SKINCRAWLER

 Journal Entry 1 – April 2nd

The doctor on TV said it would be helpful to write down what we’re feeling. She said it could help us feel less lonely or be less afraid. Really, I have nothing better to do. 

One of my neighbors dropped off a loaf of banana bread at my door this morning with a note. The note explained that she had taken up baking as a hobby but couldn’t eat everything she was cooking by herself. I wonder if she’s also watching the same doctor on TV and journaling. I will have to ask her when this is all over. 

Journal Entry 2 - April 23

Writing in the journal is supposed to be a daily thing, a way to organize my daily thoughts and to reflect on my day to day life as a form of therapy. Or at least, that’s what the doctor said. I guess doing it now is better than nothing. 

Nothing much has changed since the last time I wrote here. The weather is the same. I spend most of my time watching TV. It’s funny, when you’re busy you fantasize about all of the things you would do if you had all the spare time in the world. Reading, writing, learning an instrument, learning to cook, meditating, seeing friends or family but I end up just watching TV. 

My neighbor dropped off more of her baking experiments today. Blueberry muffins this time. They were awful but I appreciate the gesture. I saw a note on her door that said, “if you need anything just slide a note under my door.” I wish I was that generous. 

Journal Entry 3 - April 30th 

I was doing my laundry this morning and I heard a sound in the walls. I first thought it was a racoon or mouse trying to find its way out of whatever hole it crawled itself into. The noise only lasted a few minutes. 

I ordered a hobby kit online. I’m finding anything to pass the time. I haven’t seen another person in what feels like forever. It’s been over a year now and I haven’t left my apartment. Thankfully, I could get anything delivered to my door. 

Journal Entry 4 - May 27

It’s been almost a month since I last wrote anything down. The hobby kits got too complicated so I gave up on it. The scratching in the walls is louder and lasting all night. I asked the building manager if they could send anyone and she said it would have to wait until the lockdown was over. 

I don’t think it will ever end. I hate writing that down because it feels like it’s more real that way. 

My apartment is a mess. I have a corner now stacked with empty boxes. I am not motivated to do anything lately. My neighbor hasn’t left anything at my door since the muffins. She probably gave up. 

Sometimes I can hear her playing loud music. It’s hard to keep a train of thought going with the constant scratching. If it couldn’t find its way out, wouldn’t it just die? I mean, It’s been some time now.

Journal Entry 5 - June 14

It’s hot as hell. My AC stopped working a few days ago. I’ve had to keep my windows constantly open. I ordered one of those handheld fans online and I carry it around my apartment with me wherever I go. No one can come fix my AC. I don’t think that’s even legal. But who do I complain to?

The scratching continues all hours of the day now. It is so constant that I’m not even sure it’s scratching. What animal would be scratching at the same wall for months on end? It doesn’t make any sense. It must be a bad pipe or a leak of some kind. 

I made a casserole tonight for dinner. I sort of just threw anything I had left that wasn’t spoiled into the dish and baked it. It turned out okay. I don’t even look forward to eating anymore. I mostly eat now if I feel light headed or am bored. 

I left some of the casserole I made at my neighbors’ door as a thank you for the baked goods months ago. I covered plate with plastic wrap and left a note that said “thank you for the banana bread and muffins, I hope everything is going well”

I was desperate for any kind of interaction with another person. I was hoping it would be the start of a friendly letter exchange between neighbors. Something to keep us both busy and sane. 

There was something strange, though. When I went to place the plate by her door, the sign that she had posted there months ago about asking if we should need anything was ripped to pieces. Most of what was left were just shreds of paper. 

Anyway, this is my longest entry yet. I’m getting better at this. 

***

Charlie didn’t continue journaling. Like all of his other hobbies, he gave up on it after a while.

It was the middle of summer. Charlie called the building manager again to ask if someone could come and fix his AC. He received the same thin, bureaucratic answer from the lady on the phone: wait until the lockdown is over.

The next morning, Charlie woke, pulling himself out of bed and into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee from yesterday’s brew. He hadn’t gotten much sleep for the past few months. The sound in the wall kept him up most nights. 

“Fuck it,” Charlie said to himself. 

Charlie opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a hammer. He sat his cup of coffee on the counter and swung at the wall with the hammer. 

The first swing was a success. The hammer punched a hole clean through the wall. Charlie was surprised at how easily the wall collapsed.

Charlie continued to swing the hammer into the wall until a large hole was made, big enough for whatever was inside to escape. He fell to the floor and shuffled his body away from the wall until his back hit the counter behind him. He was breathing heavily, covered in sweat. 

The scratching noise stopped completely. Charlie hadn’t heard it since punching the hole in the wall. He perched his handheld fan that he carried with him like a talisman on top of the couch and sat himself beside it. 

*** 

Charlie fell asleep on the couch. Old infomercials played on the TV. 

A soft knock on his apartment door woke him.

“Hey, are you in there?” A voice said from the other side of the door.

Charlie quickly sat up, pulling his legs into his chest.

“I know you’re there, I heard you move.”

“Shit,” Charlie said to himself.

“There’s something you must know,” said the voice.

“I’m here, what is it? Do you need help?” Said Charlie.

“No no no, shh, you must keep your voice down. Whisper or or or…it will hear you.”

“Who? Who will hear me? Are you okay?”

Charlie reached for the door, twisting the knob only slightly before the voice behind the door turned from a whisper to a whimper.

“No no no, don’t open the door. We’ll both get sick,” said the voice.

“Well, what do you want?” Asked Charlie.

“Has it talked to you yet?” 

“Has what talked to me yet? Who are you talking about?” 

“The thing in the wall. You’re not supposed to talk to it.”

“I haven’t talked to anything or anyone. How did you know–”

“You can’t let it out” The voice interrupted. “Tell me you didn’t let it out.”

Charlie paused, looking over his shoulder at the hole in the kitchen wall.

“I made a hole in the wall because the scratching wouldn’t stop but–”

“No, no, no. It will make you put on the suit” 

“There was nothing in the wall. Nothing came out of the wall I watched and –”

“It’s behind you, I can hear it.” 

“Wait, what is? Don’t leave,” said Charlie

Charlie opened the door. The hallways were void of any light. All he could see was a black figure running down the hallway, away from his apartment. 

Charlie heard a skittering sound behind him. He slammed the door shut, pinning his back to the door, staring at the kitchen. 

The kitchen was dimly lit by the outside lights of the adjacent building. A small black blob was on the wall of the kitchen. 

Charlie crept towards the blob, trying to get a better look

“Hello?” Said Charlie.

The voice triggered the blob to dart towards Charlie, crawling under him and out into the living room. 

The skittering sound turned to footsteps which turned to the clunk of hooves as the intruder launched itself through the apartment. 

The small blob was now a shadowy mass which grew as it rampaged through Charlie’s apartment. 

The black figure settled in a corner of the apartment. Charlie stood pinned to his door as he watched the figure stretch itself from the floor to the ceiling. The figure's bright yellow eyes leered down at Charlie.

“Hello?” Said Charlie.

The black figure grunted, shaking its head. 

“It’s the only way out,” said the figure in a deep, bellowing voice.

“What?” Said Charlie. “What is – the only way out of what?”

The dim lighting from the adjacent building illuminated feathers on the figure as it turned its head, inspecting the room it was in.

“This. You’re trapped,” said the figure

Charlie felt the vibration of the door behind him as the figure spoke. 

“Trapped? I’m not trapped,” said Charlie

“Then leave.” 

Charlie considered the figure’s offer. He knew if someone saw him outside he could be taken away. 

The feathered figure extended an arm towards Charlie. Its arm was covered in a matted fur; the hand was human, peppered with scars and dirt.

“Put on the suit,” said the figure, holding its hand open.

An encouraging grunt from the figure prompted Charlie to reach for the figure’s hand. 

The moment Charlie’s hand was in range, the figure quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

The figure screeched and howled, throwing its head back. 

The figure’s screaming abruptly stopped. It gave a final look to Charlie before disappearing. Charlie’s hand was freed. The feathers and fur that lined the figure’s body dropped to the floor. 

Charlie gently kicked the remains of the monster on the floor before kneeling. He picked up the remains. It looked like a costume or a suit. Charlie raised the suit, analyzing it as it unfolded before him. It was heavy and smelled like dirt.

The suit began to vibrate. Charlie was unable to let go; his hands were stuck to the fur. Charlie’s eyes grew wide with panic and as he frantically shook his body. 

The suit crawled further onto Charlie’s skin. The more Charlie struggled, the quicker the suit latched onto him. 

After a few short minutes of struggle, Charlie collapsed to the floor, breathing in shallow gasps through the tangled mass of fur that covered him like a second skin. The weight of it was suffocating, pressing against his ribs, sticking to him, filling his nose with a raw, earthy smell.

 Charlie’s voice was lost beneath the feathers on his face as he attempted to cry out.

Charlie tried standing, but the suit was heavy. His limbs dragged behind him as if they were made of lead. Through his panic Charlie crawled to the TV, using it to pull himself up slightly. He saw himself in the reflection of the TV screen that had now gone dark. His own eyes stared back, shining yellow and slit like an animal’s. He stumbled back, knocking over the coffee table, shattering the silence of the room. He lifted his numb fingers to his face. His skin pulsed as the fur shifted and pulled.

           A slow pain pulsed in Charlie’s chest. In desperation, he tried pulling at the fur with foreign hands he no longer recognized.

A rough, twisted voice echoed from his mouth as he tried to speak.

The apartment blurred as Charlie stumbled to the window. The city outside was quiet, painted by the glow of streetlights and the distant promise of dawn. He pressed his body to the window, attempting to open it. His hands were clumsy and useless. 

He punched through the window with his heavy limbs. The talons on the end of his toes and fingers punctured the brick as Charlie scaled the wall outside his window.

At the top, Charlie sat perched at the edge of the building.

For the first time in months, he saw movement—a stray cat in the street, slinking toward a trash can, darting shadows of other creatures crossing paths below. The city was alive and he was part of this new wilderness.

The breeze was cold against his fur-covered skin, a welcomed biting chill he longed for. He knew he couldn’t go back. He had escaped the prison of his home, and he was free.