Es Fließt Frei. (NSFW)

The slight dripping from the kitchen abruptly ended my post vacation buzz. Anticipating the need to make an emergency phonecall to a plumber, my jaw went slack at the site of the thick red liquid dripping from my ceiling. I rushed up to my upstairs neighbors apartment as I dialed 911. My silent prayer interrupted by the dispatcher.

"My name is Edward Michaels and I lived at 3710 Santiago Lane. I just returned from vacation to find blood dripping from my ceiling. My neighbors are the Andersons and .... Wait, their front door is ajar."

Numb, I attempted to narrate the scene as I choked back a resurgence of airline chicken. Mr. Anderson at the head of the table, his wife to his right, and their little boy to his left all bound and gagged in their places at the dinner table. Each one gutted and served a plate of their own entrails. On the Dinning room floor a message, written in intestine, the one clue as to the mind of the one who did this.

"Es fließt frei."

Driver's Helper

Lulling and sweet, the rhythms of the rush hour commute comfortably eased the day's tensions. Waking from the drive time dream I motion for the horn, as a compact swerves to merge in front of me. Just as my palm is about to connect with the wheel I notice it; a tiny beast is lurking just behind the center of my steering wheel.

"There's nothing on my wheel," I tell myself, hoping to believe it.

Forgetting the stream of cars weaving on the road, I close my eyes for a second in an attempt to will the creature away. The plaintiff honk from behind me forces me to face reality, as the mysteriously emboldened creature slowly crawls out of it's hiding place.

Sun shines off it's hairy body, but all I see are its' overdeveloped fangs that hid it's mouth.  It stands on my steering wheel surveying the situation, as I try to weigh my own options.  At any moment, that thing could lunge for my hand, deploying it's venom into my soft flesh. My only hope is to keep it at bay for three more lights, without getting bitten or causing a car wreck.

 At the first light, it glares at me and shifts it's weight on powerful hind legs. Breath fails me when it stops staring at my hand, and instead turns to look me dead on. The only hint of humanity I find in its' glassy black eyes are my own reflection.

Carefully managing the car, I frequently glance at it as I continue on. It senses my fear. Every bead of sweat that falls from my brow is carefully weighed and measured by it's ancient gaze.

What does it want? Alone in starlight I have frequently wondered why humans didn't have a predator. We are so defenseless. It would be so easy to target us. It was at those moments when I contemplated if there was a species out there designed to feast on us. I had always brushed off such notions, but staring into those endless fangs I knew this thing had come for me.

Reaching the third light provides a measure of comfort. As if understanding the elevation of my mood it begins to posture again. Waiting like the sphinx, it almost seem to lose interest for a time.

 When I turn the wheel to seek the safety of my parking lot it readies a pounce, not wishing to waste its' last opportunity. In anticipation, I move my hand just before it strikes. Confused, it crawls anxiously exploring where my hand had been. Angered it stared at be before charging where my other hand was.

 Narrowly missing my downstairs neighbor's car, I managed a desperate parking job. I withdrew from the steering wheel just as it lept at my other hand. I fumbled for the door. Spilling out of the car was better than facing it directly. I closed the door and watched it jump from the steering wheel to the window.

Almost expecting it to find a way through the glass I stood frozen. It was only once I was satisfied it was detained in the car that I was able to go inside and relax. Reflecting on the encounter, if it had found a way into my car it could find a way out. Would if escape and pursue me or would it wait in there and attack again when next I used the car.

Maybe I'll call in to work tomorrow.

Fisherman's Catch

Below me, the city's faint movement paints an image worthy of Dali. I scan the horizon for signs of waking, for signs that the day has begun. Squinting reveals picnics, games of Frisbee, and early bird fishers.As the Earth approaches I can't help cataloging all the details of the happy people going about their day. Maybe my death won't ruin it for them.

Gasping for breath, I struggle against the wind. I pray as I attempt to steer for the lake. Had my emergency chute opened sooner I'd feel more confident about any landing, but at this point prayer is as good a tool as any. 

A flock of geese has settled on the northern bank. Do they appreciate the gift of wings they have been given? Had I wings just imagine what could be done. There'd be no parking hassles, no traffic jams, and no need for parachutes.  

Nearby several fishermen seems to be measuring a catch. Several small fries are discarded into the muddy blue. Judging by the shadows on the water, someone's about to get the catch of their life. 

It Has a Rather Lovely Ending

Returning from an international gaming convention, I couldn’t wait to put my pictures on Facebook. Half the fun of being adventurous is bragging about the awesome things that you had a chance to see and do. And if you can find kooky games that never got released in America you can inspire a little bit more jealousy in your friends with each bizarre gem found.

As I was preparing to upload the photos I noticed Shaun, an old friend of mine, in chat. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while so I threw out an introductory, “Yo!”

Shaun replied, “Hey, how did the trip go? Find anything good?” What an awesome day this was shaping up to be. I had been waiting the entire plane trip to brag about my new gaming swag.  I rushed headlong into my pent up gaming infomercial.

“I hit the DS games hard,” I gushed. “It may be last gen, but it’s not region locked. Most of the stuff I got was just cheap filler like a UK driver’s ed test prep game. However, I did find some bits o’ strangeness worth mentioning. Apparently, Mr. Bean somehow got a DS platformer a few years ago. But the real prize was a game staring Tingle.”

“No way,” Shaun typed. I shot him a link to a review of Tingle’s Rosy Rupeeland to corroborate my story.  He replied, “Unbelievable. Sure sounds more interesting than what I’ve got at the moment.”

I ventured, “More Facebook fluff?” Confirming my suspicions he said, “Yeah, it’s that cutesy city building thing your cousin John was going on about.” With a healthy dose of gamer sympathy I asked, “How is it?” After a few seconds Shaun replied, “Not bad actually. You order around a little chibi imp and it builds things for you. Its’ gameplay is a bit thin but it has some character to it, at least.”

With a slight chuckle I wrote, “Let me know how it goes. I’m going to upload my trip pics and then take some shots of Rupeeland gameplay. The quality won’t be great, but I want to inflict this on everyone asap.”  I set the uploader to start on my pictures before popping the Rupeeland gamecard into the system. It didn’t load at first, but a quick pass with some rubbing alcohol seemed to fix the problem.

The titlecard featured Tingle frolicking in front of a castle while gently joyous music chimed through the speakers. Once in the game itself, the atmosphere promised to provide some good material to show off.  Soothing birds and vibrant art complemented the quirky rupee centric mechanics. If a game ever started by trying to kill the player with charm, it would be this one.

After playing for awhile, I put the game down when I heard the familiar Facebook chat chime. “Sorry, if I’m bothering you,” Shaun typed. ”I just want to check something real quick. Is Facebook working normally for you?” I conducted a quick, confused survey before assuring him that everything was normal on my end.

“Odd,” he typed before a long pause. “My Facebook has turned red and black. I thought it might be the game app, but virus scans show nothing. I have restarted the computer. I even reinstalled chrome.  And, I have triple checked for anything routing me to another site. I was hoping it was some sort of promotion or event. I can’t explain this.”

“I’d cut my losses and go to an expert tomorrow,” I feebly offered. “I know,” he said. ”I’m just kind of disappointed that I won’t get to see the end of the game. Your cousin was really hyping it. I think it has something to do with the imp. It keeps getting larger as I build my city. Thanks anyway.”

Regretting my inability to help, I return to Rupeeland. Once again, I was lost in it within a few minutes. I was nearing the first boss fight when I heard repeating Facebook chimes. My cousin was spamming me with links to play a game called Cityscaper Naraku. There are times when I swear he has the social grace of an impatient wildebeest.

Attempting to retain composure I responded, “Hey, if that’s the game you sent to Shaun it’s done something crazy to his computer. Don’t think you are going to get me to try it until I hear back from him about what happened.”

“That’s just a harmless side effect. Besides, you have got to check out the ending,” he continued. I tried several times to politely play later and each time he countered with, “It has a rather lovely ending.”

Now genuinely annoyed, I snapped. “I don’t know why you are talking like that, but I don’t care. When you calm down we can talk. Until then, I was in the middle of something.”

Even after my outburst he persisted. Eventually, I just blocked him in frustration. I’d talk to my aunt tomorrow and see if everything was alright. I really wasn’t in a state to handle diplomacy and hoped that he had just forgotten a dose of Ritalin.

I tried to calm down by getting back into Rupeeland, but I just couldn’t focus. Despite occasionally being a hyper pain in the butt, John hadn’t acted like this before. There had to be something about the game that really got to him.

A quick search for Cityscaper Naraku yielded little more than a mountain of glowing reviews. It was only upon reading the reviews I started to grow uneasy. Every game I have ever played is hated by someone. Even a classic will have at least a few detractors. This was the first game I’d seen earn unanimous maximum scores. And every review, I mean every single review, ended with the phrase, “It has a rather lovely ending.”

Beyond that, the phrase kept showing up in squee filled forum posts. It was in image macros.  It headlined blogs. If it was a “lying cake”-esque meme it must have sprung up while I was on my trip. I’d never seen anything like this.

My attention returned to Facebook when a cacophony of chimes altered me to a flood of messages. High school acquaintances, work friends, classmates alike were all sending me the same message, “It has a rather lovely ending.” For every one I blocked several more joined in the spam attack.

Amidst the din I noticed Shaun was still on. Typing the fastest I had ever typed, I sent, “Hey, you aren’t still playing that game are you? Something weird is going on. People are freaking out about it. I can't get a moments peace. Close Facebook. I’ll call you.”

”But I’m so close to the end,” he whined. “I think I’ve been building in some sort of pattern. It’s oddly geometric and kinda pleasant.”

“I’M NOT JOKING. CLOSE FB NOW!!!!!,” I responded. I was screaming as I typed in a vain attempt to make him hear the warning. Hard booting the computer, I grabbed my cell phone. My fingers barely found their target as they dialled.

I sighed as Shaun picked up the phone. Unable to contain my relief I said, “Thank God, Tell me what you saw in the game and maybe we can figure out why everyone has lost their mind over this thing.”

Those few seconds I waited before he spoke crept by at an anguished pace. It was only when I was considering checking to see if the call had been dropped that I heard him speak in a voice full of a placid distance. “If you want to know what is in the game you’ll have to play it. It’s a lot of fun, actually. And I don’t want to spoil any surprise, but it has a rather lovely ending.”

Stillness of the Water

Carefully I panned my light across the entrance to the southern cave. Most divers chose the western path. It had been accurately mapped, however safety can be a synonym for boredom.

For all I knew I was the first diver to reach this area. I marveled at the seemingly endless cave until I spotted a glean in the silt. Upon close inspection I recoiled at the discovery of a pile of dozens of empty oxygen tanks surrounded by the remains of diving suits.

Gulping I attempted to retreat the previous cave, however I stirred up the silt with my desperate actions. All I can do now is wait until the murkiness settles before I can find my way out. I hope I have enough oxygen to wait here that long. More importantly, I hope that I am alone.

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Stillness of the Water

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My right leg bursts with pain, waking me abruptly. Unprepared for the tenderness I scream as I my attempt to roll out of bed places too much pressure on it. I land in a less than graceful heap on the floor.

Alone through misanthropic choice I have no one to call out to. I prop myself against the night stand and reach for the phone. It is only when I attempt to dial 911 that I realize my fingers are stiff and swollen. Eventually, I reach the operator and muster a whispered plea for help.

Overcome with dizziness I lay down on the floor. I focus on breathing and attempt to relax until I see it. In the corner of the room above my bed were several small silken havens overflowing with a tide of tiny brown spiders.

Slideshow

Fingers trembling with excitement I opened the package. Just as I had hoped, it was the camera I won on ebay. With mild delight I realized I had received a better deal than I had planned because the previous owner had left the memory card in the slot.

Before sending an e-mail to the seller alerting them of the mistake I decided to see if anything was on it. Setting the camera on slideshow I watched as the camera displayed a picture of a shipping label. My confusion turned to horror as the next image was of a person brutally murdered. The rest of the card was alternating pictures of a mailing address followed by a murder scene.

The last image was of the shipping label from the box I had just opened.