MicroHorror

We are not alone.

The voice floated inside Jamie’s head, an exotic blend of second-generation Scouse and a distinct Middle Eastern lilt. He could put a face to that voice, handsome and aquiline–the nose long and distinguished, the dark eyes two sparkling chips of onyx. The voice teased him, words dripping from narrow lips like honey, offering the promise of recognition.

We are not alone.

The voice was Kareem’s. The face, too–how could he have forgotten? He had spoken those words time and again, as part of a litany that that he revealed to Jamie as some great and hideous truth. They were his mantra against the darkness–we are not alone, keep an eye on your loved ones, do not trust the authorities, do not drink the water. Coming from anyone else, Jamie would have dismissed them as the delusions of a desperate paranoiac, but Kareem intoned those words with such conviction that he had found himself drawn into his madness.

In the darkness of their communal flat, Jamie knew that he had been right. The two of them had spent six weeks here as student and reluctant mentor. Six weeks spent in a nocturnal existence, thick curtains blocking out the natural light whilst they slept, the pair rising only as darkness fell. Jamie had learned quickly, sat cross-legged before his teacher, an eager supplicant at the altar of his knowledge. In the fetid confines of the flat, Kareem had elaborated upon his theories with such eloquence that he had swiftly accepted them as fact.

The water was his greatest concern. It was contaminated in some way that he had yet to figure out, but he would brook no argument against the idea. Jamie would not have dared. He loved Kareem; he adored him and trusted his word implicitly, but there was more to it than that.

He was terrified of him.

Those heavy-lidded eyes, so dark and serene, filled him with such wonder and such dread. His piercing gaze would strip him to his very core, as if he would read the innermost feelings of his soul. Kareem had revealed to him the mysteries of the world and all that he had asked for in return was his love, which he had submitted willingly.

Another pain. Another twist deep in the pit of his stomach and Jamie gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming. He didn’t know how long it had been since Kareem had left–hours, perhaps; maybe days. In the perpetual darkness of the flat, he had no way of reckoning the passage of time.

Their cache of bottled water had been drained the day before yesterday and, though Kareem had not been affected, a crippling thirst had soon broken Jamie’s concentration. For the first time, the sweet nectar of Kareem’s wisdom had not been enough to sustain him and he had told him so in a cracked and tearful voice. Kareem had looked at him, his thoughts unreadable behind those dark eyes, and had left the flat without saying another word.

Jamie had still been able to hear Kareem’s footsteps echoing along the empty pavement outside the flat as he gulped down handfuls of tepid water from the bathroom tap. He didn’t know where he had gone and he didn’t know why he had not come back. It hardly seemed to matter.

There was something inside him. It had grown during these hours of solitude to the size of a cricket ball. Hot and sinuous, roped with muscle, it throbbed and trembled in his stomach.

A thin tendril extended from its center, puncturing his stomach wall. Jamie heaved up a thick puddle of blood and bile that burned his throat and stifled his screams. He shuddered on the floor, no energy left in him, that beautiful face with its terrible eyes a distant memory as the thing tore at his insides.

Kareem had been right.

He was not alone.