#someotherdog

He rubbed his forehead as if massaging the bone could somehow assuage the building headache. His knuckles were bloody but Dave would be damned if he connected those two points. It had been a rough few days with the literal encroaching darkness. At least he had enough cash on hand for a six pack while he waited for his credit card replacement. Who would have thought that a giant meat monster had an appetite for leather wallets? His former best friend may have but John hadn't resurfaced from the underworld in ages. Another point to ignore.

Charlotte Burton was many things, but one thing she wasn't was a fool. More often than not people mistook her as one, but she was much wiser than she looked. While her parents weren't the brightest crayons in the box (she would describe them as lovable, more than anything else), they had raised two kids who had grown up to be as sharp as tacks. Jacob had spent years in the military, building his rank, while she had gotten into one of the more prestigious medical schools in the country. Two successful children, trying to make their parents proud.

Partly due to her profession, Lola paid attention to some of the finer details. The ones that went unnoticed by most of society, as they were far too busy worrying about other things. Love. Wealth. Health. They didn't care to get to know those around them, unless it benefited them in some way.

So it was safe to say that she knew they had been lying to her. For weeks now, things had been different. Each lie got more sloppy, and less detailed. When she would ask questions, she would simply be shrugged off, told that there was nothing to worry about.

They are getting ready to leave for the evening when she stops them. Grabs their hand, pulls them back. "I know you're not working this late. When you leave, you do not take your boots, which last time I checked were necessary for your line of work." At least, what they had told her that they did. For all she knew, that was a lie, too.

It could be our destruction too, though.

And it very well could be.

We could still back out.

And they very well could.

But the expanse behind him was emptying, and it would be empty soon. The little food supply they had in their quadrant wouldn't last them more than a week, maybe two, if they rationed to the extreme. The power was practically limitless when put in the context of the duration of their survival. In other words, the lights and the bits and the electronic hums would definitely outlive them. If he could only tell her what he saw when he woke up and surveyed the area—the emptied, not empty cot—then maybe she would want to move forward, move away, as much as he did.

Soap decided to only nod, eyes flitting to the panel. Its interface of lines thrummed delicately, anticipating Ingrid's next movement.

When she did place her hand on it, the interface faded to white, now reading 'AUTHORIZING...' and blinking every so often. He half-wondered what would have happened if he did this when he first woke up. Would the entrance bot even recognize the map of his palm?

There was a hiss.

Then, that same artificial voice: "Access granted. Have a nice day, Ms. Sergeant."

The gargantuan white doors leading into the main bay groaned, as if they were a giant waking up after a long slumber. After a moment, they slid to one side, unveiling a dark chasm. There was no telling yet whether the main bay was empty, or emptied.

In a regular instance the main bay would be teeming with life, ship crew members moving about each quadrant checking on sleeping passengers. In the past there wouldn't be many members up, but that was before space travel was perfected and big wigs found out a way to bend time. To no longer need to put everyone in cryosleep for the length of the trip because they'd be there in a couple of weeks' time. Passengers were only under because for them, it was less about the journey and more about the destination. Ingrid and Soap didn't need to be awake, so they had the luxury of sleeping.

In his line of sight there was, first, a source of light coming from the left. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reflected on the dark steel interiors of the main bay, from the grates to the panels to the hard seating closer to the center of the bay. They must have opted for the opposite of the quadrants' stark white appearance because of the second source of light coming from above. Soap didn't stick his head in yet, but he just knew: There was a large, round window overhead that gave the main bay a glimpse of the space that surrounded them.

From experience, Soap also knew: When they were near a star, it felt like daytime. When they were traveling in nothingness, it felt like nighttime, and that's when the entire ship went to sleep. When they were near a moon, it was an in-between; a transitory part of day when all was quiet on the ship but no one was resting, except for the passengers.

Stepping out into nothing, Soap held his rifle firmly. It was the same thing as moving out with the squad on any other mission, except this time he was alone and he was the leader, not lingering behind. The weight of being at the front felt like a rock in his throat, but he wasn't scared. He just bore the responsibility.

He tried to map out, in his mind, just how big the main bay was. After days of sleep that memory of his was cloudy. It frustrated him. They had crossed enough of the bay, Soap silent, to see the source of light he'd noticed earlier on the left. It was a large, thick, snake-like cord dangling from the ceiling. Maybe at one point it was wiggling with life and electricity but now, it hung lifeless. It was cut in half, its fraying ends drooping onto the floor, a puddle of grease forming underneath it. Its ends dripped, perhaps once every five seconds like a leaky faucet, into the puddle. Every now and then it zapped with light as if a moth or fly had flown into it and became its prey.

"Don't touch it."

Suddenly a gurgling sound—as if someone was choking on something—came from behind them, interrupting the silence. Soap snapped around, holding his rifle up to the sound, which grew louder and louder as the seconds passed. And eventually, it sounded as if this something was choking on something thick, maybe their own blood, a material that could elicit a warbled gurgling. It wasn't hollow like the sound of someone choking on water or maybe being choked by an arm.

Its footsteps were equally wet. Slow and yet, purposeful. Walking towards them. Soap's grip on his gun and finger on the trigger were ready. The light from the sagging cord flashed. Then darkness. A flash. Then darkness.

A moment later the light gave way to a horrific vision: a human-like body with bones that seemed to outgrow its own shape. Mangled toes stuck out of its legs where its shins would be and in place of its feet were talon-shaped branches of bloated flesh. Then darkness. A flash. Its arms were no longer arms but instead resembled scythes, pointed right at Soap and Ingrid. They were covered in blood. Then darkness. A flash. Its face, was shifted where its right shoulder should be, leaving a headless neck bone fragmented and sprouting out of a 7-foot torso.

It seemed to have seen them. That was when its footsteps grew faster and, in place of its gurgling, it let out a shriek. A wretched screech that, at the same time, felt strained. At once it sounded like someone calling for help and someone wanting to rip them to pieces. Soap didn't want to wait to find out.

"Stay behind me!" he hollered to Ingrid as he fired a round into the creature's torso. When that didn't seem to stop it or even make it stumble in the slightest, Soap started walking backwards, not daring to take his eyes off it. He shot at the creature's feet, and there, the mutated tissue and weak cartilage blew off. The creature fell on its stomach on the floor and crawled at them, slowing down. They were almost backed into a corner now, but at this distance Soap had a clear view of the creature's head. He shot at its face, its blood splattering all over the floor. It slowed down almost completely, and from it came this rancid smell of rotten, rotting flesh.

Not wanting to waste another bullet, Soap dared to take a step closer. If only to see this thing up close. He brought his boot down roughly on the creature's skull and it squished under his sole. Its spine, exposed where its head was supposed to be, twitched ever so slightly.

She didn't know the last time she left her dorm room for anything other than class and cleaning. Even eating became less frequent. Valentine couldn't, didn't care. She'd fucked up her only connection to another person. And worse, he was laughing about it. The mockery in her dreams made it all so much worse. Eligos was still there. Of course he was. Every few days he visited her in a dream again. It was just too fun for him it seemed. Even after the exorcism, there was little to no chance that she would be free. Not now and not whenever she died. Either Dovid's company and the pleasure he bought kept Eligos at bay or her happiness had been enough to overwhelm the darkness. Regardless, Dovid was gone and Valentine was lower than she'd been in a long time.

A few weeks after Valentine went to that dorm party and said much more than she should, one of her favorite teachers called an intervention and said she'd have all of her short stories ineligible for submission in any reputable horror magazines. It was one of the few things that actually permeated the waves of self hatred absolutely decimating her. She eased herself back into society - relatively. Not any more than she did before. But it wasn't long before Valentine found herself willing to do something dumb just to see Dovid again. That meant, regretfully, that she needed to go to a football game.