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Uncle John and I took a walk back to town. Past the potholes, rusted-out cars, and abandoned buildings; the symptoms of a town growing old. As a cold September rain washed over us, we found our way back to the corner pub where we’d first met. We stopped to grab a bite and rest up. It’d been a long day.

John ordered three beers for himself. I settled for a plate of fries and a coke. He leaned back and pulled a long strand of hair from his head. There was barely any resistance; it practically fell off.

“Bad timing,” he sighed.

“Didn’t know hair loss was a thing in our family,” I smiled.

“It isn’t,” said John without looking up. “But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not exactly a paragon of health.”

“You’ve never told me what it does to you, you know. Whatever that is.”

“I didn’t?”

“Never.”

​

John chugged one of his beers and thought about it for a minute. Once he was sure we were alone, he lowered his voice.

“Remember that sludge you got infected with? That was a sort of an… unrefined metal goo. Same stuff that Hatchet made Blameless out of.”

“Sure,” I nodded. “Why not.”

“I’ve told you about how Hatchet refined it. Made stuff with it. Computer components mostly. But Blameless, it… it wants to spread. To reach out.”

He rubbed the back of his head, squirming a bit in his seat.

“Someone at Hatchet got the bright idea to make bullets. Full metal jacket, coated with Blameless. They had no idea what it would do, but they did it anyway, despite all the ballistics showing that it was useless. There was only about… 20 bullets made before they stopped production. But instead of throwing them out or repurposing them, they were issued to standard security personnel. ‘Cause why the hell not.”

“Bullets?” I scoffed. “So what did-“

I thought about it as John rubbed his neck.

“No.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You don’t just quit Hatchet. They take you out back, Old Yeller style. Except the guy who did it to me had one of the Blameless bullets.”

“They shot you?!”

“Execution style. Still got that sucker lodged in my cerebellum. That refined Blameless is the only thing keeping me alive, but by God, does it mess you up.”

​

“Speaking of messing up.”

We both turned around.

The woman standing next to us had popped up out of nowhere, leaning against our booth with a cheeky grin. It was my old landlord, Leah. The one who owned the building where I’d first stayed when I got to Tomskog. A woman in her late 40’s with one of the widest smiles I’d ever seen. Immaculate white teeth, and an almost unnaturally perfect face. Uncannily gorgeous woman.

She and John seemed acquainted with one another. Well enough for her to push him aside and sit down at our booth, grabbing one of his three beers. John didn’t protest.

“Glad to see you’re still around, Maryland,” she smiled at me. “Got any sexy new scars?”

“Yeah, no. And that’s not my name.”

“That’s where you’re from, isn’t it? I can smell it, you know.”

She gave me a little wink and turned her attention to John, who seemed to slowly sink into the floor.

“Little John, the merriest of men. My dear brother told me he’d spotted a bit of smoke rising from your chimney.”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “Burned it all to the ground.”

“Oh dear. What a predicament.”

​

She sipped her beer and slid the glass over to me. I was about to pick it up, like it’d been a gift, but John just subtly shook his head. I got the impression that I shouldn’t accept anything freely given from this woman.

“Well, if you boys need a place to stay until you get back on your feet, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

John bit his lip and fully turned to her, his eyes flaring red.

“What the fuck do you want, Leah?”

“I want to help a-“

“No. Stop that. Just fucking stop. Tell me what the fuck you want.”

Her smile never faded. Not a hint of frustration, unease, or aggression. Like a smiling marble statue, and just as pale.

“I could use the company, Little John.”

​

Once John talked her into leaving, we paid our bill and left. John got a new phone and started making calls while I waited on a park bench down by Frog Lake. Just sitting there, I could imagine the caves running far beneath the surface, under that drowned church. I wondered what would happen once this year was over. Would I make my way back here, one final time?

John got increasingly angry. No one seemed able to help. He even considered taking us out of town, but that would mean asking Fred for a favor; and John wasn’t too keen on that idea. Instead, he plopped down next to me on the bench and sank his face into his hands.

“I think we gotta take her up on her offer,” he sighed. “It’s not safe, but… the devil you know, and all that.”

“Why isn’t it safe?”

“The Babin family is a goddamn mess. All of them. I don’t know how, but however Hatchet fucked them did some serious damage. Class of 2000.”

“She looks fine to me.”

“Don’t ever be alone with her, or anyone from her family,” John said. “Promise me.”

“Why not?”

“Promise me!”

He grabbed my jacket and pushed his fingers into my arm. I could feel him trembling, as if losing control of his fingers. One of his eyes twitched.

“Okay. I promise.”

He put his arm around me and dialed a new number. His voice sank as he asked to speak to the landlord.

​

Leah Babin was glad to help us out. She showed us an apartment in a different building closer to the town center, overlooking a gas station and a flower shop. A simple one-bedroom apartment. I was told I could take the bedroom, as John barely slept anyway. Besides, he’d be busy ‘paying dearly’ for renting that place, whatever that meant.

In the end, I ended up staying there alone most of the time. John was gone for days at a time, running errands and trying to keep up with his work. He brought back two laptops and some kind of wireless router. He also talked about keeping up with the treatment for the refined Blameless that ran through his system. Apparently, he needed some kind of medication, and his stash had been lost in the workshop fire.

I could tell he was getting worse. His hair was falling out, leaving a big bald spot on the left side of his temple. He was rarely ever in the apartment, and when he was, he looked paler than usual. Whatever treatment he needed was clearly not working.

The worst example of this was when I was cleaning up in the living room, only to find a handful of teeth on the carpet. Unless those things grew out of the floor, John was having more trouble than he was letting on.

​

We stayed there all through September, and John’s visits grew more infrequent. I had a lot of ideas on how to pass the time, but I ended up staying mostly inside. I went to the movies a few times, but the darkness made me so anxious that I couldn’t stay. I could imagine horrors waiting outside of view or sneaking up on me. I felt like I had this big target on my back, and I couldn’t relax. Being a Yearwalker, however, I’m sure that’s not too far from the truth.

I didn’t see much of Leah Babin. John assured me that he was doing everything he could to make sure they left me alone. At least, that’s what he told me, and I intended to keep my promise not to be alone with any of them.

​

At the beginning of October, a man moved into the apartment across the hall. Boxes being opened, furniture assembled, cleaning and decorating; the whole nine yards. I could smell the moving day pizza through the door. It was only four people in total, but they all seemed to be friends, and in good spirits. It was such a strange thing to see after all these months of living on the edge of a constant panic. Something so normal. And there I was, watching it play out through my peephole; like a fish-eyed TV show.

At some point, I could see the four of them standing in the hallway, talking to one another. Rock paper scissors. They seemed a bit anxious. One of them, a young college-aged woman, walked up to my door and rang the bell. She spoke out loud.

“Hello! Sorry, do you think we could borrow a hammer?”

These weren’t the Babins. These were just people. I hadn’t been around regular people in quite some time. Of course they could borrow a hammer!

​

I got to know the four of them pretty well. They were all studying to become veterinarians. I didn’t even know Tomskog had that kind of a program. The guy who moved in was Oliver, and his three friends were classmates; Erin, Vicky, and Kent. Erin was the friendly smile that lured me out with a hammer in the first place. I ended up helping Oliver move in; I even got a slice of the moving day pizza.

Over the next week, I met the veterinarians three times. I came along to a café, we went to the pub, and we took a ride up to Mankato. For a while, I was the “nice neighbor”, and that was all I wanted to be. Not a Yearwalker, not a “Digman”. Just me. It was nice to be me for a while.

Oliver would knock on my door and just check in on me every now and then. Offer me leftovers, ask if I wanted something from the store. I explained to them that I had a sick uncle who I took care of, just to stop the questions about me staying inside so much. They didn’t question it. If anything, they admired me.

I was quite fond of Oliver. He had a sad resting face, but a rare smile that could light up a room. He reminded me of Eeyore.

​

Every day at lunch, Oliver would go back to his apartment and get a snack from his kitchen. Sometimes he’d get one for me. It sort of turned into this routine, where he’d knock on my door at lunch and I’d walk over and sit with him for a while. Sometimes I’d get a sandwich, or a power bar.

He’d vent about his studies, and the stress of prepping for tests. The intricacies of everything from livestock hoofcare to administering anesthesia to house cats. There was always something going on in Oliver’s ordinary world, and even a glance at it gave me ideas of what to do once all of this was over. With a bit of help from John, I might be able to go to culinary school.

​

It was the second Thursday of October when Oliver once again knocked on my door for lunch. I walked up to the door, opened it, and stopped dead in my tracks.

That wasn’t Oliver.

Just inches from my face was a pale man, with oil-slick black hair. He had a hawk-like nose, and pupils that were so large and dark that his eyes looked black. Despite his awful posture, he was taller than me. He leaned against the doorframe with a casual pose, staring daggers at me.

“Hi there,” he smiled.

His gums were beet red, and his teeth looked smaller than usual. A very odd-looking man overall. Gave me the creeps. He had this strange way of saying almost every ‘R’ with a rolling tongue.

“I’m here about the light fixture,” he continued.

“I didn’t call about a light fixture.”

“You didn’t?”

Without a second thought, he placed a cold hand flat on my cheek and stared into my face. It was so sudden that I didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t doing anything outright threatening, but I felt like a gazelle being stared down by a lion. He did this uncomfortable gulping noise, like a cat getting ready to throw up.

“Sorry,” he said. “Wrong door.”

​

He backed away and stepped outside. He kept staring at me, not really letting the conversation end.

“You’re John’s kid, right?”

“And you are?” I asked.

“Roy,” he said. “I fix things.”

I remembered a Roy. Last time I lived in one of Leah’s apartments, and the bathroom was messed up, it was Roy who fixed it. I never met him personally, but he barely even charged me for it.

“Right, Roy,” I nodded. “You’re with, uh… Leah?”

“Her brother, yeah,” he grinned. “I thought John would, uh… would be staying here.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“But not now,” he nodded. “Right now it’s just you. All alone.”

He pointed at me with a pale hand, making finger guns.

“Keep it cool, kitten.”

​

After that meeting, I got a bit more careful about opening the door. Roy started coming by every now and then, pretending to fix something in Oliver’s apartment. He seemed to look at the light from the peephole in my door; apparently, you can see when someone’s looking out at you. At least Roy could see it. He’d make that gulping sound and just stare at the peephole; like he was looking straight through the door. Sometimes he’d chuckle to himself, or mouth ‘hello’ at me. Or just gulp a little.

Sometimes, even if Oliver was the one knocking, I’d be reluctant to open. Roy would be standing at the end of the hallway, looking at us.

Apparently, Oliver wasn’t having these issues with him. It was just me.

Figures.

​

The next time John came over, he was looking worse. He wore an eye patch, and he had several cuts on his face. He had a brand-new pair of leather gloves, which he refused to take off. He only stayed for a couple of hours; just long enough to check his laptops, chug half a bottle of vodka, and leave. I tried telling him about Roy, but John just shook his head.

“He won’t touch you,” he said. “Leah would tear his goddamn head off.”

I wasn’t convinced. Roy seemed a little bit too eager to get to know me. He’d gotten so bold as to ring the bell at times, making sing-songy demands of letting him in to check the bathroom lights. It was the kind of tone where someone says they’re joking, but they’re not really joking.

I wasn’t taking any chances. I knew that I’d walk into that living room to find him there someday, and I didn’t like that thought. Not one bit. So I started hiding weapons all over the place. A hammer taped to the bottom of a chair. A knife under the pillow. A crowbar next to the umbrella. I started putting up a chair against the door handle as I slept, so I’d at least delay someone trying to break in.

Oliver took notice, and he didn’t like it. He insisted that I’d talk to the landlord about it. It was hard to explain why I couldn’t, and why I wasn’t allowed to do so. I could only refer to a vague “arrangement” with my uncle.

​

Roy didn’t care either way, and his excuses were getting more ridiculous. At one point he didn’t even try; he just straight up asked me to let me in. That he wanted to keep me company.

One night, he’d been particularly persistent. I’d propped up pillows in my bed to make it look like I was sleeping, while I actually slept in the bathtub. I woke up to the sound of a key being slid into the door, and the chair being carefully pushed aside. The door opened slightly; just enough for him to peek into the living room.

I’d hear that disgusting gulping noise over and over. He was excited.

“Let’s be friends,” he whispered. “For a while.”

​

I decided enough was enough, and the next day I asked to sleep on Oliver’s couch. He was confused but didn’t seem to mind.

It’d be nice to be around a normal person.

​

Later that week, Oliver was having a belayed housewarming party. All the other veterinary students were invited, and some of their friends. A little over a dozen people in total.

I helped Oliver prep for the party. I can make these insane bacon-wrapped water chestnuts in honey barbecue sauce that’s just to die for, and I made a whole tray of them. Oliver put up a little disco ball and shared a public playlist where people could add songs. All in the theme of animals.

It wasn’t exactly a costume party, but sticking to the theme was encouraged. Oliver, being keenly aware of me calling him Eeyore, made himself a tail with a pink ribbon and a little black tassel at the end. I painted my face with black spots around my eyes and called myself a panda.

​

It was a great party. It was amazing just how many people caught the Eeyore reference. People were getting fun-drunk, and not the kind of sad-drunk that I was used to. Midnight-wine-talk-in-the-kitchen drunk. Back-slapping “I love you man”-drunk. We had party games, karaoke, and a drinking game. One of the guys hadn’t seen “The Room”, so we put it on and took a shot every time he said any variation of ‘what?’. I got nine shots out of that, even after he made a conscious effort not to say it.

​

Just past midnight, the party was going strong. Some more people had joined, and I’d agreed to let the party extend to my place. Just so people could have a place to sit and talk, away from the music. Luckily, no one seemed to take note of my barely hidden weaponry.

I was in the middle of a conversation with Vicky, all the way in the back of Oliver’s kitchen, when I saw her face suddenly going pale. I turned around, only to see Roy standing in the doorway.

“I’m… I’m not sure you’re invited!” said Vicky, speaking over the music.

Roy couldn’t hear her, and cocked his head to the side like an attentive dog. I swear I could hear something crack from his neck. He gulped a little. I couldn’t hear the gulp, but I could see it. I knew all too well what it looked like by now.

He stepped closer, and Vicky placed herself in-between us. She’d probably heard all about Roy from Oliver.

“Hey!” she said. “You’re not invited, and I think you should leave!”

​

He took one step further, and Vicky put up a hand up to stop him. As soon as it touched his chest, he recoiled like he’d been shot. His eyes flared up, going dark, and he made a strange inhaling noise; like an inverse owl screech. He took heavy breaths and looked at Vicky with every little bit of hatred he could muster. I could’ve sworn he was going to attack her right then and there.

Instead, he grabbed the kitchen door handle, tore it out, and dropped it on the floor. All while maintaining his eye contact with Vicky.

I could hear people in the other room going quiet. And as Roy backed away, I could tell a line had been crossed. She’d touched him, and he clearly wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

​

After that night, things started to get weird. I’d wake up from things being thrown at the window, despite me staying at Oliver’s place. One morning, the front door was wide open, and there were muddy foot prints going all the way up to my couch. But the weirdest thing was the trash. Once when I came back from grocery shopping, Roy had been rifling through the trash; throwing it all out on the kitchen floor like some kind of scorned raccoon.

So when he suddenly stopped showing up, that’s when I got really worried.

By the end of October, there’d been a few days where I’d only seen Roy in passing. He hadn’t knocked, he hadn’t come by, and he hadn’t done anything weird. I’d even started sleeping back in my own apartment again. Everything seemed quiet. Too quiet, if anything.

It wasn’t until Oliver sat down to talk to me during one of his lunch breaks that it started to make sense.

Apparently, Vicky had gone missing.

​

Now, I had no evidence. No proof whatsoever. But every fiber of my being was screaming at me that this was somehow Roy’s work. Every time I looked at him, he gave me this knowing grin. I knew that fucker had something to do with it. But what the hell was I supposed to say?

I couldn’t do anything, but Oliver was doing plenty. He’d called the police about Roy several times, but it didn’t lead anywhere. The Tomskog Police department didn’t seem bothered by the idea of a missing young woman and a suspected murderer. If anything, they brushed us off a little bit too quickly. Then again, even the police department had Hatchet watermarks on their printer paper.

​

Roy had stopped bothering me, but he had turned to something far more sinister; bothering Oliver. I could hear Roy knock on his door and ask for him to come out.

“Oh, Ooooooliver!” he’d cackle. “Wanna go for a drinky-wink?”

At one point, I got so frustrated that I grabbed the kitchen knife and pulled the door open.

I was fully ready to murder this fucker.

​

But the face he made.

Jesus Christ.

​

Seeing me with that knife brought the biggest, most unnaturally teethy smile to Roy’s face that I’d ever seen. Like the grin of a white shark coming out of a human face; his eyes went completely black. I could’ve sworn he grew a foot taller.

All the fight just ran out of me, but Roy was just getting started. He threw himself at me. I barely made it back inside, slamming the door shut. He started making little scratches, like a pleading cat. I could hear the texture of his hair as he rubbed his head against the door handle.

“Come oooon!” he laughed. “Don’t be such a widdle tease!”

He had this manic laugh, that just kept going higher and higher; mixing into his excited gulping. Like a skipping record, stuck on the most horrifying screech imaginable.

That night, I kept trying to call John. I called him over, and over, and over. He didn’t pick up. I couldn’t stop shaking, and I could feel my heart all the way into my throat. There was no way Roy was gonna stop, and there was nothing I could do. I needed John. Or Evan. Or anyone who could understand.

I didn’t want to say anything to Oliver, or his friends. I didn’t want to get them involved. Vicky was already missing, and it was my fault.

Finally, I got a call back. An unknown number.

It could be John, using a new phone.

Or Roy.

​

I picked it up without saying anything, holding my breath.

It was John.

​

“I can’t talk much,” he sighed. “Is this the about the Babins?”

“He’s going. To kill me.”

“He’s not. I promise you, he’s not.”

“I’m not fucking around, John! He’s going to kill me!”

“Fine. We’ll talk. Go outside in fifteen minutes, I got a car.”

He hung up on me.

​

Those fifteen minutes were nerve-wracking. Roy was skulking around somewhere out there, but I couldn’t hear or see him anymore. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I wasn’t waiting outside any longer than I absolutely had to.

Once fifteen minutes had passed, I got a text, and I ran outside. I sprinted down the stairs, almost tripping against the railing. I got all the way down as fast as I could, shot through the front door, and stopped.

​

There was no car.

​

I could feel a heat coming up behind me; creeping up my spine.

“I’m pretty good with voices,” whispered John into my ear.

But it wasn’t John.

John didn’t gulp like that.

​

Something was wrapped around my face, and I was pushed to the ground.

Then, nothing.

​

I woke up to the sound of whistling.

I couldn’t feel my legs, and my hands were cold.

Underbrush scratched my face; I was being dragged through a forest.

​

“They… they said I can’t do it,” Roy muttered. “But I wanna do it. I wanna do it so bad.”

Through the haze, I saw black eyes looking down at me; like a pair of blackened full moons.

Enormous. Looming.

​

I tried grabbing something, but my fingers were too weak. I’d been drugged.

“Just a little,” he continued. “Nothing too bad. I’m not a monster.”

​

There was a clearing. Up on a hill, I could see the outlines of a small building. A shed, perhaps. And even then, in my delirious state, I could smell the most foul odor imaginable. Wet bone, a sickly-sweet sinew, and moldy flesh. I barely knew my own name, but every primal instinct in me told me I didn’t want to go there. Whatever was over there, was death. Certain, irrevocable death.

Roy laid me down on my stomach, holding my arm. He playfully massaged my hand. My head happened to be on the side, looking up at him. I couldn’t even manage to beg.

“I’m glad you came,” he smiled.

​

He carefully put my ring finger in between his lips, savoring the sensation.

And without me feeling a thing.

And with no more sound than that of a snapping carrot.

He bit my finger off.

​

My mind screamed.

I could feel my heart going haywire. I could feel blood rushing out of me, but there was no pain. I knew there should be. My legs flopped, struggling against my interrupted impulses.

Roy just carefully stood up, leaned his throat back, and swallowed my whole finger with a gulp.

​

I tried to push myself back. I tried to roll over, to get away, to scream, to do something; but all that came out was a weak groan. Roy looked down on me with this mocking concern on his face.

“Another one?” he smiled. “Well, if you insist, kitten.”

“….no.”

It was all I managed to say before he lifted my hand back up towards his mouth. He put my index finger in, but he was too excited. I didn’t even feel anything, but I saw him cram my entire hand into his mouth; resting his razor-sharp teeth against my wrist.

He was so excited. His eyes were shaking, and he couldn’t stop smiling. His body was already gulping, like he was trying to swallow, like a baby bird.

“…n-no.”

The words just got him more excited, like a playful animal. He bit down just a little, just to see if I’d feel it.

I didn’t.

​

He spat me out and got back up. He did a little dance, giddy with excitement. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. This was his domain, and he had no trouble doing whatever he wanted out here. Like he’d done to Vicky.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?!” he cackled. “This is so much fun!”

He fell back down to his knees, running a finger along my spine.

“I like marrow the most,” he smiled. “But just a little. Just enough for you to feel it, kitten.”

​

Then, he stopped. His eyes sharpened, as he scanned the forest. I could see the trees sway back and forth in the wind, and feel that awful smell being whisked away.

Something moved in the trees.

Roy carefully stood up, slowly looking around.

And something swooped down.

​

I didn’t see the entire struggle. Roy tripped over me as something slammed into him. There were loud screeches, and I could hear someone being pinned to the ground. There was scratching, grunting, and finally a snap. Then another snap, followed by a tearing sound; like fingers pressing into a ripe orange. The air got warm as I heard something being casually thrown into the underbrush.

​

Leah Babin stepped out in front of me, her mouth covered in hot blood.

“Oh my poor, poor Maryland,” she smiled.

“Let’s get you home.”