Hands

by Mark Figueroa | Art by A Forgotten Pen at @theforgottenpen

The following are sound clips from a voice diary found by Service de police de la Ville de Montréal (or the Montreal Police Force). The victim was a woman suffering from night terrors, emotional and psychological issues. Her roommate said she had been acting weird ever since the most recent snowstorm hit Mount Royal. 

For privacy reasons, the dates and names have been hidden from the record. 

Thursday Night 199-

Today, they came again. I saw them rummaging through our trash can for god knows what. I keep telling (illegible name) that they aren’t raccoons, it’s too damn cold for them, but she just laughs at me and swears it isn’t anything else. 

The whole thing started two days ago. There was a blizzard, much like every other blizzard that rolls through in January. It was two in the morning. Not a single person was out, but I heard talking and some noise outside my first floor apartment. My room faces the main road and where the recycling and trash get unloaded for pick up every Tuesday and Thursday morning. 

Anyway, I heard chattering muffled by the high blizzard winds and ignored it, until I heard a shriek. I didn’t want to get involved, but I thought what if someone needs help and someone needs to call the SPVM? I could at least do that, but what I saw was beyond comprehension. There was a person, something that looked like a person, rummaging through the trash. They were blindsided by a random passerby who shrieked upon seeing them. The thing rummaging through the trash had dozens of arms sticking out of its mouth. Each arm had little hands at the end of it. It’s hands were feet, but it stood upright. When it heard the passerby, it leapt like a horse jumping over a fence and pinned the passerby down. 

There was an eye on the back of its neck, looking around. Its hands were ripping the person’s face, throat and head apart and shoving the meat into its mouth. It stopped eating when the eye on the back of its neck spotted me. 

It stood up, turned to me slowly and the hands wriggled and disappeared into its mouth. I realized it had three other eyes on its neck: two on the sides and one facing forward. It sucked its mouth limbs back in and closed the eyes on its neck. As it did, two eyes appeared on its face, and it resembled a human, but it didn’t have a nose, and when it smiled, its teeth were hundreds of little fingers. That was two days ago.

I just saw three of them running around outside. If anyone finds this…

(Static)

(Sounds of hands clapping, shrieking and bones crunching)


Kanti’s Razor

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. No person or entity associated … Continue reading Kanti’s Razor

The Birth of Ted

by Mark Figueroa | Art by A Forgotten Pen at @theforgottenpen Have you heard of the little man?  He’s a little, mischievous old man who likes to cause innocent mayhem. He likes to find lonely people, especially children, … Continue reading The Birth of Ted

Borrowed Time

Written by: Mark Figueroa Frank N. Cadence was stressed. His meter was running low. The liquid in the glass vial flickered. His heart skipped with each belch in the phial. He could hear the rhythm of … Continue reading Borrowed Time

The Tank

by Mark Figueroa | Art by A Forgotten Pen at @theforgottenpen “The container with her food is sealed in a box next to her tank,” Ernst said, putting on his jacket. “Just pour like five of them in. … Continue reading The Tank

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s