BEDLAM

Tick-tick.

The minutes passed, every motion, every moment–met only with tranquil afternoon chatter. The old ‘Caffè Facciata’ sat as it always had, mostly vacant, as almost every place downtown was. Suppose that’s part of why she liked it. The walls were decorated with a sage green paper, figures of ferns and leaves stopped in a free fall. Metal modern light fixtures hung over every wooden table, all neatly decorated with house plants placed in direct natural light. Of course, all she could do was stare at her mug, watching the rising steam frolic about the rim as faint notes of its condensation drip down the sides. Droplets from previous refills slid down as if tears, slightly darkened from it running over a now illegible name in Sharpie.

Tick-tick.

Her heart beat, once rapid, now slowed to an almost disappointed state. It happened again, she thought. He’s not coming.

Yet despite her open acknowledgment, she did not attempt to move. Nor did she plan to. Perhaps it was some sick sense of hope, or maybe she just couldn’t face reality–but the twenty-three missed messages from her spoke everything. She hasn’t even been left on read, just ignored. Some first date, she thought just before her phone finally vibrated. The lockscreen gleamed as she turned her phone, reading the time to be 3:35 in the afternoon. And along with it, a message stamped for 3:34.

“Hey, I know we were supposed to meet at noon, but I can’t do this. I can’t be with someone like you. I’m sorry.”

She stared at that message for a minute before darting to the hearted contact name. Four months of texts, calls, video chats–and he couldn’t come for one first date. A trend she wasn’t even surprised by at this point. At least, not really. She glanced up at the empty chair across from her, feeling nothing but…well, nothing. Her phone vibrated again in her hand, a message from her mother popping up on screen. One she read with shaking hands.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while. How was your date, sweetheart? I know the first ones are always a bit scary, but you seemed optimistic about this one!”

Her eyes narrowed into something almost agitated, the words “you seemed optimistic” a seeming slight against her now. Although it was true, to an extent, and somehow, that made it worse. She turned off her phone, placing her head in her hands with the same question as always: What is wrong with me?

Just as tears threaten to stream, the bell at the door rings, making her look up. Had he changed his mind? Was it someone she knew in this Nowehere town? Her eyes widen as the door closes–and the chatter stops dead. Suddenly, the music lowers, shifting to a deafening key that echoes in a now-empty space. The menu had been wiped clean, cracked, and torn. The tables, aside from her own, reeked of dust and decay. Speaking of which, the display food, if you could call it that, had gone from recently baked to recently sentient with mold. Her heart dropped to her stomach, a flash of recognition in her eyes at the sound of scittering. Desperately, she looked around, fear and panic rising as she caught a glance of movement out of the corner of her eye. Her breathing hitches, heart-wrenching with a sudden faintness before finding herself ribcage height with–something. It seemed like she’d only blinked, and it was there, sitting in the seat across from her as if it belonged. The once calm jazz had since screeched to a halt, the odd ribs of the creature pulsing with hair-like tendrils connecting them.

She doesn’t breathe–or rather, couldn’t if she tried. Its long neck snapped and stretched as it lowered before her, meeting her gaze. Despite its clearly horrendous skeletal body, the face looked almost human. Too human, if such a thing were possible.

“Do you plan to sulk?” It asked, a voice, like its face, uncannily human–as if it were trying to come off that way and failing spectacularly.

She stayed dead silent, staring mouth agape at the creature before her in paralyzing fear.

“Do you?” It repeats, waiting like a Wolf Spider for its meal.

She opened her mouth to respond, but it cut her off.

“Do not bother answering. We both know how this ends.”

Her mouth closes again, failing to make anything more than a quiet squeak.

“You still act as if,” it trails off.

“This is surprising. Yet we are still here, having the same conversations.”

Her eyes finally settle, allowing a gulp that’s less audible than before. Seeing her sigh, it continues, though now more seriously.

“Fighting the same enemy. You know this,” it gestures.

“You let the world know this. Yet the temptation grows.”

In a timid tone, she finally responds.

“It’s not–it’s not as simple as you make it sound.”

“Why?” it asks, a twinge of genuine confusion in its voice.

“What could this place offer you that solace could not? We are safer in isolation.”

“Times have changed,” she interjects.

“Five years was more than enough.”

The entity’s neck creaks, its odd strings throbbing in irritation before it groans. Not audibly–in fact, it’s unclear where the sound hailed from. The face doesn’t seem to have a mouth, yet it moves and speaks as if it should.

“We can make worlds beyond understanding,” it says lowly, it’s oddly-humanoid hand grazing her open journal tentatively.

“Rewrite stories that weave the fabric of time. Yet you waste such talents on your carnal desires.”

“It–it’s not carnal, Ra-”

“Do you think me so sheltered?” It cuts her off, hand moving all the more closer to where her’s rests on the table.

“Do you not trust me?”

She falls silent, glancing at its hand, her own, and the journal no one but her has ever seen. Its eyes do the same before finally widening its fingers, which crack and move like leather on ice. It’s tips touch her knuckle, making her shudder, though–perhaps not entirely in fear.

“There is no desire man can fulfill that we cannot satiate ourselves,” it says as some of the odd hairs graze and weave over her hand.

It’s as if they have a mind of their own, outside of being a seemingly external nervous system for the entity. The tug is light, though something almost protective.

“And I think we both know that, if they knew the truth, he would return. The Beast will never die if you give in.”

It finally blinks, the sound squishing as black pus rolls down and around the crevice of its nose and drips down to where its mouth would be. Too viscous for tears, but too watery for anything that should come out of the eyes. A manipulation tactic, perhaps. Mimicking human emotion–or at the very least, attempting to. Her phone, the one thing that remains grounded, vibrates again. She goes to pick it up, but its other hand stops her free one as well.

“This is for the best.”

She hesitates before lowering her head in a sigh.

“Perhaps you’re right. We’ve more pressing-” she addresses only to find herself alone again.

The cafe was whole once more, a few guests, the music, the warmth–the life. She blinks a few times, rubbing her eyes, before noticing a few staff members staring at her. Not with anger or even necessarily with concern. Fear. Visible genuine fear. She raises a brow and glances down at her mug, once steaming, now ice cold to the touch. A bit weirded out, she makes for the door, glancing at a clock on the wall casually, only to pause dead in her tracks. The time was now 6:57 PM. The sun was faint outside in a way she hadn’t noticed before. Her grip on the journal tightened as she realized three hours had gone by without her knowledge…she shrugged and left the cafe to head home. It was a casual acceptance; she became well-versed after the first few times. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Even as the staff stared in horror while their manager mumbled something about “she does that sometimes”.

The drive home was long and uneventful to her, though the words rang in her ears. A reminder. A threat. The music of the radio was faint, occasionally crackling in and out as buildings became less and less frequent. Her mind only shot back to reality at the sound of her phone ringing. Properly this time. Just before entering a dead zone, she pulled off to the side of the road and answered as soon as she saw “Mom”.

“Mom, hey-”

“Beatrice Mary Sodam!” she boomed.

“Where in god’s name have you been?! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours!”

Beatrice paused, unsure how to respond at first.

“...sorry. I guess I was a bit caught up with the date.”

“The date?” Her mother perked up, the anger in her voice replaced by curiosity.

“Oh, right! The date, yes–wait, you were on a date this whole time?”

“Uhm…yes.”

“Oooh! Trice, honey, I knew you were excited for this date, but you gotta let your mother know when it’s six hours long. I nearly had a heart attack!”

“Yeah, I know, I–I’m sorry. I was just caught up in the moment.”

“Right, well–text me when you get home safe. I love you, and I’m glad you finally had a good date.”

“Will do, ma,” she affirmed before hanging up and lowering her head to the steering wheel with a soft thunk.

Wouldn’t be the first lie–doubt it’ll be the last. The “home” in question was one Beatrice didn’t know she wanted, but ended up being both a blessing and a curse. The headlights of her car gleam as she pulls up to her Grandfather’s old house on the outskirts of a dead-end town outside of a massive city. Translation: it was old and remote. As she enters the place, a flood of memories rushes back as they do every time. Summer tea with grandma, yardwork with grandpa, movie nights with mom, and one of her earliest memories: adventures with dad in the surrounding woods. Nothing too extraordinary, but nothing necessarily negative either. Well, except the day she got the letter. The same letter that sits open on the wooden table in the study. But before she can head down that familiar rabbit hole, she’s greeted by an old friend: Samson. A massive Great Piraneese with fluffy beige fur and kind old eyes. She smiled and greeted him with a pet behind the ears, causing him to pant and wag his tail happily. Another part of the letter, when her grandfather passed: all assets, accounts, and estate belong to her now, dog included. Not a bad thing, of course, but not one Beatrice saw herself being in.

The wooden floors creaked as she moved to the kitchen, getting Samson his food in the dark. No point in wasting the electricity, she figured. As he ate, she prepared her own meal: eggs and toast. Nothing much, but it was enough. While it cooked, she took out her phone and sent a message to her mother as promised. Again, nothing much, but enough. But just before she put her phone away, it vibrated again. A notification from the guy who stood her up before.

“Hey, can we talk?”

She paused briefly before walking to her room and just putting her phone on the charger face down.