It was a cold evening. Jamie hurried home, almost jogging, accompanied by handfuls of snowflakes carried on by short bursts of wind. The air held tension of the coming storm throughout the day, but the shy thing didn’t know when to start, tottering just by the threshold.
Jamie huddled under his coat. His house was in the middle, looking the same as those around it. The lights were off, and he almost went past without recognising it. The door closed behind him with a muffled thud, and he called lowly, ‘Evelyn?’ No answer came. His partner was already asleep he gathered with a hint of hurt. They had a spat that morning. A bad one. Apologetic texting soothed things a little, and they decided to talk it through in the evening, but Jamie had to stay late at work, absorbed in final revisions.
He couldn’t blame Eve for prioritising her sleeping schedule, though, – not after nagging her about it for months – but he was looking forward to making up and forgetting the whole thing.
Jamie took off his shoes and coat and crept towards the kitchen. There was a weak light coming from the living room. Could Eve be asleep on the couch? He went in to check. His reading lamp was on, lighting up his empty rocking chair. The couch was equally empty except for a big, gorgeous, fluffy blanket he had never seen before. His heart fluttered. Evelyn must’ve bought it for him to apologise. The blanket was soft to the touch, almost clinging to his fingers, and pleasant to the eye with its autumnal spread of deep red in the middle and orange hues towards the edges. He smiled, drawn to climb under it.
But first, he needed something to eat, so he left it lying there invitingly and hurried to the kitchen. There was a mug of cold tea, left by his scatter-brained partner, and some stale cookies. Jamie quickly whipped up some sandwiches for himself and remade Evelyn’s tea before returning to the living room. He noticed a book lying by the couch – a whimsical cover art with scantily clad people with swords betrayed that it was one of Evelyn’s. He put the tray down on a side table and picked it up. It belonged on Eve’s shelf, beside its siblings full of witches, dragons, overpowered heroines and a total lack of substance. He crammed it in without looking.
A roll of thunder made him jump. The storm had finally started, and the swift gaggles of snowflakes turned to huge, heavy droplets of frigid water.
“Perfect,” he almost purred, taking the blanket with him to the chair, as the room filled with a steady patter of rain.
The blanket turned out to be surprisingly heavy and warm. He wondered if it was weighted, which would’ve explained its heaviness and density, as if there was a supple layer underneath the soft exterior.
A truly thoughtful gift, he thought, moving the food tray to rest on his knees and starting his late supper. He should repay Evelyn somehow. She was all about fantasy, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to get her anything so impractical. Maybe he should buy her a gardening kit. That could be very whimsical, right? Or an encyclopedia…
With the food gone, Jamie relaxed under the blanket and started brushing it off, looking for any stray crumbs. There weren’t any, but there was that feeling again, as if the fibres rose to meet his fingers. He tsked, noting a problem with the blanket for future reference – it seemed to hold static electricity. Synthetic, then, most likely.
But it was extremely cosy. He stretched and felt his eyes droop. The buzzing of his work-fryed nerves finally started to settle down, and he wondered if… if…
…he woke up with a start, his heart thumping heavily, sending a wave after wave of panic throughout his body. He looked around. The lamp was still on, and the room was softly lit and empty of any threats.
He tried to feel around his painfully thumping chest, but his arms were asleep and seemed dead cold. With a breathless grunt, Jamie put all his strength into it. His right arm slightly rose, but halted. He pushed. Something wasn’t right; the blanket followed his arm as if glued to it, and he noticed a line of wetness between his skin and fabric. Inch by inch, he kept pulling it higher and higher until the fibres started to come off with a sickening popping noise, covered by something gummy. It stung like tearing off a bandage stuck to a blood-clotted wound.
Then there was pain – a nagging, pulling feeling of a light chemical burn, at first. The blood splashed over the blanket, and the pain became searing. The fibres of the blanket vibrated in a ghastly shower, and the blood and gum quickly disappeared. Jamie stared. He tried to scream, but when his chest expanded in a familiar motion to take in a breath, the same searing pain bloomed inside him, and not a bit of air reached his stuffy lungs.
What kind of corrosive material could do this? Jamie’s thoughts stuttered in panic as he tried to remember what exactly he told Evelyn in the morning and why she could’ve been so cruel. Was it even possible to soak something in such a strong acid that it broke his skin that way? Why would she do that?
He noticed he couldn’t feel his arms any more than he could feel his legs, his belly or even his heart… There was no air to scream, and the heart didn’t pump blood around. How was he even still alive?
The arm he managed to lift was still suspended in the air, skin pale and tacky, the flow of blood only a thin trickle that was quickly lapped up as soon as it reached the forest of fibres. The blanket was now fully red, with no orange showing.
He needed to get out. At any cost.
Jamie set his jaw, operating his arm to slowly reach the edge of the blanket, lying over his chest. With all his strength, he grabbed and pulled, trying to tug it away. The cover gave in just a little, with the same nauseating sound, and when he looked down, he saw many threads connecting the mess of his body to the blanket. The flesh tore easily, leaving bits of skin and meat on the fibres, softened by some acidic agent. The blanket slipped between his weakened fingers and closed back down on him.
His vision swam.
/Jamie/ A familiar voice tore him from oblivion. He opened his eyes and frantically searched around for Eve.
A pale rectangle of a window was visible behind the curtains. The lamp was still on, but the grey light of the morning bathed the room beyond, giving it a soft air of expectancy. He was alone, surrounded by familiar shelves and memorabilia, books collected over the years. Eve’s fluffy slippers rested by the couch. He could hear birds sing outside, welcoming the morning. A car passed by.
Jamie closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep, but soon became aware of slow, deliberate movement. While he was unconscious, the blanket slithered up. Or maybe he sank into it. His arms were completely swallowed by a thicket of dark red fibres, as if he were sleeping covered up to his chin. He swallowed. The movement was answered by the piliferous beast, vibrating slightly over what was left of his nerve endings.
Something cracked, and Jamie started sagging down into the soft embrace of hungry fibres, which held him gently and steadily, carrying the weight of his head down, into the sea of darkness.
His sense of self flickered, but never disappeared. It plunged into the abyss of shadows and whispers, breathing them in, gagging, heaving, unable to control it.
The familiar voice returned, overshadowed by other voices. /Jay/ It seemed to call his name, but all he could hear were just small bits and pieces, words and sighs. /me/ It flew by him, alongside /ha/ the others, stretching, and weeping, /no/ and weaving through his own miserable thoughts.
The publication /shush/ will be out tomorrow. He /the mechanic lied/ won’t be able to see it.
Wait, a mechanic?
It all poured through. Inside. His mind stretched and thinned /mom?/. There wasn’t a feeling he could rightly call /a trap/ his own, only a sort of pulling sensation and an /I’m going to miss classes/ awareness /always running late/ of unravelling.
He sank deeper /it’s all still/, changing between states. /I was never good enough/ He thought desperately of home. /I’m never coming out/ Of Evelyn /Jamie/ and lounging together /always so busy/, then suddenly /I know/ of a deep blue feeling of resentment /I liked/ and regret /the sun/ which made him choke /they were supposed to wait for me/ on thinking /it suits her well/ more.
Something else /hello?/ dropped into the ocean of them /wait/ churning the waters /where am I/.
/There was a package on my doorstep/ It was /I left it downstairs and went to bed/ rather insistent /I have to take my boy to school tomorrow/ on talking /I can’t fail him again/.
It too /I can’t wake up/ soon faded /he’ll be/ and the articulate one /how/ grew smaller, quieter /so tired/, stopping /sad/.
And he /love/, too, paused /Jamie/, captured /caught/ in antici /wake me/ pation.
The humming of the sea of thoughts continued on.