First Contact, Twice This Afternoon

August 15th, 2020 | Gross Fiction
Jordan woke up from the ray of sun peaking through his blinds. He kept his eyes closed a few moments longer before his higher-mind took over and started preparing for the day. "Must've turned off the alarm" he thought to himself as he stretched out to grab his phone from the nightstand next to the bed. He turned the screen on and saw "2:32 PM" on the screen.

He rolled around the bed and put his foot on the floor, then pulled the rest of his body off the mattress. Now holding his phone in his hand and looking down at it, "2:30?" he thought to himself as he looked out the window. "I slept for ... 16 hours?" Jordan shuffled through his bedroom into the hallway and down towards the bathroom.

Still unsure of how he had slept so long, Jordan decided to continue his day as best he could. He texted his boss a "wow I'm so sorry, I felt sick last night and stayed up most of the night. Won't be able to sign on today," type of bullshit text.

His boss responded back a few minutes later "no prob." And then, "not corona, right?"

Jordan let out a small chuckle and began responding to his boss, but then his phone heated up so hot that it burned his hand. He threw it down and when the phone hit the floor it exploded like it was made of liquid; it splashed all over in a large radius, a black, viscous syrupy liquid. It reeked. It smelled awful; not sweet like death, but sour and ugly like a tumor.

The phone juice started to eat through anything it touched, including the left foot of Jordan, who was now screaming in pain as he watched his skin dissolve to blood, to muscle, to bone. He fell over and threw up from the pain. He started to feel something coming up from his stomach, something large. Too large to fit. But this birth from the wrong end was going to happen, and Jordan was just the vessel now, going for the ride. Things would split and burst if they needed, something wanted out.

He heaved up a small ball of organic matter that squished and writhed in his vomit, screaming a high-pitched wail, uncontrollable, unsilenceable. Jordan, spitting up blood as he lay on the ground dying, tried to cover his ears to stop the piercing sound from attacking his head. It didn't matter much. The sound was all anyone could hear, like a siren alerting you that life was over, or would be over soon.

Jordan used his hands to crawl toward the screaming hunk of flesh. He mustered a hammer-fist and smashed it as hard as he could. It squished out a white bile in response, hitting Jordan in the face and blinding him. The little screaming thing scurried away, under the closet door in the hallway. Jordan was moaning and wheezing on the ground, reduced to little more than a pile of torture.

Someone knocked on the door. A simple three-knock and then silence, like they couldn't hear the noise of a man being killed and a tiny nether-creature shrieking. The unknown entity behind the door knocked three more times again before deciding it was easier to simply phase through the door on his own. Jordan could feel the presence immediately, but could only see an absence at the door. A rough outline of something human shaped, negating existence wherever it moved. As the void approached Jordan, he felt warmth come over him, and then heat. Too hot. He started sweating, his head prickled over and a layer of sweat drenched his hair and then started to drip down his forehead.

And then Jordan heard the absent-being speak to him.