This is not my room.
I turn around, looking for the door I just went through, but there’s just an empty wall behind me.
Somehow…I walked through the door to my room…and into an office…building?
Confused, I look around me. There’s no lights, not except the red emergency lights. There’s a corkboard nearby with fliers for office events like potlucks and minor celebrations. The nearby office itself is locked, and I can’t tell what it’s used for.
Am I sleepwalking? Did I wander into an administrative building by mistake?
There’s no going back, so I guess…forward?
I step down a hallway of locked and darkened offices. There’s a vending machine in one, a soda brand I don’t recognize in blazing purple and blue on the cover, glowing brightly.
I keep checking my pockets for my phone. It isn’t there. Why would it be? I never take it with me when I’m just running downstairs.
I should get some gloves to sleep in, maybe the moisturizing kind. Even if it’s in my head, touching all these doorknobs make my fingers feel scummy. There’s no telling who touched what before I got here.
I don’t need to do that again.
It’s chilly, but maybe it’s just because I’m wearing my bedclothes. The cool air sticks to the skin on my arms, the cement floor cold beneath my feet.
Maybe I’m dreaming. I’m having a walking dream. Grace would…probably say that it’s because I’m anxious about midterms, so I’ve invented a scenario where I’m always moving but never progressing.
There’s mumbling up ahead, a voice, a person? One by one the lights start coming on, that slow electricity thing you see in movies for dramatic effect. The florescent lights hum to life, and the building seems to come to life with it.
“…Lyle was supposed to…I understand, sir, but…”
A woman walks to the end of the hall, coming in from my blind side so I hear her before I see her. Petite, wearing a silvery power suit, speaking into an earpiece headset she wears like a crown, the microphone turned to her face.
Relieved, I quicken my pace, but stop short when she turns toward me, toad green eyes lighting up with relief.
“I found him, sir, he’s with me,” she says into the microphone, then lifts it up flush with the headband. “There you are, you’re late!”
Stunned, all I can manage is a meek, “…Late?” as I stare into her slit-pupil eyes, sharp as knives.
She carries herself with the elegance and poise of multi-generational royalty. Even alone in the empty hallway, I can tell this space is hers, her domain, her kingdom. I’m a commoner, a peasant, and she’s looking at me, speaking to me.
The mouth she’s speaking with is full of fangs, like looking into the mouth of a cookie cutter shark, each tooth pristine and perfect, as if untouched by food or decay. Her skin is a flawless azure, soft, supple, and flawless, with indigo hair tied into a sensible bun, framed by fur-tipped, goatlike ears. Her nose is something like an upturned pig snout, but on her it seems dainty and elegant.
She steps toward me on silvery, deerlike hooves, as graceful as a ballet dancer on en pointe, and wraps one arm around my shoulder, giving me an excellent, up-close look at her exquisitely manicured, silvery claws. Her knee-length, paintbrush-esque tail sweeps behind her as she starts pulling me down the hall.
“Um…” I start, looking at the hand resting on my shoulder. The fingers are too long, and there’s one extra joint. The silvery claws seem dangerously close to the fabric of my ragged, old t-shirt, a sign that she could tear into my flesh with them, but hasn’t…yet.
“Darwin—may I call you Darwin?—we’re so glad you made it!” she beams, a pink tongue visible inside purple gums. “It’s too late to get you through hair and makeup, but—is that what you’re wearing?—nevermind, it’s too late. But you’re here and that’s the important thing! Listen, don’t be nervous, just relax and have fun…”
She steers me toward an open area, full of what could generously be called people. Fur, scales, feathers, horns, flippers—every sort of body type, color, and appendage imaginable, most wearing black shirts with “CREW” written in white on the back. Many are carrying wires looped over their shoulders, or hauling what looks like sound equipment. A twelve-foot, spindly creature with a head like a professional television camera glowers down at me as it walks past, practically stepping over me as it heads behind a thick, red velvet curtain at my left.
“Overwhelmed?” the woman smiles, showing every one of her pearly fangs. “I knew you would be. It’s your first time on television, isn’t it?”
“I, uh…” I mumble, catching sight of what looks like an actual person, a fair-haired man about my age with a buxom, unicorn-like stagehand helping him into a wired vest at the near side of the curtain, waving lightly at my escort, but looking me over like a piece of meat he’s trying to decide is worth eating.
At the back of the room is a small kitchenette with a folding table set up, covered in snacks—pastries and sandwiches, mostly. I wrinkle my nose, stuffing my hands into my pockets, wishing I had my gloves, avoiding the general area as I’m brought to the far end of the curtain.
“Alright, you’re going on. Erik’s done this before, but don’t let that intimidate you. Remember to smile, and endear yourself to the crowd. Play up that lost, doe-eyed look at the crowd will love you.”
I blink at her.
“Yes, exactly like that. Take a deep breath. Ready?”
“For wh—”
She thrusts me through the curtain and sends me sprawling onto a college lectern, landing hard on a bright red button that erupts with a vile buzzer noise.
“Easy, dear friend!” laughs a voice from nowhere. “I haven’t even asked the first question!”
I’m standing in what looks like a stately college classroom set up for some kind of debate. To my left is another lectern with the fair-haired man from before, dressed like he’s expecting a Russian winter. There’s a bookshelf behind me, heavy with old textbooks and reference materials. The woods are deep, polished brown, austere and old-world, giving a prestigious, ivy league vibe to the setting.
Ahead of me are bright lights, lithe, hunched bodies made of metal and wire, with camera lenses for eyes, just barely visible under the glare. Past that is what looks like stadium seating, and an audience.
“Whe…”
A flicker like an old CRT television set coming on, and the other man is at his podium.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome back to Monstrocity! Let me introduce you two our stunning contestants for today’s Brain Challenge! At the red podium, two-time Brain Challenge champion, star football player and nepotism pledge at his fraternity, you know him, you love him, the idol of icicles, ERIK!”
The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. It could be in my head, it could be from a speaker hidden somewhere nearby. It’s male, charming, almost giddy with excitement, and when it gives the name of the man at the other podium, the barely-visible crowd goes nuts, and the things that have the bodies of men but the heads of cameras swivel in his direction.
“And in the blue corner, a new challenger! Long-time viewer, first-time player, he enjoys late-night television, studying quietly in his room while his friends go party, let’s all welcome DARWIN!”
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At the sound of my name, the man at the other podium glares at me like I just threatened his wife, black-gloved hands clenching around his podium. I wither under his gaze, wondering what I did to piss him off so bad.
“Alright, contestants. I will ask a question, first one to hit the button gets dibs on the answer! If the contestant fails to speak or provides an incorrect answer, opportunity will pass to the opponent! Points are award for a speedy reply and accuracy! At the end of the round, our audience and viewers at home will receive a list of fabulous prizes and use your accumulated point pool to vote on what will be delivered to your dressing room, or applied to you in our MONSTERIZER! Are you ready?”
“I…” I start, raising my hand slightly.
“Great! First question, category: literature. Who is the insane doctor know for turning animals into people in a famous H.G. Wells novel?”
Reflexively, my hand hits the buzzer.
“Who is Dr. Moreau?” I blurt without thinking, getting a scathing glare from my opponent.
“Correct! A hundred points for Darwin, and remember! Your answers do not need to be in the form of a question!”I blink, watching a readout on the podium count up to a hundred.
“Next question: Category, science! What is Clustered Regularly Interspaced Palindromic Repeats?”
At the podium next to me, Erik slams his button, giving me the most devastating look as if he has something to prove.
“Blood magic!”
“Correct! A hundred points to Erik!”
“I, um…what?”
“Easy, champ! I’ll ask the questions here!”
More questions than I can count later, the disembodied voice calls an end to the round, telling the audience to vote and reminding everyone to come back after “these messages.” There’s a heavy metal stinger, “The mob rules…” and a dispersal of the cast and crew. The oppressive lights go dark, revealing the giant camera-headed beings, but a noticeable absence of audience.
The blue woman beckons me from behind the curtain, blue on this side, back toward the crew area.
“How was it?” she asks, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you have fun?”
“I…what’s happening?” I ask, feeling nauseous and light-headed, discreetly tilting my head so she’s on my blind side and I don’t have to see her. When I remember looking beyond the lights and the gigeresque camera creatures, I stifle a noticeable gag.
“You’re a contestant on Monstrocity, remember?” she says, as though that explains anything. “You did good! Neck and neck with Erik! The tension was amazing.”
“Erik?” I ask, glancing over at the other man, being attended to by a small group of staff, helping him out of his furred coat and the vest underneath, one pulling out a long wire and heading off to the nearest wall with an outlet.
“It’s great that you joined us on such short notice,” she continues. “We weren’t sure what we were going to do with him. Listen, the audience really likes the shy demeanor. Keep it up and you’ll catch up in no time!”
“I…what?” I ask, and then smack my forehead. “Oh, I get it! I’m dreaming!”
“Whatever gets you there, champ,” the blue woman grins, shaking her head as she goes to check on the other contestant.
There’s every sort of body and limb imaginable. Nothing makes sense, as if a random assortment of arbitrary parts were haphazardly thrown into piles and granted sentience. Nothing about any of them looks like a real, naturally-evolved creature that would survive in a real environment.
“You ready to go back out?”
It’s the blue woman, grinning at me. It’s supposed to be a look of excitement and support, but all I can think about is the marks those teeth would leave in my flesh if she decided I was dinner.
“Uh…no?”
A pop song begins to start up, a bubbly, teenage voice singing, “Calling all the monsters, calling all the monsters…”
“Take a deep breath and remember to smile,” the blue woman commands, spinning me around by my shoulders and shoving me back through the curtain.
I’m on a graduation stage. There are banners strung up with the word “Monstrocity,” sic, like it’s the name of a college. Academic accolades and trophies are posted on the back wall or in cases. Two boxes have appeared on set, each one decorated to look like some kind of auditorium entrance, mine in blue, the other in red. A throng of stagehands with the bodies of Victoria’s Secret models and the faces of monsters are dressed in caps and gowns, low necklines, high hemlines, showing off the boxes seductively.
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! I hope you spent those points wisely, because it’s time for the MONSTERIZER!”
The crowd, silhouettes just past the lights and camera equipment, erupts into wild applause and whistles.
“Now without further ado, our brave contestants will step into their boxes and see what fabulous prizes our generous audience and viewers at home have seen fit to grant them! Are you ready?”
“No, not really…” I mumble quietly, under my breath, rubbing my sore shoulder.
“Well, dear friend,” the announcer laughs, addressing me as though wherever he is, he heard me, even though I’m not wearing a mic, “it’s too late to back out now! Just step inside the box and all your dreams will come true!”
The nearest stagehand opens the door facing me and beckons me inside coquettishly. I suppose going through there would be my brain’s signal to wake up, and I’m not doing any good standing here, so…I guess?
Inside the box is disappointingly flat and empty. It’s just a box, an empty box, but completely dark when the hands close it. The inside of the box is disappointingly boring, but that stands to reason since the audience can’t see inside. I wait patiently, drumming my fingers on my elbows, waiting for a hidden panel to open so I can be lead out for makeup, or to wake up.
The box hums. It sounds like a refrigerator at first, but it grows, seeping into my skin, vibrating my bones and teeth. It’s the only noise, the box sealed to all outside. My heart and the hum.
Your organs move. Did you know that? Glands secret, the stomach compresses, things move out of the way for your lungs. Your brain turns the sensation off, because the feeling alone would drive you mad. Like the worst nausea and stomachache.
The twisting in my guts drives me to my knees, a feeling like ravenousness and guzzling ice water to make the hunger pangs stop. My vision blurs, sweat pouring out of me and washing my glasses down my nose like a flash flood. I taste copper, and spit on the ground, horror curdling inside me when I see teeth.
My fingers bleed. The nails loosen and fall out, pushed free by twisted black nubs like volcanic glass. My sandy blond hair falls like snow around my shoulders. My skin tears and bleeds.
And then, as if someone wrapped a hand around my lower spine, it’s jerked back so fiercely I almost come off the ground with it. The pulling continues, bones and sinews stretching audibly, nerves lengthening to fit the new appendage. Again, and again, and again, like the string in a badge reel.
When it’s over, I’m left twitching and spasming in the corner of the box, curled in on myself and damp with my own sweat and blood.
Light breaks into the box. The shadow of a woman crosses the light, and I hear her uncertain voice, her shadow putting a hand to her headset.
“Uh…sir?”
What's the first upgrade Darwin should get?
