Chapter Text
David was fine.
At least that's what he's been telling people. It was an easy lie, no hassle, just a smile and he could keep going with his day. Get up, go to work, try to motivate himself to cook, buy takeout anyway, get back to the flat, drink and rot away until sleep catches up with him. That had been his routine for the last few months, with some minor adjustments on the weekends. Approximately 4 possible interactions a day with people who either pretended to care or really did. A completely normal amount of times to be lying about the things he had been seeing.
Describing it felt close to cheesy. Half decayed people walking through the streets, severed heads glaring at him, venus fly traps made of bones and meat, waiting for him to step close enough to catch him. No biggie, just his daily horror, like a cheap b movie.
Of course, it was all in his head. If it weren't, he'd be in trouble, maybe even in danger. But each day he arrived at work unharmed, and got back to his flat in one piece. David just had to make sure not to look at these things for too long. It felt ridiculous, like he was a child again, pretending he couldn't be seen if only he returned the favor. But there was nothing else to do, now was there? David couldn't ask for help, because that would be admitting he had been putting people in danger, fully aware of the implication. He wasn't unaware enough to plead complete insanity. Sure, he had stopped driving, sold his car, made sure to resist the urge to do anything drastic. But he worked with heavy machinery, with other people, and there was a risk. They'd lock him, for sure, if they even believed him.
But as long as the monsters stayed outside, David could handle it. He could be fine.
It wasn't always as easy. Sometimes things followed him, sometimes he had to take a smoke break to cover up his shaking hands at work, or people insisted on asking twice how he was doing.
Tonight was even worse. Tonight it was in his flat.
There, in his bathroom, stood a tall, twisted version of himself. It was as if he had ended up in one of the machines at work, bruised and bleeding, skin turning gray as the blood refused to pump through it. Dead, and yet watching him intently with its unnaturally dark eyes, moving its head just a little each time David crossed his room.
It wasn't a new development. The first time it appeared, he had run out the building, not stopping until his legs gave in. It felt like a violation, like it was breaking some unspoken rule. Nothing was supposed to be inside his flat. That was his space, his supposed safety. The next time it appeared, he had slowly closed the door to the bathroom, hoping it would end the vision. David had to leave again, when it opened the door, glaring right at him. He couldn't take it, couldn't accept how far this had already escalated. He was supposed to be fine, he needed to deal with this somehow. His third attempt to escape it already felt half-hearted - he walked into the bathroom, avoiding its gaze. For a moment, he felt hopeful it would go when ignored, but when it moved closer, he had to run again.
So now, when his odd visitor appeared, they settled into a new sort of routine. David stayed, kept going on with whatever he had planned for the night, simply making sure he could keep an eye on it. Somehow, it was happy with this arrangement, simply observing him drink and suffer. It was as close as they could get to a peaceful evening. Sleep was not an option - the blood slowly dripping off the dead man's face made a soft sound when hitting the tiles, so deeply unnerving, it made David freeze up each time.
David usually stayed awake all night, listening to the dripping. But he couldn't today, not really. The last week had been exhausting, both at work and home, and fitting for the season, a cold, that seemed to have reached everyone at work, had caught up to him. In short, he was beat, and he needed to sleep, now. But could he really, with this thing in his flat?
There was one thing he hadn't tried yet.
"Hey, uh," David glanced up at it: "I need you to leave." For safety's sake, he had stayed as far away from the bathroom as possible as he spoke. But the body didn't react in any obvious way, which meant it might not understand, but also that it probably wouldn't attack if he kept talking for just a little longer. So he tried again: "I'm really tired, I can't do this today. Can you come back another time?" There, there it was, a reaction - close to imperceptible, but David could have sworn the corpse tilted its head just a little to the side, like a confused dog. But it didn't disappear.
Reluctantly, David took a step closer. It couldn't hurt him, rationally speaking, David knew that, despite everything in his body screaming to run away. It was nothing more than a figment of his fucked up imagination. A ghost. He stopped when he could lean against the door frame and took a deep breath… the thing didn't make a sound. For a few moments, the small room was filled with nothing but the sound of David's breathing, and his heart beating heavy in his chest. Would the other thing feel dead? Would it be cold to the touch, rotting from the inside? Would he be allowed to touch it?
David shook his head, trying to escape those thoughts. This thing wasn't real, it was simply some extension of himself, and entertaining this notion would only make things worse. Vague memories of some shitty forum post returned, on how to create a tulpa. It wasn't too far off from those mind creations, just uninvited, and unwanted. Was acknowledging it going to make it worse? It clearly did not work by the same rules as the other things he'd seen so far, so maybe? But in that case, he had already invited the devil into his house.
"Do you understand me?" David asked, not looking into its eyes. It might be a stupid choice, something he'd regret deeply later on, but at this point, he was too tired to care. "Just give me some sort of sign, anything." He waited, and as expected, nothing happened. David was about to give up, to return to their routine of ignoring another, but the silence had grown paralyzing. Moving should be easy, and yet, there was the nagging fear that if he did so now, something horrible would happen. How ridiculous. Stuck in a stalemate with a horrible duplicate of himself, what a cruel joke of his own mind. But when the corpse lowered its shoulders, the tension left both of them at the same time. As if they were in sync, or connected. As if this was supposed to mean something.
David should take the chance to leave, to step away and get out of here. But instead, he got closer to the thing. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid. No, one unexpected move, and he'd be running out of here. But it allowed him that room, he assumed, because it didn't bother doing much about him. Up close, the resemblance became uncanny. That was his face, but too tired and maybe even too old. It was hard to tell with all the injuries. He's been beaten, and shot in the head, deep gashes running over one cheek. If David were to caress them, could he dig his fingers into its mouth?
Where did this morbid curiosity come from? David tried to pull himself away, tried to remember that this was nothing but a hallucination, but the feeling stuck. Why would he end up like this? David had to ask, even if no answer would follow.
"What happened to you?" Followed by an unspoken echo: 'What's happening to me?'
As expected, there was no reply. But the copy dropped his head, looking at the floor. Was he avoiding David's gaze? Slowly, he raised a hand, trying not to scare the thing in front of him away. The hallucination's skin was cold and clammy, clearly dead, but also tougher than his own. This vision was getting rather elaborate… probably a bad sign for his mental stability. The copy didn't resist getting his head lifted to look at David again. Was he looking at him? Only now did David realize that the body in front of him did not have any eyes, just gaping dark holes. This monster had never been looking at him at all.
Pulling away was clearly the wrong move, but David couldn't help acting before really thinking about it. Just as his arms dropped to his side, the thing grabbed him. David had expected him to try to pull or push or punch him, anything, but a hug. Frozen in place, he had to adjust to the gesture first, before reluctantly wrapping his arms around the corpse's back. He was so cold, so still. Pressing his chin into the copy's shoulder, it became very apparent just how much taller and stronger the thing in front of him really was. But it didn't do anything but hold him.
Maybe this was some stupid subconscious metaphor, some nonsense about healing the inner child. Well, in that case, he was doing great, wasn't he? So why was nothing happening?
Dejectedly, David pressed his face into the corpse's chest and sighed. This might take forever, and he wouldn't be able to get any sleep in the end. It had been a stupid idea anyway, to interact with his delusions, to give it more power. David closed his eyes, and hoped the copy would disappear if only he waited for long enough. The pressure against his skin did not leave, actually, it got a little stronger. Nothing to worry about, he just had to last a little longer. There was the darkness, and the silence, and- wait- a sound? David pressed his ear against the body's chest and tried to listen to it again. Quietly counting along, the sound returned on 5, a low, deep gurgling, turning into a pained groan. Implicitly, he knew what it was. A death rattle.
Suddenly, the corpse tightened its grip.
In an instant, it became difficult to breath. David pushed his head up again, onto the body's shoulder, gasping for air. A mistake. The thing squeezed as he exhaled, crushing his lungs further, leaving him such little space to breathe in again. Panic took over, and David tried to pull away his arms, but it was futile. The thing seemed to be made of metal, cold, dead, rotting metal, still too strong at it's core. "Please," he whispered, barely able to speak up, but its iron grip increased in strength. His body, not just his lungs, had no space to escape to. The inevitable happened.
A cracking sound tore apart the silence, and David bit into the thing's shoulder to stifle a scream. But as the initial shock wore off, the pain truly set in. Clearly, it had broken his rip, and now that there was nothing solid keeping his chest in shape, the monster saw no need to stop squeezing it even tighter. David tried to plead, tried to speak, but instead, only a groan escaped his throat, as slowly, a broken rip got pushed into his lung, tearing apart the wall in slow mow. Every moment felt like it should be his death, like this injury should have killed him already. There should be blood in his throat, his breath should have turned into a nasty gurgle. But instead, he was left with the pain, the fear of the next breaking bone, the anticipation of loosing his consciousness already.
With a loud groan, the copy pulled him even closer, and close to at the same time, David's arms dislocated, all fight having left them, folding forward, into his broken chest. The body pressed against his own was starting to warm up, or maybe, David was growing cold? There was no space to think about it, no time when his mind was filled with nothing but the burning and the odd chipping, clicking sound coming out of his chest. He was dying, but wrong, too slow… Slowly, a pained gurgle escaped his own chest, and his eyes rolled up into his head. Darkness and the sound of bones and blood now were David's whole world. He couldn't even feel the crushing embrace anymore.
The tension lessened. Somehow, the thing seemed to be finally satisfied by his suffering. David took one last proper breath, now that he could, and felt the blood rising in his chest. It was enough to send him over the edge, finally into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
The copy hummed quietly.
David woke up with a sweat, ready to scream, punch or run, whatever it took to get out of this. But the room was empty. He double and triple checked, finally staggering into the bathroom, only to be met with nothing but dirty tiles. What a nightmare. His whole body still hurt in phantom pain, leaving him already exhausted with the little movement for the day. But here he was, alive, and breathing, no bones crushed, no lungs punctured. It was okay. Nothing happened. The hallucinations were simply getting to him. He stumbled back to his bed, and sat down on it, taking a deep breath. He was fine.
One glance at the clock revealed that it was stupid to crawl back under the covers. There was half an hour left before he needed to get ready for work, and in that time, he couldn't fall asleep again. Cursing, David walked across the room, collecting some fresh clothes for the day, and a towel. Dropping them on the bed, he checked the fridge, and quickly shoved one half of a leftover sandwich into his mouth, while preparing some tea. Multitasking, that's what it's called, or being mess, depending on who's asked about it. Not that David wanted anyone to judge, or even see him. Just imaging his coworkers trying to talk to him already soured his mood. David needed a break, a real one, to get away from everyone, and from his own mind.
With a sigh, he left his tea to simmer, and walked back to the bathroom. Getting upset about maybes and might be-s, it did nothing for him. David undressed, getting ready to step into the shower and stopped in his tracks. In the mirror, a grim display stared back at him. David's face looked close to normal, just a little swollen, but his chest… Covering his skin were deep purple bruises, mimicking the shape of his upper ribcage. Unable to breathe, David traced across the skin, cautiously pushing and recoiling in pain. It was real. The reaction was too natural, too fast, it couldn't just be in his brain. At least some part of this torture must have truly happened last night. He hadn't been alone.
He was in danger.
And yet, he would have to get back to work, and smile at the others, and do well enough not to arouse any questions. No one was allowed to see this, no one. He couldn't explain it, not in any way that would be satisfying for an outsider. There was no one he could tell about any of this, they'd call him insane, suicidal, hurting himself for attention and a potential quick fix. David was fucked. There was no way out of his self-made hell. What was he supposed to do? Was there any way out of this? Could he run away?
No, that was useless. David stepped into the shower, and forced himself to focus on the hot water flowing down his back and chest, slowly relaxing his muscles and mind. There was no blood or dirt in the water, no hidden extra wounds, just the bruises. Maybe he could handle this, if he tried hard enough. Taking a step out of the shower, he quickly slipped into his T-shirt to hide away the blues and purples. If he didn't have to see it, he could pretend it wasn't there. It wasn't real.
David glared at the mirror, took a deep breath and forced a grin. What a stupid mental exercise, all of this. He had no place to go, no one to help, so all he could do, was to keep going. He'd just had to keep his eyes and hands to himself.
David was fine.