Official Department of Scribble Scrabble

I had no intention of sticking around for the whole thing, of course. I popped in a few minutes after it started to see what was going on. The title advertised some new game he was planning on sharing, but he hadn't started yet. I had stuff to do, and I didn't feel like sitting and waiting while he dicked around, so I closed out. I'd peek in again later to see if anything interesting was going on.

The next time I opened the stream, he was dead.

It hadn't been more than twenty minutes, but there he was, hunched over, face down on the desk. Lifeless. The chat was frantic. I could barely read the messages as they sped by, but I gathered that he'd been like that for a while now. Chilled and bewildered, I closed the stream again. I didn't know what to make of it. What do you do? What can you do? Unsettled, with a vague feeling of responsibility for the situation that I couldn't do a damn thing about, I went on with my chores.

I carried on with my day, feeling disoriented and unable to get the image of the dead gamer out of my mind. What the hell could have happened? As I mindlessly scrubbed away at the pan that had been soaking in the sink since last night, I wondered if the stream was still going. I wondered if he lived alone. How long would it go? Until somebody found him? Until his equipment stopped working? Hours, days? Would he decompose on the internet for all to see? Would people watch?

Unable to stop thinking about it, I gave in to curiosity and tuned back in. There was a woman in the frame now, sniffling wetly and speaking softly to somebody just out of the shot. The dead man remained still in his place. I gathered that she was his wife, and that whoever was in the room with her–aside from the corpse, I mean–was some sort of first responder. That was about all I could gather; the conversation was nearly inaudible.

A sudden wave of disgust came over me. I had no business watching this. A complete stranger's grief and horror at the loss of her husband, the undignified slump of a man who could no longer present himself, vague murmurs of their private life. I quickly exited the window and shut my laptop. I hadn't bothered to look and see if anybody else was still watching, but I didn't have to; there was no doubt that somebody was. Probably a bunch of people. I couldn't blame them. It was morbid, certainly, and invasive beyond words, but who wouldn't be curious? Interested, even?

As a matter of fact, I was curious. I was interested. I lasted a while longer, but the pull grew too strong to resist. Once again, with a hesitant hand, I reopened my computer.

There were a number of people in the room now, police, EMTs, what have you. Most of them were just milling about, but two were examining the corpse. Christ, didn't they realize they were live? Could nobody see the camera? Wouldn't the wife have known he'd be streaming? I nearly closed my computer again, disturbed by the unintentional broadcast of such a private moment, but something caught my attention. I wish it hadn't.

One man was knelt beside the body, poking and prodding and dictating notes for another to jot down on his pad. The examiner began feeling around the back of the dead gamer's neck, and as he did, the skin and meat began sloughing off in wet chunks, sliding away from the tendons and leaving clean bone behind. Nobody in the room seemed particularly alarmed by this, but I was dumbfounded. He'd only been dead a few hours, if that long! What the hell could make a person rot like that?

I watched as the examiner continued maneuvering the body around. In spite of his careful movements, the corpse continued to come apart, flesh sliding off like unset jello, skin opening up like wet paper to reveal caverns of pus. I couldn't see the wife, but she was still in the room; I could hear her crying. It was a funeral sort of crying, soft and subdued, not the horrified shrieks I'd expect of somebody watching her husband rapidly decompose into a pile of chum, but then, nobody seemed all that horrified.

At this point, I was invested. I turned up my volume, listening closely, hoping to pick out something that might explain the gruesome display, but with no success. The conversation was hushed, sounding almost as though it were coming from another room, and while I could make out a fragment of a word here and there, the rest was unintelligible. How that was possible was beyond me; the dead man had a fantastic microphone, and the sound had been fine at the start of the stream. As a matter of fact, even now I could clearly hear the sound of birds chirping and cars passing by–not outside my house, but his. Dogs barking in the distance, the footsteps of a jogger fading in and away. The background noise was perfectly clear. The chatter taking place right in that very room, however, was muffled ambient noise.

I whapped the other maid over the head with the duster and she hustled off, giggling. Truth be told, the big house was in pretty good shape. It was clean enough on an average day, and without the family here to make much of a mess over the past week, things hadn't really changed since they'd left. We'd been lounging around and using the kitchen, though, and besides, we wanted it to be nice when they returned. Carla, the maid who'd been sitting on the couch a moment ago, made herself busy upstairs vacuuming the plush hallway carpet, and I got back to dusting the shelves and all the pictures and knickknacks they housed.

– I'm glad we're finally getting back – I know, it was a lovely trip – I'm just exhausted – Aren't you excited to get home, sweetie – 

"Hey, Evie!" Angel slipped dramatically around the corner, holding the pale blue curtain from the front window around himself like a gown. "Fresh out the laundry, what do you think? Pretty nice, huh? Come help me put it back up."

Rolling my eyes, I left the duster behind to help him, and the bright morning sun flowed through the fabric to bathe the whole room in a soft blue glow. We didn't even have the lights turned on; the enormous window kept the living room perfectly lit in all its whites and pastels as long as the sun was shining. It was pleasant, easy on the eyes. I hadn't been sure about all the light colors when the family had hired me, especially with them having a kid, but everything always looked so soft and clean, as long as we kept up with it. That wasn't hard. They were a tidy family, and even the little girl was careful about spills.

– Are you feeling alright sweetie – Oh, she's just tired – It's been a long trip – 

I finished up my dusting, while Angel kept fiddling with the frills and folds of the curtain to get it looking perfect. I could hear Kayla and Doris laughing and singing together while they cleaned the kitchen, the fuzzy sound of music coming through the little radio by the sink, and the hum of Carla's vacuum moved from room to room above me, punctuated here and there by a cough. I decided to go check on the laundry. Obviously, Angel had at least done a load with the curtain, but knowing him, he'd gotten hung up on that and left the rest in the basket. As I made my way up the blush pink carpeted stairs, I saw Kathy and Maria talking quietly in one of the bedroom doorways, looking concerned.

"Everything alright?"

"She's sick," said Maria before Kathy could get a word in.

"It's not that bad," insisted Kathy. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle a cough.

"You have a fever! I can feel it,” argued Maria, touching her forehead. “You look awful."

"Gee, thanks."

"Hey, go lay down," I told Kathy, patting her arm. "We'll finish up. You go rest."

"I don't want to ditch you guys when we have this whole big house to straighten up."

"It's fine," I assured her. "There's not that much left. Don't worry about it. Go lay down, alright? We'll be fine."

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

– We're almost home – What's all over her nose – Oh god is that blood – What happened – Is she bleeding – Sweetie can you hear me – 

Angel had at least folded the laundry, but he hadn't put it away. I couldn't fault him for that; the curtain would have been a pain to iron if he hadn't hung it up right out of the dryer. I began sorting it, the droning whir of the vacuum almost soothing as I worked. The little girl's colorful sweaters in one pile, the father's socks in another, dresses over here, work shirts over there. I wondered what they’d even brought on the trip; it seemed like there was an endless mountain of clothes piled up right here at home. 

– I don't think she's breathing – Oh my god – Sweetheart wake up – 

After what felt like ages, the vacuum finally stopped, and suddenly the silence felt overbearing, somehow louder than the presence of sound had been. It didn't last, though. I could hear some sort of chatter happening down the hall, some faint commotion downstairs. I set the last few pieces of clothing into their piles, then stepped out of the laundry room to see what was going on. A few of the maids stood at the far end of the hallway, talking frantically by one of the bedrooms. As I started walking toward them, movement outside the window caught my eye. I paused, peering down.

The first thing I saw was the ambulance. Then the family's car, parked haphazardly in the driveway, as though they'd been in a mad dash to get out. Paramedics wheeling a gurney–was that the little girl?–into the ambulance, driving off in a hurry. Then stillness. I stared for a moment, trying to process the scene, wondering what in the world had happened. Then I hurried down the hall to the maids.

"Kathy's gone," Carla blurted out before I could even ask.

"Gone, what do you mean gone?"

"I mean she's gone! They took her!"

"We had to call an ambulance. She got really bad all of a sudden. I think…" she's dead, the silence echoed as Maria trailed off.

"I just saw the little girl getting taken away outside," I heard myself say. "Do you think…"

"We have to get out of here," Carla gasped. "Something's going around. We have to get out."

Nobody argued. We clattered down the stairs in a nervous jumble, and Kayla and Doris were already by the big window, still staring out in shock. They didn't question it when we hurried them to the door; they already knew. As we rushed out and down the step, a wretched croak behind us turned our heads in frightened unison.

"Wait for me," groaned Angel, staggering toward the door. Somebody cried out in despair, and a high voice behind me let out a horrified no!

"We can't," breathed Carla, covering her mouth. "We can't!"

"You have to stay," I called in a trembling voice, backing away from the door. He fell against the frame, coughing horribly. Something dark dripped slowly from his mouth.

"Wait…"

"We'll call an ambulance. You have to stay!"

Two young boys of eight and ten trudged through a marsh-turned-tundra, one leading the other. The gray sky was difficult to differentiate from the gray ground, and despite the snow and ice covering the area, the land was still somehow spongy and muddy and threatened to pull away their snow boots with each slimy step. Their footsteps would have made a pretty unpleasant crunchy-squishing noise which might be compared to the sound of an enormous beetle being crushed as their boots broke through thin layers of ice and sunk into the marshy ground, but the wind was so eerily loud with its otherworldly howls and whistles that it drowned out nearly every other sound. The younger of the two boys, following behind his older brother, looked warily at the few trees and shrubs poking out of the miserable grayness and thought that they resembled monster skeletons, but would never express this out loud; his brother mustn’t get the idea that he was scared, even though his brother was a little scared himself.

“It’s up there,” the older boy called through the shrieks of the wind. They approached a strange little area which was partially shielded from the weather with monster skeleton trees. About ten feet from the trees was the edge of what couldn’t quite be described as water even during the warmest seasons. It was more like a muddy quicksandy sludge, now mixed with winter slush. Between the slushy sludge and the monster skeletons was a barren strip of land. A couple of objects lay partially covered in muck and snow on the ground.

“What is that?” The younger boy stuck close behind his brother, not feeling particularly fond of anything that was happening right now. His brother snapped a stick off of one of the shrubs and used it to haphazardly dust off the things on the ground—dolls. Two baby dolls that looked like antiques, one still a rosy peach color and in pretty good shape, the other appearing greenish and almost decayed.

“A kid at school told me about this place,” said the older boy, answering before his brother could ask. “Apparently people leave sacrifices for them. You know why?”

His younger brother shook his head. He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. If they didn’t freeze to death out here, he was sure he’d have nightmares for a week just from the visual alone.

“They leave sacrifices because apparently they’re alive. They look pretty dead right now but when nobody’s around they get up and start walking and looking for something to kill, so people leave the sacrifices so they won’t go kill anybody.”

“That’s dumb,” the younger boy said in a voice that trembled much more than he would have liked it to. It was absolutely dumb and it creeped the hell out of him all the same.

“Yeah, it is,” the older boy admitted. “Still kinda neat though. They look really old. I bet they’ve been here for a hundred years.” Doing what, though? He pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn’t need his little brother thinking he was any kind of creeped out.

“Can we go now? This weather sucks,” the younger complained. His brother nodded and they turned around to leave. As they shuffled off, however, the younger boy lost his footing and tumbled over into the vast pond of sludge.

“God dammit,” he cried out in frustration. He knew his brother wouldn’t tell on him for swearing; they always cursed with each other when no adults (or tattle-tales) were around to hear. Grunting, he tried to push himself upright, but he found it very difficult to move in the thick liquid, and his heavy winter clothes didn’t help.

“Here, grab my hand,” the older brother called against the wind, reaching out. His brother somehow seemed much farther away from the edge of the land than he should have been. As he glanced at the ground to make sure he wasn’t stepping into the muck, he noticed that the more decayed-looking doll was missing.

“What the…” he murmured under his breath. He looked back up to his brother and felt his body go numb. On the horizon, moving closer, was what appeared to be a tiny figure.

“Come on, grab my hand!” He tried not to let his panic show as he leaned out over the edge of the pond, but something in his voice tipped his brother off. The younger boy turned his head and saw the doll swimming toward him, slowly but surely, and he began to scream. He screamed and reached as far as he could and tried to shuffle out of the sludge but it was much more difficult than it was getting in, and the doll grew closer. They could see its arms slowly going around like windmills in their creaky sockets in a very poor imitation of swimming and if it had been a scene from a movie they would have been laughing hysterically, but it wasn’t a movie and the movement somehow managed to push the doll with relative ease through the same almost-liquid that trapped the younger boy.

It wasn’t a particularly nice cemetery. Not in the sense that it was creepy, although it was run-down. There was nothing scenic, no rolling fields of green or beautiful monuments. There were few flowers placed upon the small, unremarkable graves, and the ones that were there were about as attractive as anything else in the place. The fence surrounding it was old and rusty; the spots where there was a substantial amount of grass were unkempt and scattered with weeds. The people underground almost certainly didn’t care, but I felt bad for them regardless. It was a homely place.

As I made my way through the rows, I leaned down and picked a single clover flower from the ground. If I ever found the grave I was looking for—they all looked the damn same—I’d leave it there. She never wanted anything fancy, but I liked to think a little clover flower would be appreciated. I twirled it idly between my fingers, looking around. The mist was still light, and visibility was fine. As I neared the edge of the cemetery, about having given up on my search, I saw a small sign marking the entrance of a section. Curious, I approached it.

Section For Unusual Burials.

Interesting, I thought, bemused. What the hell does that mean? I proceeded forward, glancing around as I entered the Section For Unusual Burials. It looked about the same as the rest of the cemetery, at least from afar. As I took a closer look at the first grave in the row, I realized just what was so unusual about it.

There was a fully decomposed face sticking out of the dirt.

Christ, I thought, they weren’t lying. Mystified, I continued on. A square hole lay open beside the next marker, and I peered in. Three fingers, considerably less than fresh, sat at the bottom. Across from that, what I had mistaken from the entrance for a branch was actually a mummified leg protruding from the ground. One gravestone had a skull sitting on top, still flecked with bits of flesh. Another boasted a severed hand with a palmful of maggots dutifully taking care of business. There were a surprising amount of these Unusual Burials, maybe about three dozen.

I made my way back toward the sign once I’d seen them all, wondering if the reason the place was so poorly-kept was because nobody wanted to be associated with this peculiar little practice. Still, I couldn’t help but respect it. Those three dozen or so people had a vision, and I guess somebody was determined to carry out their final wishes, unusual or not.

I staggered after my neighbor, a brace on each leg preventing me from keeping by his side. I don't think he entirely knew who I was, or maybe he did and he just didn't want to be associated with someone who wasn't quite as cool. He walked just a stride ahead of me, sometimes matching my pace, sometimes hurrying forward with an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder. I don't know why I was so determined to keep up with him. I suppose I just didn't want to walk back to the dorm building by myself.

He slowed down after a while; maybe he felt bad seeing me hobbling along trying to keep up. We walked side by side and we chatted. We hadn't really talked before, but we'd seen each other around plenty; we lived right across the hall from each other. My legs ached as we started up the gentle arch of the bridge. A group of guys stood by the rail at the top, laughing and joking around and talking about fishing. I thought about the fish.

"I saw a fish so big it scared me once," I said as we walked inside. It was dark and cool in the lobby of the building, a nice contrast from the hot sun that had been beating down on us.

"Well, haven't most people?"

"It was like..." I thought about the fish, and suddenly I couldn't remember how big it had been. A few feet? Several? As big as a car? As a bus? I could see the shadow in my mind, passing ominously under the surface of the water, but I couldn't place it in an environment. To tell you the truth, I couldn't even quite recall where I'd seen it. I could see its silhouette, long and broad, with a snout like an alligator's, twisting and gliding through murky green. It swam behind my eyes and I swam before it, absolutely nowhere.