This is wrong …
Everything feels so wrong.
Fighting to stay conscious, I try to yell, but nothing comes out. The silence is suffocating.
The world tiltswildly as my eyes flutter open. Everything’s still dark and hazy. I feel like I’m buried under a hot blanket. Gasping for air, I try to move, gagging at the rancid smell. I can’t move my arms or legs—I pull and tug, but my wrists and ankles are restricted by tight ropes that scratch and dig with every movement. My skin crawls, and I break into a sweat.
I manage to roll over, and whatever was on top of me shifts, thudding onto the wooden floor. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see the door is still cracked open, a slither of moonlight illuminating what I’d been buried under. My breath catches in my throat. Bright copper fur, stained red, numerous vacant eyes staring back at me. I squint, fighting double vision as I start to identify different animals: foxes, rabbits, a couple of cats, and at least a dozen mice mixed into the mound.
There’s a buzzing sound, increasing in volume, that draws my attention to a cloud of black hovering over the carcasses. Flies zip and dive through the air before landing on the decomposing flesh. Something shifts in the pile, and I hold my breath, searching the bodies for the source of movement, terrified that there’s something alive in here with me.
A fox moves, and I scramble further back. It’s missing a whole eye. The socket and cheek ripple and undulate. Squinting, I can just about make out a sea of white, hundreds of maggots wriggling in the gaping hole.
I roll away from the horror and retch again, bringing up the contents of my stomach, acidic bile burning my tongue as I spit it out. I begin to shake, my breathing too fast … there’s not enough oxygen. The hum of the flies disappears. I’m deaf for a moment before a high-pitched wail pierces my ears, getting louder and louder until everything goes black once more.
“Wake up.”
A hand strokes through my hair, and I lean into it as my head pounds. Moaning, “Bay.”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
My stomach clenches as though it’s on a hair trigger, ready to expel its contents again. I peel my eyes open. Seeing Bailey so close to me, I jump, biting my tongue, then rush out, “Bay, help me, I don’t know?—”
“Why didn’t you let me go?” he interrupts. “I told you it was over, and you wouldn’t stop calling.”
“I-I needed to talk to you. Please, you need to get these ropes off me, there’s someone?—”
“No.”
“No?”
Ice-blue eyes stare back at me, wet from tears, yet cold and distant. “I told you that I’d end up hurting you. I said I wasscared that I would, and you ignored me. I wanted to leave and you made me go home with you. Forced me to stay.”
“I didn’t force you?—”
He pulls a knife from his pocket and yanks my head, exposing my neck. I suck in a breath and hold it there, too scared to move an inch.
“This is all your fault. You should have just let me go when I ran from you in the forest,” he says, voice cracking, eyes welling up with tears.
“Please,” I breathe.
The knife digs into my skin. “I can’t do this anymore, Theo. I can’t pretend that I’m normal, that there isn’t this fucking monster hiding inside of me, just waiting to escape.”
“You don’t have to do this, Bay,” I gasp.
I stare as tears stream down his face. “You made me do this!”
I swallow, and the knife scrapes my skin. I’ve never felt so helpless. I don’t know what he’s on about, there being a monster inside him. He’s not violent. He’s not—whatever the fuck this is.
“Go home, pack your things, and move to Scotland. I’m not coming with you.” He drops the knife on the floor. Panting, he stands up and walks out. As soon as he’s gone, I shuffle along the floor towards the knife, turning and trying to grab it between my fingers. Just as I have it secure in my hand, the door bangs open fully and more moonlight streams in. Bailey comes back in holding a petrol can.
“W-what are you doing?” I shake my head as he walks over to the pile of animals. “Bailey.” The smell hits me immediately as he starts to douse them. I try to use the knife to free myself.
“Can’t leave evidence behind,” he mutters, walking back to the door. He wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls a lighter from his pocket. “I tried to be good for you, Theo. I know you’ll get out of this, just … just leave, okay? And never come back.”
He flicks the flint with his thumb and a flame jumps to life, dancing in the slight breeze coming from the open doorway. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he throws it onto the petrol-soaked carcasses, then turns, walking out the door.
I watch the flames surge upward and suck in a breath, fingers halting their progress on cutting through the rope. My heart stops as the pile of furs are engulfed. The cloying smell of the animals melds with petrol and charred flesh, forcing bile up my throat.
