This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/camwalker22 on 2024-09-20 13:56:00+00:00.
I moved into my second-floor apartment two weeks ago, but it’s still pretty spartan. Desk. PC. Camping chair. Loose belongings scattered around my air mattress. I completed the stale work induction and found that my colleagues and I didn’t exactly have much in common. I’m a twenty-one-year-old web designer at a small engineering firm. My counterpart is off sick, seemingly for the long term, and my boss, Gary, is in his sixties.
Gary arrives for work in the morning, grunting and growling, says, “G’morning!”, to anyone within earshot and loads up the company web page. He refreshes it. Clicks on the ‘About Us’ section. Refreshes it. Then he slaps his thighs and declares that it’s about time for a coffee. Would I like one? No? OK. Well, old Gary will just be over in the kitchenette til midmorning (at least) if you need him, boring half the workforce to death.
Despite the apparent sparsity of challenging work, the job would do fine. I might be a little on the young side to say this, but I felt the foundations of my life were creaking, and that was before my ex cheated on me. I have trouble integrating. I get panic attacks. People say I look angry, even when I’m not. I think that’s just how my face looks when I’m concentrating, or when I’m trying to make sense of an idiom or a joke. I suppose my long hair doesn’t help, and the fact that my chief interests are metal music, gaming and combat sports. People just assume.
A fresh start was in order, and what better time than now? I joined a gym and started nodding at a few familiar faces. I went to some nature festival in the town hall and listened to hippies talk about leaves for an hour. There were drinks afterwards, but again, I couldn’t find anyone with my vibe. Everyone there was old, sporty or outdoorsy. I took a swig of warm beer and felt a rush of inspiration. Alcohol was the key. I left my drink and headed home. Scrolling through Facebook, I found a promising event:
‘GROUP SOCIAL TWENTY-ONE TO THIRTY: A friendly social meet-up for people new in town or for locals looking to expand their social circles’.
Location: McKenzie’s Irish Pub
Date: Friday 13th September
Time: 19:00
Going: 11
Interested: 25
Bingo. It was Thursday 12th and McKenzie’s was just down the street. Another day with Gary passed at the office and I walked home, my impassive expression hiding the butterflies I felt in my stomach. I ate some pasta, leaving the garlic out, and wandered over to my clothes rail. What to wear? I decided on the old faithful: grey baggy jeans, green flannel shirt and black Etnies. I untied my hair and headed to McKenzie’s. By the time I got there, I was sweating–and not from the cold. I waited by the door and took a couple of deep, ragged breaths. My head was pounding and my palms were damp. I clenched my fists and released again. It’ll be ok once I’ve had a beer or two, I thought. It was enough to get me through the door.
Inside was a dark, cramped room with several alcoves branching off the main thoroughfare. It was deserted, apart from a group floating around the polished wood of the main bar. I sidled up to a guy leaning against the jukebox.
“Hey, man. Is this the group meet-up?” I asked.
“I think so but I only just got here myself.” He said.
Someone overheard and confirmed to us it was. We both breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m Mark.” I said, offering a hand to the jukebox-leaner.
The portly man shook it and said, “Short for anything?”
“No.”
“Because I’m Marcus. Wondered if we were named the same.”
“Oh, got you. No, I’m just Mark. Like the disciple.”
Marcus pushed his glasses up his nose and widened his already wide stance.
“Yeah, think I’ve heard of him. You new in town?”
I nodded.
“Same here.”
He scratched at his beard and looked me up and down before grinning.
“You’re a metal man, aren’t ya?”
“How can you tell?” I said, returning his smile.
“You make it obvious with the hair, the clothes and an expression like one of the Easter Island statues, you know? Tortured and sad, kinda. I like to camouflage a little.”
He opened out his palms, inviting me to inspect his outfit. A black, buttoned cardigan strained over a grey t-shirt, and the blue jeans he wore were too long for him. The Nike running trainers were downright filthy and unlaced, and the denim around his heels was frayed into threads.
“So, you’re one of us. Undercover.” I said.
“I am. You got a favourite band?”
Marcus bought me a drink, and we chatted happily about Gojira, Avenged Sevenfold and Mastodon. It even turned out that he knew a thing or two about MMA and we went along a conversational tangent naming niche UFC fighters, before getting into a good-natured debate about who the greatest of all time was.
“Hey, it’s my round. What do you want, Marcus?”
“Most generous of you, sir. Just a beer–the second-cheapest. I’m not classy but I don’t drink piss. Heading to the little boy’s room, I’ll be back in a sec.”
Marcus clapped me on the back and strolled off to the bathroom as I headed to the bar, wallet in hand. I felt a pleasant buzz at the edge of my senses and realised I was smiling. God, it felt good just to shoot the shit with someone like that! I’d missed it. I looked around at the other attendees, feeling my confidence build. As I turned back to the bar, I noticed a shaven-headed man in a faded, brown leather jacket sliding up to me. His shoulders were broad and his jaw square.
“Hey, my girlfriend saw you from across the bar and we really dig your vibe. Can we buy you a drink?”
“Pardon?”
“We like you. Can we get you something?”
“No, I–”
Then I saw her. Dark eyeliner winged out from each hungry eye. Her black hair was cut into a bob that framed a heart-shaped face, and a small hoop pierced one nostril of her pixie nose. She was petite, and lithe, sitting on a barstool with one leg hooked over the other. Her denim skirt was short, and the form-fitting long-sleeved top she wore was a pulsating red. Leaning forward to prop her delicate chin on her fist, those wicked eyes slackened.
“Our treat.” She purred, before turning to the bartender. “A tequila soda with a squeeze of lemon and two beers, please.”
Her voice was smooth as caramel.
“Th–thanks. I’m Mark.”
“Evelyn.” She said, offering a manicured hand. Part of me wanted to kiss it. She was everything my ex wasn’t, and I liked her for that.
“And yourself?” I turned to the square-jawed man, but he’d vanished while I was gawking at Evelyn.
“That’s Jan. He’s gone for a smoke.” She said, hopping down from her stool as the drinks were served. She came closer. Her perfume smelled like a dark blend of cherries and something spiced– like the promise of trouble.
“Do you smoke, Mark?”
I don’t. “Sure,” I said.
I grabbed the two beers and followed her outside to the fenced off smoking area. We stopped just outside the door and she took Jan’s beer over to where he stood some distance away, brooding. They exchanged a few words, and she sauntered back to me.
“You new in town, Mark?” She said, lighting my cigarette.
“Yep. Are you two?”
“No. We’re locals. Things get a little stagnant after a while, though. Figured we’d come along to this meet-up and see if we found anyone who matched our vibe.” She put a hand on my chest and winked. “Our freak, if you know what I mean,” Evelyn said.
I blushed and looked over at Jan, standing rigid.
“You’re together, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, but you can have me. He won’t mind.”
“I gotta be honest, I only came to make friends.”
“Am I not your friend?” She said, pouting.
“I didn’t say that.”
She swung an arm around the back of my neck and pulled my head down to her chest. “How about we go and be friends over at my place?” Evelyn whispered in my ear.
I lifted my head up and found myself breathing her in, drowning in those dusky eyes. She cupped my cheeks, drew my mouth down to hers, and kissed me. When we broke, she bit her lip and led me out onto the street. She pulled me through the rain to her apartment. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the dark figure of Jan following at a distance, cigarette glowing as he took a drag. Evelyn and I ran up the spiral staircase of her apartment block and barged through the door, fumbling at each other as we passed through the living room to the bedroom. I heard the door reopen, and close again.
“Does he get involved in this?” I asked, breathless.
“Do you want him to?”
“Not really.”
“He can sit out there on the couch and listen in. He likes that.”
I hesitated, but Evelyn was taking her top off now.
“You hear that, baby?” She shouted.
“Go wild in there, you two,” came Jan’s response, as I heard the click of a remote and faint droning of a TV show.
Evelyn unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into the doorway under slim panes of moonlight shining through the slatted blinds. Suddenly self-conscious, I excused myself and went into the en-suite. I took a quick leak and splashed water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I saw those panes of light shift. I turned and peeked through the gap between the door hinge and the frame.
“Evelyn?”
The TV glowed into a dark living room beyond an open door, the bedsheets were roughed up and Evelyn writhed. Into the doorway stepped Jan. He looked down on her with solemnity, but didn’t intervene. I could hear bones breaking, flesh tearing, fluid gurgling as Evelyn convulsed into something else. Her head imploded into a dark, teethed recess and her arms twisted outward wildly…
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