Walk Me Home: Dating a Monster Girl

Norman was intimately familiar with the dark. He’d run and battled his way home beneath moonless skies shrouded by clouds more times than he could … okay, no, he could count them. Sometimes, his oxygen-drunk brain’s photographic memory turned him square. In any event, within the eyescraper was a darkness he had never known. It was cold, heavy, almost thick enough to touch, taste and smell. Well, maybe the smell had something to do with walking through the humid innards of an eyescraper. The air almost felt like liquid. The worst part? He knew what the dark was.

He knew there was no escape.

However, he also knew what a human was. They created possibilities where there were none. If there wasn’t a way out, he’d make one … and maybe get a few licks into the ‘rasta vampire’ who wrecked his smitelight.

Speaking of which, where was that guy?

John Crow might be right there, sneering over his shoulder. Or not. In this kind of darkness, who could know? Nonetheless, being unable to locate his eldritch tour guide give Norman the chance to examine his surroundings.

The nightsight didn’t need much. Just starlight, or maybe ambient luminosity from brighter regions of the city in the distance. It could even pick up moonlight filtered through the clouds, but in here? He could see maybe a few feet of shadowy shapes before the void claimed all. Infrared and other exotic settings didn’t fare much better. There was a way to get more light, but Norman was saving that, just in case. It wouldn’t do to trigger an attack from whatever lurked in the dark when he wasn’t ready to hit back. With his backpack snatched away by unseen forces the moment he entered the building, his options were limited.

Norman looked down. Even through his shoes, the ground had felt soft … no … squishy. At first glance, it seemed he was standing on a twist carpet. Upon closer inspection, there were no, thick, twisting strings of shaggy fluff. Instead?

Villi.

Maybe not quite, but they sure looked like villi. The finger-like protrusions of flesh wiggled at his shoes as though tasting them. He wondered what would happen if he wasn’t wearing prowlers.

Norman caught movement at the side of his eye.

He turned to look, not too quickly, not too slowly. The vaguest silhouettes stood before what vaguely appeared to be a window. At least he could see that much now. Stubby silhouettes, like The Neighbourhood Watchman. Not as stocky, but strong enough to pinch a penny in half between their greedy, grubby fingers.

They seemed to be staring at him, talking amongst themselves, but he couldn’t hear them. It appeared that they could see him. His nightsight was supposed to be better than nyctal vision. Maybe the darkness he experienced was specifically for him, like a one-way mirror.

Wait, they were pointing. Based on the rhythmic movement of their torsos … were they laughing at him!?!

Okay, it was officially Amy Time, except Norman had already tried to message her a dozen times. With tech like the nightsight? Of course he’d give it smartphone capabilities. In fact, its O.S. was based on open-source code from Golden Apple’s earlier days, adapted and updated with his own personal software.

Only, it wasn’t working.

__CHAT

ARN74: WHY AREN’T YOU TRYING TO MESSAGE AMY!?! YOU OBVIOUSLY NEED HER HELP! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DIFFERENT!

Norman grimaced. Why did that troll of all people have to share his thought process?

__CHAT

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Why aren’t you out there helping him?

ARN74: SHUT UP! Norman i KNOW you’re the type of egghead to install smartphone abilities into the nightsight just because! MESSAGE HER ALREADY!!!

Norman didn’t spare that girl the dignity of a reply. Also, who knew what would happen if he opened his mouth here? He didn’t really have to. The nightsight would interpret what he wanted to say. He could answer her … but he wouldn’t. He was sassy like that.

__CHAT

INQU!SIT_R: what if he can’t contact her? like, something’s blocking the signal?

Norman grinned. How astute!

__CHAT

NORMAN: Take notes, ARN74! SOMEONE was using their brain!

ARN74: joke’s on you, dum boi! i don’t have a brain anymore ☺!

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Which explains sooo much.

ARN74: Apt 3, #12, Casuarina Street

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Shutting up now.

ARN74: i’ll be seeing you late at night when you’re half asleep and ripe for the picking 😋

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Can we do this later? I’d rather test my nova bombs after finding out how Norman lives or dies.

NORMAN: I’m not some fictional character.

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: You act like one tho.

NORMAN: 😒 Anyway, by ‘nova bombs’, he means ‘light-emitting weapons guaranteed to kill all nyctals in the area’. I installed them myself 😊. What I’m trying to say is please don’t attack him. Lemmy’s a “One last hurrah, I’M TAKING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME!” kind of guy.

NORMAN: Also, he’s filthy stinkin’ rich, my best cash cow! I pamper my Amy like the absolute queen she is, so if you mess with my cash flow, I’m comin’ for you myself 😡.

ARN74: 😳

ARN74: 🙄 hey, uh, if you don’t die or things go bad with Amy, can i have you?

I’M-JUST-’IM: wait, she found that attractive???

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Nyctalcore, remember?

ATTACK-OTAKU: I’M STILL HERE, INCREDIBLY SINGLE AND ALSO FILTHY STINKIN’ RICH!!! I’LL TREAT YOU LIKE A QUEEN AND TALK BACK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT!!!

ARN74: cope dude. i’m not interested. Norman, give us Amy’s number. i’ll call her

NORMAN: I already tried that.

ARN74: then try again

NORMAN: Okay. It’s **-***.

INQU!SIT_R: … did it just get censored?

JOHN CROW: .̸̖̺̘̗̅̅͘Sorry, boys and girls. It’s impolite to give contacts without consent. Naughty, naughty, Norman..̵̘͔̏͌͑͠

NORMAN: GET OUT OF MY CHAT YOU ASHY-SKINNED EXCUSE FOR A BOB MARLEY S.C.P.!

JOHN CROW: .̴̥̰̙͐͛͒̇͜Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings 😥. Too much internet’s a bad influence on you kids. Yoink..̵̮͇͓̓

Something plucked Norman’s nightsight from his face, demoting him from mostly blind to completely blind.

Finally, a new sound reached the edge of his hearing: the laughter of landlords.

Norman resisted the urge to throw hands like a brute. All that would do was get him punching air, only to fall on his behind and possibly get digested by the twisted carpet. He could play his cards early, but what would that get him? That escape plan was still pending.

And now, there was something panting up behind him like a mutt.

*HUFF! HUNPH! HUMPH!*

Okay, time to hustle. Quick, shuffling steps carried him forward, not so fast as to crash into something, and not so slow as to get caught by whatever sloppy beast- oh, who was he kidding? That thing could probably outrun a man on the best of days. It was possible to trip and fall at a slow speed anyway.

He could very clearly hear the laughter now. It had gotten louder.

Norman bit back his primal thirst for sweet vindication as he hustled a little faster. The pants continued to close in.

He spotted sinuous lights slithering through the dark on what appeared to be a tall humanoid figure. They looked like the bioluminescent tattoo-type markings on John Crow. Norman sprinted towards them. He'd pick Mr. Affably Evil over whatever was breathing down his neck any day.

The panting thing accelerated.

A pale, hazy aura silhouetted John Crows massive dreadlocks. They spread out like the tentacles of an eldritch beast poised to pounce. Somehow, even in the dark, Norman saw his razor-toothed grin and the beady whites of his eyes.

John Crow’s dreadlocks sprang forth, racing past Norman and chilling the air around him. Norman heard an anguished wail as they struck the creature behind him. Its heavy form collapsed into the twisted carpet with a squelch.

Norman slipped into the small, ill-shaped room beside John Crow. Those dreadlocks cast only enough light for him to do that. The jerk, making him eat out of his hands! Norman dug his fists deep into his pockets, grumbling grumpy nothings.

John Crow let loose an ugly laugh. “.̵̢̠̪̓̈́͝Apologies for the theatrics, Norman. That filthy beast was getting uppity anyway. Besides, Dread here likes dinner and a show … Hmm … he likes you as well..̷̰̠̳́́͒”

An ice-cold dreadlock slithered across Norman’s chin. He ignored it. ‘Don’t feed the trolls,’ they always say.

Norman gave him a once-over. The nyctal was wearing his nightsight now, for the lulz apparently. John Crow gestured. Norman recognised the hand movements as augmented reality commands. Somehow, John Crow knew how to turn down the nightsight’s brightness so that the screen didn’t aggravate his light sensitivity. He was probably tweaking it a bit more to his liking.

Norman glanced about. He knew the room was small, but this was ridiculous. With that fleshy décor, it could almost pass for an organ. He spotted evenly spaced tumours on the wall, with numbers on their surfaces. Was this an elevator?

John Crow pressed the top floor button. It didn’t click, but squished. Thick membranes like vocal cords closed at the entrance: what passed for a door. Thin flagella locked into pores on either side to seal it shut. Norman felt the elevator ascend with a wet, sucking noise. He didn’t remember the landlords having this kind of stuff.

“.̵̡̪̫̿̀How do you like my inventions?.̴͎̟͒͠” asked John Crow. “.̶͈̲̣̎̾̿͐You wouldn’t believe how hard it is, getting this thing to grow an organic elevator. Grafting in the necessary organs was the trickiest part. You have it easy, working with rigid, inorganic materials that don’t outgrow their designated slots, but hey, when in Rome? You craft as the Romans do.”

So, this guy was an engineer too, on the borderline abominable end of the spectrum? Norman looked at him. Was that a flicker of kinship he felt between himself and the nyctal? Hard nope. He squashed that feeling like a bug.

Then, Norman heard it.

The sound seemed to come from a vibrating organ on the roof that reminded him of tripe, folded like the baleen of a whale. Hang on, was this supposed to be music?

If he strained his ears, he could make out the iconic song. The voice was wrong, though, if that could even be called a ‘voice’. It sounded like it was sung by an otherworldly entity. John Crow confirmed the song’s identity as he swayed to the the vibes, soaking them in with the utmost delight.

“.̶̡̠̪̥́̕… ‘Cause every likkle thing, is gonna be alright,.̴̥͚͈̣̓” John Crow sang along.

Norman side-eyed the guy. Was this for real? It seemed he’d been on point about the Bob Marley wannabe comment. He had no words for this level of cringe.

John Crow glanced at him and stiffened. The eldritch music-player stopped. Deathly cold crept into the air more than ever before. In the tense silence, the only sound was the sucking of the rising elevator.

John Crow spoke, his voice low and lethal. “.̷͒ͅ.̷̝̼̓̽.̶̣̓̌̋Norman .̴̖͇͌ͅ..̵̟͔̗̿ I understand that you are an uncultured swine.̵̨̹̹̞̎ However, this music is a gift from .̷̺̝̝̎́͋̚.̵̢̭͊̏́The Great One.̷̜͓͆ You WILL pay him the appropriate respect.̸̺̄̋̌.̵̬͒͊͋.̷͇̳̈́̏̾”

Norman couldn’t tell if ‘The Great One’ was Bob Marley or something else. Another question bubbled up. He shouldn’t ask. His lips twitched. He absolutely shouldn’t ask, but ohhhh his big mouth. The burgeoning force behind it couldn’t be tamed.

“… Or what?” he finally asked, simpering like a troll.

John Crow’s dreadlocks spread like serpents rearing to strike.

.

.................................. Five seconds later ..................................

.

“‘Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright,” Norman sang as he vibed to the beat with John Crow.

The elevator door peeled itself open. At least the new room was slightly brighter than the last. He could vaguely make out pouring rain beyond the windows. Nevertheless, most of the room belonged to the shadows. Norman had the bare minimum light necessary to see where he was going, and what, he presumed, John Crow wanted him to see.

The tall nyctal sauntered up to an easy chair. Scaled to his size, it almost looked to be a throne. Norman wasn’t surprised when it squirmed beneath his weight, because of course it was alive. John Crow reclined into it, frowning at his clawed feet.

He clapped twice.

A landlord skittered up to him and got down on hands and knees. John Crow sighed with relief as he rested his heels atop the landlord like a footstool. The smaller nyctal gnashed his teeth but, upon seeing Norman staring, he kept his displeasure to himself.

Norman raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to John Crow.

“So, how’d you get the landlords at your beck and call?” asked Norman. “They’re not big on outsiders.”

John Crow shrugged. “.̸̧͂̋̋They’re desperate. Their pride is on life-support. This little guy was their head of security, but he didn’t security hard enough, ain’t that right boy?.̴̱͉̝̆͒͠”

The sound of a landlord’s teeth grinding filled the room. He muttered something about what he’d do if he still had his key chain. John Crow’s toe bent at an unnatural angle to tap him with a claw. The landlord got real quiet after that.

“.̶̝̈̂Anyway, they hired me to pick up the slack..̴̡̝̫̌͘̕͝ͅ” John Crow continued. “Solve their problems for them. Their … .̸͙̦̹͐͜Amy-shaped problems..̴̻̮̬͇͌̇”

Norman turned up his lip with the utmost disdain. There sat John Crow, stippling his fingers as though he were the Premier League of big bads. That ignoramus had no idea. Few people did. Perhaps it was a given. Despite Amy’s public image as a ‘monster’, she didn’t act in a way that would tip them off. Who could know the truth? What Amy was, what she had always been?

Words burbled up inside Norman. His hand quavered. Impulse wrestled restraint. Impulse won. The hand rose. It stopped in line with John Crow. A finger stuck out, pointing at the nyctal.

Norman had assessed the situation. This guy wanted him alive, for now. John Crow was a self-controlled nyctal, which meant this wouldn’t be the death of him, probably. Norman’s lips parted. It was too late now.

“You ignorant dumb dumb!” he blurted.