A Mouth Full of Feathers

The Scent of Smoke

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Sharp, acrid, and out of place — burning plastic. It crawled into my nose before I even opened my eyes. The second thing was the silence. No hum of the refrigerator, no distant rumble of traffic. Just stillness.

I sat up too fast, heart pounding, and the blanket slid from my shoulders like dead weight. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, tasting sour, metallic. Dried blood?

No, just the taste of night terror lingering.

The smoke smell was faint but insistent, like someone whispering your name from another room. It threaded through the air, daring me to ignore it. I swung my legs off the bed and froze, bare feet sinking into something soft — softer than carpet. Warm, too. I bent down and ran my fingers over it.

Feathers?

I pulled my hand back like I’d touched a live wire. My pillows were gone. My bedframe too. I was lying in a nest of torn feathers and rags.

“What the hell…” My voice cracked the silence like glass.

That’s when I heard the knock.

Three sharp raps at the door. Slow, deliberate.

I stood, legs trembling, the floor gritty under my toes now. Charred grit. The smell of smoke was stronger by the door.

Another knock.

“Hello?” My voice barely made it past my lips.

A pause, then a sound that didn’t belong — a laugh. Not loud, not human. More like… a hiccup twisted into a chuckle, followed by something wet dragging across wood.

I backed away until my calves hit the shredded nest. My phone — I needed my phone. But there was no nightstand, no charger, no familiar rectangle glowing in the dark. Just more feathers and strips of something that looked like skin but I didn’t dare check.

The knocks started again, faster now. Then the handle turned.

Click.

The door creaked open and heat rolled in, carrying the stink of smoke and something worse — rot, sweet and clinging like spoiled fruit.

“Come back to bed,” a voice rasped, low and broken, words grinding against each other like stones.

I didn’t wait. I ran.

The hallway stretched too long. My old apartment had three doors, a bathroom at the end. This… was wrong. Walls pulsed faintly as if they were breathing. The floor sagged under my feet, every step sinking slightly.

Behind me, the voice followed. “You’re not done.”

I turned a corner that shouldn’t exist and slammed into something soft. Flesh-soft. My hands came away wet.

Light flickered ahead — a sickly green glow leaking from a half-open door. My body moved before my brain could argue. I shoved the door wide and stumbled inside.

It was a kitchen. Sort of. Counters warped like melted wax. Cabinets hung open, their hinges bending like bones. And on the counter… a pot simmered.

The smell hit first- copper, thick and heady. Blood.

I crept closer, drawn by something primal.

Inside the pot, dark liquid bubbled, chunks floating lazily to the surface. I thought they were meat until one rolled over and I saw teeth. Human teeth.

A sound behind me — slow dragging steps.

“I saved you a bowl.”

I whipped around. The thing in the doorway was tall, too tall, its head brushing the ceiling. Skin hung in strips, blackened at the edges like overcooked meat. Where its face should’ve been was a hole, round and yawning, lined with teeth that clicked as it spoke.

“No thanks,” I croaked.

Its laughter rattled like nails in a tin can.

“You already ate.”

And then memory slammed back like a freight train — hot broth, oily and rich. My hands scooping chunks into my mouth because I was so hungry, so tired…

I doubled over and vomited. What came out wasn’t food but feathers. White feathers slick with black sludge.

“You see?” the thing purred. “You belong here.”

I ran again. Through doors that weren’t doors, halls that bent like intestines. My bare feet left smears of sludge. The house — or whatever this was — throbbed around me, alive and hungry.

Somewhere behind, the voice sang now, high and lilting- “Ashes, ashes, we all fall…”

I turned a final corner and slammed into open air. Cold wind hit my face like a slap. I was outside. Gravel bit into my feet, real and solid. Ahead, a dirt road wound into a forest, dark and silent.

I ran. Branches tore at my arms. My lungs burned. Behind me, the singing grew softer but never stopped.

When I saw lights through the trees, my chest nearly cracked from relief. A house.

Normal. Square windows glowing gold.

Smoke curling from a chimney — sweet, clean wood smoke.

I stumbled up the porch and pounded on the door. A woman answered, face soft with concern.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please, help me — something’s—”

And then I smelled it.

That same smoke. Acrid. Burning plastic.

Her smile stretched too wide. “Come back to bed.”

Her lips curved into something that should have been a smile, but wasn’t. Too many teeth, too much stretch in the skin. Like a mask being pulled too tight.

“No—” The word clawed out of my throat as I stumbled backward off the porch. My ankle rolled, and I hit the dirt hard, grit grinding into my palms. The taste of iron bloomed in my mouth where I bit my tongue.

The woman stepped forward, her silhouette framed in warm light. Behind her, the house wasn’t right. The golden glow flickered, pulsed in time with something — like a heartbeat. Shadows crawled along the walls, reaching out, dragging themselves toward the doorway like spilled ink.

“You ran so far,” she said softly, voice rippling like water over stones. “But you can’t run from where you belong.”

Her eyes — God, her eyes — weren’t eyes anymore. They were holes, deep and endless, sucking in the porch light like black wells.

I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the trees. The forest closed around me, branches whipping my face, drawing thin lines of fire across my skin. My breath tore through me, chest heaving, every inhale laced with the stench of smoke. Not wood smoke. That other smoke. Synthetic. Wrong. The kind that coats your tongue, crawls down your throat, leaves you tasting poison.

The singing started again. Soft at first, threading through the trees. A nursery rhyme stretched into something obscene- “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down…”

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Every nerve in my body screamed forward. Gravel turned to mud under my feet, sucking, clinging like greedy hands. Roots writhed up from the ground, catching my ankles, slowing me. And the forest — was it moving? The trees seemed closer now, trunks crowding together like prison bars.

I crashed into a clearing and froze.

A cabin squatted in the center, its roof sagging under the weight of rot. The door hung open, swaying gently though there was no wind. Inside, faint light flickered — green, sick and cold. That glow I’d seen before. My stomach twisted.

But behind me, the singing was louder now, overlapping with something else.

Footsteps. Heavy, dragging. Wet.

I didn’t think. I ran inside.

The smell hit like a hammer. Copper and mold, thick enough to choke on. My eyes watered as I pushed deeper into the cabin.

The door creaked shut behind me on its own, sealing out the night. Or sealing me in.

The room was wrong in ways I couldn’t name. Angles bent where they shouldn’t, shadows pooling in corners that didn’t exist until you blinked. A fireplace squatted on the far wall, its hearth yawning black and hungry.

Above it, something hung from hooks — meat, gray and stringy, swaying gently. I didn’t want to know what kind.

A sound broke the silence. Soft. A whimper. Human.

My pulse spiked. “Hello?” My voice shook so hard the word barely made it out.

The whimper came again, from the corner.

I crept closer, every step a battle against the primal urge to run screaming.

It was a girl. Or what was left of one. Skin pale, almost translucent, stretched over bones like wet paper. Her eyes — Christ — her eyes were sewn shut with black thread.

Lips too. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, stitched crudely like a doll. A sound leaked from her throat, vibrating through sealed lips. The whimper.

My stomach heaved. I fell to my knees, bile burning up my throat. When I wiped my mouth, my fingers came away black, not yellow-green. Not vomit. Black sludge. Like the stuff from before. Like the feathers.

You already ate.

The memory slammed into me again — hot broth, oily on my lips. Hunger driving me to tear chunks with my teeth. And a laugh behind me. Always the laugh.

The girl twitched. Her head jerked toward me, stitched mouth straining against the thread. Her chest convulsed as she forced out a word, muffled and wet- “Run.”

The cabin shuddered like something alive.

Dust rained from the ceiling. The fireplace roared to life without flame, its darkness swirling like smoke turned solid. From it, something began to crawl.

Long arms first, jointed wrong, bending backward. Then a head — or the absence of one. Just that same gaping circle of teeth, ringed in pulsing red. Its voice poured out, slick and sweet- “You found your room.”

I bolted for the door, but the wood warped under my hands, grain melting like wax.

Fingers shot from it — long, gray, ending in nails like hooked bone. They sank into my arms, cold burning into my skin.

I screamed. The sound didn’t leave my throat. It curled back inside, thick and heavy, until I was choking on it. The creature dragged itself free of the hearth, limbs scraping the floor, sparks hissing where bone kissed wood.

“Come back,” it crooned, every syllable rattling my teeth. “You’re part of this now. You’ve always been.”

I don’t know how I broke free. The nails tore loose, or the wood let go, or maybe the house wanted me to run. I hit the floor hard, blood slicking my arms, and crawled toward the only thing that looked solid — a window.

My shoulder slammed into glass. It shattered, spraying teeth across the room.

Cold air knifed in. I hauled myself through, shredding skin on the frame, and hit the dirt outside. Crawled. Stumbled. Ran. The forest tilted and spun, branches whipping my face like claws. Every breath seared my throat, thick with that stench — not wood smoke, never wood smoke. The other kind.

Synthetic. Wrong. The kind that tastes like sickness blooming in your lungs.

Behind me, the singing had stopped. That was worse.

When I finally collapsed, the world was quiet. No wind. No steps. Just the pulse pounding in my skull.

Then — voices. Human voices.

I lifted my head and saw lights bobbing through the trees. Flashlights cutting narrow paths of gold. Shapes moving toward me, dark against the dark.

“Over here!” A man’s voice. Real. Solid.

Warm hands hooked under my arms, lifting me upright. A blanket wrapped tight, a bottle pressed to my lips. I drank, cold water sluicing away the taste of rot. My body shook, bones buzzing like live wires.

“You’re safe,” the man said, crouching to meet my eyes. His face was weathered, kind.

Ordinary. “You’re out now.”

“Where…” My voice cracked. “Where am I?”

He hesitated — only a breath, but enough.

“Been happening for months,” he said.

“People disappearing near the old grounds. We think it’s gas. Leaks cause hallucinations.”

Hallucinations. The word rattled through my skull like loose teeth. I stared at him.

“That wasn’t gas.”

He didn’t argue. Just gave me that look — tired, patient, like someone watching a fuse burn. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you warm.”

They half-carried me to a truck waiting on the road. The engine rumbled, steady and deep, a sound so normal it felt alien. They slid me inside, strapped the blanket closer, and climbed in. Trees bled into shadows as the truck rolled forward.

I leaned back. Tried to breathe. Tried to believe.

The blanket smelled faintly of smoke. Not wood smoke. Plastic.

My gut turned to stone. I swallowed, but the taste was already there — bitter, synthetic, like something simmering under my tongue.

The man in the passenger seat was smiling now. Wide. Wider. Skin stretched thin, damp like paper left in rain. He leaned close, and I smelled it again. Sweet this time. Sweet like something burning inside me.

My mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. Something soft brushed my lips. I looked down and saw it fall into my lap — a white feather slick with black.

His whisper slid inside my ear like smoke.

“Come back to bed.”