one logical place he could be: the cellar.

I heard Mr. Dargis clear his throat. It sounded like he was in the bedroom, creeping out of the kitchen. I stayed low and made my way to the cellar stairs. These were concrete, so I didn't have to worry about creaking. I got to the bottom and tried the door. It opened to a dark and chilly room. Stepping inside, I ran my hand up and down both sides of the wall. I found a light switch, but it did nothing. Something moved in the darkness, making a sound like a shoe scuffing the floor.

I yanked out my phone and pressed the button to wake the screen, then shone it into the pitch black ahead of me. The light picked out an old man's face floating in the darkness. The same man who'd been in my room. "Hello, Edgar," he said, his lips barely moving as he spoke in Glenn's voice.

Motherfucker! It was Cecil.

As his fist flew at me, Glenn shouted, "Not in the head!" Then Cecil's fist connected with my left temple, and the world went completely dark. "I don't understand why you have to fuck with them. This is what happens when you play games. I'm gonna have to get stitches now. Oh, relax," Glenn said. "It's not that bad. Besides, it's fun. You get off on it." "Yeah, so what if I do?" Glenn said.

I forced my eyes open, aware of movement as I looked up. I was strapped to a gurney, wheeling down a narrow concrete hall with light bulbs every six feet or so. Cecil pushed the gurney next to Glenn, who wore a black robe with the hood down. He had a bandage on his arm where I'd cut him, a streak of blood visible through the gauze. "Oh look, Cecil, he's awake," Glenn said, reaching between my legs and grabbing the hyper-realistic old man mask he wore earlier.

He flapped the mask at me and made a sound like a cartoon ghost before laughing. "Where are you taking me?" I asked. It was hard to talk. My mouth was painful and dry, like it was stuffed with cotton. "Where are you taking me?" Glenn mimicked, tossing the mask back down between my bound legs. "We're taking you to the last place you'll ever see in this life. Better enjoy these last moments while you're not in terrible pain while you can. The professor awaits."

"Don't call him that," Cecil said. "He hates it when you call him that." "Well, he won't know that I called him that unless you tell him, will he? Besides, I'm sure as hell not calling him 'Great One.' Makes him sound like a god or something." "He's onto something," Cecil said. "I don't know about being a god, but he's onto something. Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing this shit for him."

You need to learn to enjoy your work, Cecil, Glenn said. Like me. They slowed the gurney and then turned it down a short corridor. Then they stopped. I craned my head back and saw a door. Glenn stepped over and opened it by punching a number into a keypad. They pushed me into a large, bright room that smelled of blood and disinfectant. Ah, just in time, a scratchy male voice said from somewhere out of my line of sight.

Sedate him and strap him into chair two. Yes, great one, Cecil said. Cecil hit him in the head, Glenn said, like a school child tattling on a classmate. Tense silence filled the room for a long moment. Did he lose consciousness? The new, scratchy voice asked. Cecil cleared his throat. Yes, briefly, sorry. Footsteps approached, and a man wearing scrubs and a surgical mask came over and examined me.

My eyes widened. What I could see of his face was covered in mottled scars and strange skin growths. I cringed away from him, but I couldn't move my head more than a couple of inches. "What do you want?" I asked. "What are you going to do to me?" The man ignored my questions, instead lifting a small flashlight and shining it into my eyes. "Has he vomited?" he asked, looking up towards Cecil and Glenn. "No," Cecil said.

The doctor looked back at me. "Is your vision blurry?" he asked. I rocked against the scraps. "What are you going to do to me?" "I think he'll be fine," the doctor said, straightening up. "Sedate him and get him into chair two." Then he was gone. Out of my limited area of vision, Cecil let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, great one!" Glenn rolled his eyes and moved over to a table. He returned a minute later with a syringe in his hand, injecting me with something.

I heard the whir of a saw while Glen and Cecil waited for the drugs to take effect. They wheeled me over to a chair, and I looked to my right to see the doctor. He was sawing something, but I couldn't see what. I struggled to stay awake. Cecil and Glen unstrapped me from the gurney and transferred me to a chair. I tried to fight, but it was no use, and they overpowered me with ease. The sawing stopped, and I looked over just as the doctor moved out of the way.

A young man around my age was in an identical chair. The top of his skull had been removed, exposing his brain. His eyes were open but unfocused. He glanced around, as if unsure where he was. The doctor put the bloody saw down and grabbed a contraption from a nearby tray. He moved behind the young man and put his attention on the exposed brain. He positioned the contraption over the young man's head and then carefully inserted what looked like a long needle into the brain.

The young man's eyes shot open and he screamed. I struggled to keep my eyes open as a dull terror took hold of me. The doctor, Great One, Mr. Dargis, whatever his name was, extracted cloudy pink liquid from the young man's brain. As the guy continued to scream, the doctor took the contraption over to a workbench that was cluttered with inscrutable scientific and medical equipment. He started doing something, but his back obscured whatever it was.

Suddenly, the guy stopped screaming. He had passed out. The doctor peered over. "God damn it," he said. "I still need to extract more, and it won't work if he's not conscious and in pain. Glenn, prepare more adrenaline. You got it," Glenn said, heading over to another table arrayed with medical equipment. I fought to keep my eyes open, but it was a losing battle.

Lids too heavy for me to lift. My eyes closed, but I remained conscious for a little while longer. The last thing I heard before awareness fell away was the young man screaming again. The room they wheeled me into only had three notable features. The first was a small stainless steel table with several tools on it. The second was a pair of leather straps hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The straps had thick cuffs at the ends of them.

And the third notable feature was the drain in the floor directly under the straps. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd passed out in the surgical suite. I'd only been awake for a few minutes, coming back to the world as Cecil and Glenn wheeled me down a hallway and into this room. I felt strange, like something inside had fundamentally changed. The back of my neck hurt with a dull throb right at the place where my spine met my skull. When I moved my head, I could feel a bandage there.

Still a little groggy, I pleaded with the two men to let me go. My words fell on deaf ears. They got me out of the chair and put my wrists into the leather cuffs. I stood on my tiptoes over the drain with my arms stretched over my head. I was wearing only my boxers. Glenn and Cecil stepped back and stared at me. Glenn's face glowed with mischievous anticipation. Cecil looked ill. "Tell them we're ready," Glenn said.

Cecil turned and walked out of the room without a word. This is my favorite part, Glenn said. What did he do to me? I asked. Looking at the table in the corner with various implements on it, I saw a hammer, several types of knives, a hatchet, a saw, an ice pick, and some other items with no purpose I could discern.

"Doesn't matter. It's never going to work," Glenn said. "He's just a crazy old fuck. A mad scientist, you could say." Glenn found this hilarious, and Belly laughed at his own joke. "What's never going to work?" I asked. "Don't you worry your little head, Edgar. Your pal Glenn will take care of you. I'll make your death easy. Well, easy-ish," he grinned. "Someone will come looking for me," I said. "But if you let me go, I won't tell anyone.

"Jesus, you're stupid!" Ron spat. "We didn't pick you randomly. We know you don't have any family or any close friends. Why do you think you got that email about the room for rent? I mean, a $500 room in this city?" His menacing chuckle returned. "Fucking idiot!" I had just assumed that an apartment hunting site I'd been on emailed it to me, although at the time, I couldn't remember giving any my email address. Then I thought about my last place.

I thought about how I'd been evicted for no legitimate reason. "You forced me out of my old place?" I asked. "Wasn't hard," Glenn said. "The bossman just offered your old landlord double the rent, and he found an excuse to make you leave." "But why not just scoot me off the street and do this? Why go to all the trouble of getting me to move into this place?" Glenn rolled his eyes. "Costman had to make sure you were right for the experiment, had to make sure your fear responses were within the acceptable range.

The door opened, and in walked the doctor, rolling a medical cart in front of him. He no longer had a surgical mask on, allowing me to see his entire face.

He was disfigured, like his face had been shoved into a thresher, and it had never healed right. He parked the metal cart nearby and retrieved several small electronic devices built into patches. He put them onto my chest, back, legs, and arms. They were apparently wireless. Heading back over to his cart, he messed with a piece of electronic equipment.

"Please, mister," I said. "I don't know what you want with me, but if you let me go, I swear I'll never tell anyone about this." The doctor ignored me, messing with dials and pressing buttons on the device until he was satisfied. At that point, he looked over at Glenn and nodded. Glenn grinned at me and moved over to the stainless steel table, selecting the ice pick from its surface.

I tried to pull away as he stepped in front of me, but I couldn't move more than a few inches on my toes before I lost touch with the floor. Promising pain, the sharp tip of the ice pick gleamed as Glenn held it up, relishing at the terror twisting my features. I vomited pathetic words, trying to find the right combination of sounds that would free me from this hellish situation. I begged and pleaded and cried.

Then, seeing that none of my pitiful words were hitting home, I kicked out with my right leg. Glenn twisted quickly to avoid the blow and stabbed down with the ice pick, puncturing the skin of my thigh and withdrawing the tool as he moved back. The pain was immediate and breathtaking. An insipid whimper fell from my lips as I looked down at the blood welling from the wound. But while the pain stayed, the wound soon closed itself up.

After a long moment, the only evidence it had been there was the trickle of blood still moving down my shin and the pink circle of newly healed flesh where Glenn had stabbed me. Strangely, the pain persisted, making me question my eyes. I stared down, wondering what the hell was going on. "It still hurts, doesn't it?" the doctor asked. I ignored him, awestruck, fearful, and confused. Glenn darted forward and pressed the tip of the ice pick under my chin. "Answer him!"

"Yes," I said, looking over at the deformed man. "I think it will change in time," the doctor said. "Pain is as much mental as it is physical. You've lived your whole life experiencing pain one way. It would be unreasonable to expect you to suddenly start experiencing it another way, even if you watch your wounds heal in seconds.

I realized the doctor was talking more to himself than he was to me or Glenn, as if reassuring himself that what he said was true. "Again?" Glenn asked. The doctor nodded. Glenn placed the ice pick back on the table and returned to me with a knife in his hand. "If you try to kick me again, and I'll make this harder on you, I'll cut you in places where the pain will be more than you can imagine."

My shoulders were hurting, and my calves were growing tired from trying to hold myself up with my toes. But I didn't kick at Glenn as he approached. He grabbed me by the neck with one hand, steadying me. Then he made a small incision down my chest. I winced, sucking a breath through my teeth.

Glenn stepped away. I tilted my head down and watched as the wound closed up, slightly slower than the first injury. "Does it still hurt?" the doctor asked, once it was nothing but a faint pink line on my skin. "Yes," I said. "It hurts. They both hurt. Again," the doctor said. "The face this time." I shook my head. "No! Please!"

Glenn grabbed my hair and brought the knife to my left temple, sinking the blade in and dragging it down to the curve of my jaw. I cried out, feeling the sharp knife cut through my cheek, slicing into my gums and scraping along my teeth. I couldn't see it this time, but I felt it as the wound healed. It was a painful sensation, almost like the cut itself, but in reverse.

Body trembling, I furiously lashed out at Glenn again. He caught my leg at the ankle and jammed the knife up through the bottom of my foot. The blade came out the top amid a spew of blood. Screaming, I pulled my leg away, but Glenn pulled the knife the opposite way, widening the wound before yanking the blade free. Blood splattered the floor and oozed down the drain as I screamed and cried. It hurt. It hurt worse than anything I'd ever experienced.

But the wound closed up. It took about a minute, but it closed up. "Please!" I whined. "Please stop! It hurts so bad! I can't stand it! It hurts!" "All of the wounds still hurt?" the doctor asked. "Yes!" I shouted. "Yes! All of them! They should have at least dulled by now." The doctor said to himself. "Maybe he's just a pussy," Glenn said. "Can't stand any pain." The doctor ignored him, lost in his own thoughts.

Glenn moved back to the table and traded the knife for a pair of garden shears. "Should we try a digit?" he asked, still smiling. "Huh?" the doctor said. "Oh yes, go for one of the toes. A pinky toe." "No!" I shouted, hopping around on my uninjured foot as best I could so Glenn couldn't grab my legs. "Would you rather me cut your dick off?" Glenn asked. "If you keep hopping around, that's what I'm going to do."

I stopped, looking into his eyes and seeing the truth written there in large letters. He would do it, and he would like it. Gingerly, I offered up my uninjured foot. I couldn't bear the thought of having something else happen to the foot he'd stabbed. It still felt like a ball of red-hot pain. Glenn gripped the foot and slid the blades of the garden shears around my toe. With one quick movement, he snapped the blades together, cutting off my toe.

Holy shit! Well, isn't that something?

Pulling myself back together despite the pain, I looked down to see that the nub of my left pinky toe was no longer a bloody mess of bone and exposed flesh. It was a small pink mountain of newly formed tissue. And as I watched, the toe reformed. The doctor laughed a raspy laugh. "It worked," he said. "I've done it. After so many years, I've done it.

"A pinky toe is one thing," Glenn said. "Let's test it with a limb." The doctor sobered. "You're right," he said. "The testing isn't done." Glenn set the shears back on the table and left the room. The whole time he was gone, I trembled, the ever-present pain wracking my body. But I kept my gaze down, looking at my severed toe, which had rolled down to rest on the metal drain grate. Every few moments, I checked the fresh growth on my foot.

Glenn returned with a stepladder, which he placed beside me before climbing up. He unhooked a leather strap from the ceiling and then walked down, stretching my left arm toward the wall behind me. He attached the strap's end to a wall-mounted grommet, pulling it tight to extend my left arm away from my body. With my right arm still attached to the ceiling, I created an L-shape. That done, Glenn moved the stepladder out of the way. Then he headed over to the stainless steel table,

I knew what was coming, but my mind rejected it. Numbness spread through me as I became detached, waffling between the coming pain and my entrapment. But when Glenn stood in front of me with the hatchet, panic wrenched me back out of the numbness. I pleaded with him, even though I knew it wouldn't do any good.

and when he raised the hatchet, aiming it at my left elbow joint, I tried to yank my arm out of the way. Of course, I could not. The first strike sliced deep into my joint. Blood slapped the floor as it fell from the wound. I couldn't scream at first, but when my voice came back, I couldn't stop, and I kept screaming as Glenn hacked through my arm. I hung limply from the leather strap still connected to the ceiling. My left arm lay on the floor near the wall.

I vaguely remembered the doctor moving over to it and unhooking it from the strap so he could study the wound once it was clear that my nub started the slow, painful process of regeneration. My memories were clouded with intense pain, but I recalled Glen and the doctor leaving not long ago. I felt lightheaded as I brought the nub of my left arm up, gazing with half awe, half terror at the mottled flesh. It was a wound that had been healing for days, not minutes.

but the pain was still there causing my eyes to water in my body to tremble I had lost a decent amount of blood but not enough to kill me I thought just enough to weaken me any minute the two of them would come back in maybe they would cut off a leg next or maybe they would cut off my head just to see what would happen Glenn left the stepladder near me I extended a leg out toward it but there was still a good foot of distance between my toes and the aluminum ladder but my

I shifted on my toes, forcing back the sickening pain still radiating from both my foot injuries. I reached my right foot toward my severed arm. It was so close. I thought I could feel the arm hairs brushing my toes, but I couldn't quite reach it. Shifting again, I tried from a different angle, stressing my right shoulder joint as I stretched out as far as I could. With only my right arm strapped to the ceiling, I had a little more leverage, standing on the balls of my feet instead of just my toes.

I was so close. I just barely scraped the tips of my toes along the skin of my arm. Frustrated, I had a wild thought. No time. Before I could stop myself, I swiveled over the drain, bringing my legs up and yanked down on my shoulder. Hard. Crunch. I grunted down my screen through clenched teeth as my shoulder dislocated. I slammed my feet down, taking the stress off the joint, gasping from the pain.

Thinking the joint would start healing again, I wasted no time stretching out toward my severed arm. This time, it worked! I rolled the arm toward me with my toes. But now came the hard part. I positioned my feet on either side of my wounded arm, making it so the fingers were arrayed toward the stepladder. Gripping the severed limb with my feet, I whipped it up, jumping my feet out toward the ladder while still hanging onto the arm.

My hand slapped the ladder wrong, causing the tool to rock slightly, but I lost my grip on the arm and it fell to the floor. Panic tightened my chest as I thought it was too far to reach, but I soon got the limb back to me and positioned it for a second try. I whipped the limb up and hooked my hand inside the frame of the ladder, yanking it back toward me. The ladder fell onto its side, now well within my reach. I moved the arm to the side and pulled the ladder toward me with one foot.

I got positioned, then climbed up to the top. Using my teeth, I pulled the leather strap out and unhooked it. I retrieved my right arm, wincing at the pain. But it was healing. I could feel it, and I could move the arm fairly well. Standing on the ladder, I flexed my hand, testing it, thinking about what to do next. The door opened. Glenn froze in the doorway, seeing that I was free.

I met his gaze for a moment, then my eyes flicked over to the stainless steel table with all the tools on it. Glenn was much closer to the table than I was, and I still stood on the ladder, feeling lightheaded from blood loss and constant pain. Following my gaze, Glenn looked over at the table, then back at me. We both lunged forward. Glenn darted toward the table while I jumped off the ladder, crying out as the pain in my feet shot through my nervous system.

Glenn grabbed the hatchet off the table, my blood still glistening on the end of it. He whirled around to face me just as I threw the ladder at him. He batted it away easily, then sprang toward me.

I crouched, retrieving the only other thing nearby: my severed arm. Gripping it just above the wrist, I got it up as Glenn slashed down with a hatchet. I deflected the blow with the arm, but I was weak and Glenn had both his arms. I stumbled back under the power of the blow, barely aware of the chunk of meat hanging from the end of the severed arm. He slashed at me with the hatchet, and I deflected the blow again. A chunk of flesh fell from my severed arm as Glenn forced me back toward the wall.

He feinted forward, and I raised the arm again. But instead of slicing down with the blade, he punched me in the mouth with his left hand. I stumbled and fell backward into the wall, dropping the arm to instinctually cushion my fall. I came to rest sitting with my back against the wall. He stood over me, swinging the hatchet down toward my head. I got my right hand up, then the blade sliced deep into my hand between my middle and ring fingers, splitting the appendage nearly halfway down to my wrist.

It hurt. God, did it hurt! But I didn't scream. The pain just joined the clamorous torment that radiated through my entire body. Wearing a grim grin, my attacker yanked the hatchet out of my hand and then slammed down toward my head. I jerked my skull out of the way and the blade sunk into the base of my neck. I reached up with my mangled hand and grabbed hold of the handle, my blood still leaking out as the wound healed. I gripped the handle as tight as I could, but it wasn't tight enough.

Glenn ripped the hatchet out of my grip, but as he brought it up, the blood-slick tool slid out of his hands and clattered to the floor behind him. He didn't miss a beat. His hands were on my throat in a second, and he said, "Let's see how long you can survive without air, you freak!" Crouching in front of me, pinning my legs to the floor, Glenn strangled me. I had no idea whether the strange healing ability the doctor had given me would prevent me from suffocating to death, but I doubted it would.

My eyes rolled in my skull as I struggled feebly with Glenn's hands with my damaged ones. Panic crowded in close as my lungs absorbed the little oxygen left in them. Then my eyes stopped in their panic-stricken rolling, seeing something yellow-white amid hacked flesh. My severed arm still lay where I had dropped it. A chipped and jagged bone protruded from the end of the arm where Glenn had hacked my elbow joint apart. My vision blurred as I reached out and grabbed the arm.

Then everything went black. I couldn't see anymore, so I guessed. Rallying what strength I had left, I jammed the protruding bone toward where I thought Glenn's neck was. I felt the limb hit something, but Glenn's grip didn't weaken. So I brought it back and sent it home again, hoping I was doing some damage. Glenn's hands loosened, allowing me to pull in some air. Then they loosened more, and my vision came back as my lungs pulled in oxygen. The left side of Glenn's neck was a bloody mess.

He fell back, scrambling at the wound with his hands. "Let's see how long you can survive without blood, you freak!" I rasped. As it turned out, the answer was not very long. His eyes lost their luster, and he stopped moving. I got to my feet and watched as Glen's blood flowed down the drain. Looking down at my hand, I saw that the healing process was almost done, although it still hurt like mad.

I dropped my arm to the floor and felt the wound at the base of my neck. It was healing nicely too. Moving over to the table, I selected the hammer and stepped to the door. But as I was about to open it, I heard footsteps coming. I pressed myself against the wall next to the door and watched as Cecil stepped inside. He froze when he saw Glenn on the floor. By the time he retreated, it was too late. His skull cracked under my hammer blow.

Leaving Cecil twitching on the floor, I strode out of the room. Stalking down the hall, I glanced into each room in the strange facility, looking for the doctor. I found him in a lab across the surgical suite. He sat at a desk, against the wall opposite the door, his back facing me. Sticking the hammer in my left armpit, I opened the door slowly, quietly, making sure he didn't hear me. He was hunched over, writing furiously in a journal as I stepped into the room.

There were shelves on either side of the lab, lined with terrariums. As I got the hammer back in my hand and sneaked toward him, I noticed an array of different animals in the terrariums. There were starfish, all of them with limbs and mid-growth. I remembered reading somewhere that starfish could grow their limbs back. There were sea cucumbers and salamanders and some kind of fish I'd never seen before.

They all had deformities, and it wasn't a stretch to presume that they all had regenerative abilities. As I stepped up behind the door, I wondered if he'd injected himself with the strange concoction that apparently had an ingredient that needed to be harvested from a human brain. I was about to find out if he could heal himself too. Deep down, I hoped he could, because I wanted him to suffer as much as I had.

Oh god!