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entomolog-t · 3 months

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INSTAЯ (4)

Technically a SUPER late promtober prompt (Puzzle)

Thank you to everyone who's been asking about INSTAЯ! As a lil treat I thought I'd post this before coming off of my writing hiatus.

Also HUGE thank you to @imber-rose for their AMAZING FANART of Bram and Honey???? I am SO FLATTERED???💕

I give you - charades, anxiety, and the magical art of tidying up.

This chapter deals with the unforseen messes left in the wake of sci-fi mishaps (both literal and mental) so please take a peak at the content warnings.

Taglist: @imber-rose

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5

Word count: 4230

CW: Gore (descriptions of viscera and butchering), mild body horror, mild panic/anxiety, vague dehumanization, Adult language.

Almost as quickly as the panic had come- it was gone. He’d gone silent in my grasp, having slumped to the floor, leaning with his back against the palm of my hand- still draped loosely around him. He never once looked toward me- instead he stared blankly forward, mind clearly elsewhere as his …mouthparts and antennae twitched with some sort of agitation.

Without warning, his tiny frame jerks upright, shoving himself out from the tangle of my hands and making long strides towards the notepad, chittering to himself as he paced. His gaze flicks to me briefly, before all too quickly turning away. Hefting up the pen, he leans it against his shoulder- both sets of arms working to stabilize the awkward writing utensil in his grip.

H…I…D…E

My stomach drops- the hastily scrawled word sending a chill through my spine. Before I can question the message, he clicks, drawing my attention back to him. He points to the word, then to himself, before clasping his hands together, as if… praying? No- begging.

“Hide you…” My voice is almost a whisper, “From what? Where? I- I don’t- What’s going on?” I can feel my voice raising as I flood him with questions, as if some mental dam had burst. Though, much to my frustration, he holds up a hand, a sharp series of distinctly aggravated clicks interrupting me. Shushing me. He shakes his head- dismissing my questions. Instead, he points to the pile of the discarded exoskeleton in the kitchen, then toward the direction of the living room. Before I’m able to ask for clarification, he resumes writing.

B...U…R…N

A dryness fills my mouth. I swallow. A single word forms in my mouth,

“W-why?”

Each letter feels as though it takes an eternity to take shape as he struggles with the pen. Dan? Dang?? My face falls, realization hitting me.

D… A…N…G…E…R

As he finishes the last letter, he turns, pointing the pen towards me.

“M-me?” I stare at him, stunned- unsure of what to say, “N-no, I - I’m not-”

He huffs- handing off the pen to his lower set of arms as he dramatically gestures with his primary pair. Arms outstretched towards me he makes a loose fist with one hand, and with the other he shoves his fingers into the first in an almost crude gesture. He does the gesture again, this time even more exaggerated, fingers making an arching path towards his fist.

“Inside?” He shakes his head, chittering with annoyance. He teeters a hand back and forth making a so-so gesture before pointing to me, replicating the unknown sign and then pointing back to danger.

“I.. I’m… in-” All at once it clicks- my heart stopping in my chest with the realization, “I’m in danger.”

He nods vigorously. I swallow the quickly building feeling of unease in attempt to squeeze out simple yet poignant question;

“From… you…?”

He hesitates for an uncomfortable moment before bobbing his head side to side, repeating the so-so gesture. A knot tightens in my stomach, a feeling of unease twisting and snaking in my gut as if my insides had been turned to eels desperate to escape the confines of my body.

“From that??” My heart races as I point to the remnants of his shed exoskeleton. Was it toxic? I touched it- Honey had chewed on it -

He shakes his head.

He points to me, and as if on cue I echo the verbal component to the sign.

“I…”

He points to his head.

“Head?... Brain? Think-” He abruptly holds up his hands, halting me from continuing guessing.

“I think…” Nodding, he then points to himself, then to danger.

“I think you danger?” My brows knit together in confusion at the stunted sentence. He repeats the gestures, this time adding a long pause before pointing to danger.

“I think you; Danger?” Even though he nods, I feel lost. Was I supposed to follow? He repeats the sign for think, followed by slowly pinching his finger and thumb together, then giving me a thumbs up.

“Think small.. Good” I say almost to myself, before attempting to somewhat correct the sentence, “Think little; good.”

I think you; danger. Think little… good??

What the Hell was that supposed to mean?

I mull over the words, trying to make sense of them.

I think about you, danger- think less is good… dangerous to think? Dangerous to know..?

I freeze- the garbled sentence suddenly seeming to click. A much clearer phrase reinterpreting and replacing the stunted translation of his signs.

“It's dangerous to know too much. The less I know the better?”

He claps his hands together, giving me a ridiculous four thumbs up. He drops his hands, looking away for a moment before seemingly reconsidering. He holds up a single closed first, slowly raising his fingers one at a time until he reaches four, before pointing to his wrist as if asking for the time.

I smile, a weird sense of pride bubbling up as I feel myself starting to get the hang of this strange guessing game.

“For now.” He nods, and I continue, “Can I at least know your name?”

He looks startled at the question- his tail swishing back and forth as he considers. With the unwieldy pen in hands, one at a time he points to a handful of letters he’s already drawn out;

B… R… A… M

“I can’t say it’s been nice to meet you, Bram.” I say with an awkward chuckle. My chuckle turns to a genuine laugh as one of Bram’s many hands flips me off, the casual human-ness of the gesture looking almost comical when juxtaposed with his less than human physique. Carefully, I pinch the obscene gesture between my thumb and forefinger, suppressing a cringe at the all too insect-like feel of his appendage. The texture somehow both hard and thin- something between an eggshell and dried leaves.

“Dawn Delacroix” I say, giving his hand a gentle shake, “How can I lend a hand?”

Bram pulls his hand away to immediately begin gesturing again. His gestures are sharp and insistent as he points to the word hide, then himself, before repeating his signs for four and now.

As soon as I nod, he continues, gesturing to shush, pointing to burn, and once again signing now.

“Burn it now and keep quiet about this - right?”

Bram chirps, nodding. I nod along. I comprehend the message, yet internally my mind is whirling.

What the fuck was I getting myself into… Hide him?? From what? Why was I burning the…- was I burning evidence??

With a deep inhale, I force the questions to the back of my mind. Just get him out of sight for now. One thing at a time.

I eye the strange little man up and down, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

“When you say 'hide’ you don’t just mean keeping you in the house, eh?” I note, my brow furrowing, “Like, you want me to hide you like ‘my house is going to get searched’ hide you?”

Slowly, he nods.

Despite suspecting the answer, I feel the blood drain from my face all the same. Instinctively, I go to chew on my thumb, stopping myself with a grimace before actually biting down.

“Fuck. Okay. Right. This is- It’s fine.” I lie. My mind is a freeway of thoughts rushing past me- and I’m stuck feeling like some poor animal dodging transport trucks.

Why was he .. like this?

What happened to him?

Why were people after him?

Had he escaped something? Hurt someone?

I had somehow come to have tasked myself with protecting him from some unknown entity without knowing a single thing about the situation. What kind of people pleaser bullshit was this? I was in way over my head. This was dangerous- yet here I was diving in head first.

As I tried to shake the questions from my thoughts, one seemed to stay stuck- as if it had somehow become a permanent fixture in the forefront of my mind;

Should I really be doing this?

Despite all that I want to tell myself, I know I don’t have an answer.

Restless, my hand drags along my face and I aggressively rub at my brow as if forcing my face to relax would somehow force me to relax as well. Unsurprisingly, the action is utterly useless. Fuck. What am I doing? What if I’m in trouble? What if I make things worse? How am I supposed-

There's the sudden sensation of contact- an involuntary shiver shoots down the length of my spine.

As if pulled back to reality from his touch, my eyes fall onto Bram- one of his tiny hands laid on top of my own. He stood, looking up at me with what I could only assume was concern in the inky black of those far too many eyes. A shudder creeps its way across my neck- feeling all too similar to the sensation of an insect crawling on my skin. His touch made my skin crawl- it was uncanny in far too many ways. So human, yet so …. Not. He himself was too hard, yet his touch too light. It lacked warmth, not in intent, but physically lacked the warmth of human touch. His clawed fingers felt as though a pin was being dragged on my skin, not painful… but catching.

As if some primordial instinct takes hold I yank my hand back, fingers curling into a fist as if to hide themselves from the unexpected and unsettling contact.

Bram’s antennae fold down, his hand still hanging limply in the air where mine had been not a second ago. The sight of him sends a wave of guilt crashing over me. With a forced smile, I let my hand relax in front of him, awkwardly pretending as if I hadn’t just cringed away from his touch.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, my mind wanders back to his horrified reaction to his… current state. The way he’d cried into my hand- the feeling of helplessness that washed over me... Being able to do nothing but offer what little comfort I could. My stomach twists as I think of him trying to do the same for me. This had to be horrifying for him… For all my feelings of helplessness, I couldn’t imagine a fraction of the helplessness that he must be going through.

I exhale. The act seeming to catch him off guard- his antennae shooting up as he regards me.

Now was not the time to chew on these heavy questions. He needed help, I would figure the rest out later.

Man, I need a drink-

As soon as the thought enters my mind it's as if it sets a cascade of dominoes in motion. I’m met with teenage memories of Clyde and his buddies sneaking whatever alcohol they could scavenge into some ridiculous hiding spot he'd jimmy rigged straight into the drywall behind his bed.

I smile.

That could work…

"Let's get you hidden, Big Man." His eyes narrow at the impromptu nickname, but he keeps his chirps to himself. I move my hand towards him before we both simultaneously pause, likely sharing one very awkward thought;

How was this going to work?

In something weirdly akin to two people trying to walk past one another but unsure of which direction to pick, we both continued in an awkward stop-start motion.

"Here- uh, just let me-" I slid my hand behind him, scooping him at his knees. Rather than calmly remaining seated, a shrill chirp was all the warning I had before he began scrambling in my grip, his weird insectoid claws gripping into my skin in a way that, while not physically painful, was mentally disturbing.

"Woah, woah- Bram!" My free hand shoots up to block the edge, as if he were some frightened animal about to jump to "safety." Instead, all four arms latched onto my finger, squeezing with a significant amount of force for his size. My brow furrows as I regard him,

"You good?"

His head swivels, looking over his shoulder and back at me with a palpable anger in those tiny eyes. He let out a string of strained chirps, and despite not understanding a word he was saying, it didn't take much to understand it was littered with profanity.

"Not a fan of heights, I'm assuming?" If looks could kill I'd be dead last week. In a gesture that needed no translation, Bram flipped me off.

As he tugged against my finger, I took the hint and curled my grip around him- wincing at the uncanny sensation of him in my grasp. It felt like holding a particularly large and eerily human-shaped beetle. Though, despite my own discomfort, Bram seemed at least somewhat more at ease in the security of a closed fist.

I took a step.

Immediately his primary set of arms were once again gripped onto my finger, claws digging into the meat- not enough to break the skin, though I assumed that courtesy was unintentional. At my movement, I heard the telltale jingle of Honey's collar as she padded to my side- clearly excited at the notion of some sort of activity other than gnawing on discarded exoskeleton.

Bram chittered nervously at her approach. I pull him close to me, making sure to hold him out of reach as Honey circles us, tail wagging with excited curiosity.

"Don't worry," I say, trying to put his nerves at ease, "She's a good girl, I promise- just a little excited after… everything."

Though even as I say that, thoughts of Honey snapping at June bugs fill my mind- the nasty crunch they would make when she eventually caught them seemed to ring in my ears. I swallow dryly.

Maybe it was best not to leave her unattended with him.

In the least obvious way I can manage, I shoo her away, nudging her with my foot as she circles around me. Honey somewhat acquiesces to my unspoken command, opting instead to trail behind me, still noisy but thankfully not nearly as pushy.

Good enough. The thought feels like the mental equivalent of a sigh.

As I walk, I can’t help but notice how he flinches with every step, his whole body bracing as though I’d suddenly forget how to carry something. His tail flicks with what little room he has under my snug grasp, yet he remains quiet, eyes glued straight ahead as I make my way to Clyde's old room.

He all but dives off my hand as I move to set him down on the floor beside me, quickly moving himself out of the way as I join him on the floor. A flock of dust bunnies scatter as I reach under the bed, groping around for a solid spot to grip the small section of discreetly altered baseboard.

A smile crosses my face as the "door" swings open- immediately vanishing as my eyes fall on the interior of the wall. My smile is replaced with horror at the sight of empties littering the length of the inner wall- empties undoubtedly left from Clyde's long since passed teenage years.

"Well look at that! Your room even comes with its own bar." I catch a whiff of the sour smell and grimace. Bram’s inky black eyes glare back at me, and even with his lack of visible sclera, I had no doubt he had rolled his eyes at the remark.

"I'm sorry-” I chuckle awkwardly, mortified at the sight, “Brothers aren't really known for being the cleanest of creatures." Unable to add anything of note without the aid of the pen and paper, Bram shrugs, offering a half hearted thumbs up in response. His talon-like claws click softly on the wood floor as he moves to investigate his potential temporary residence.

"You know," I feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips, a small half laugh slipping out at the strange turn of events, "When I first found you this morning I was terrified at the thought of you escaping into my walls."

His antennae perk up, oddly reminiscent of eyebrows raising in shock- or, more likely, offense. That distinction was made much more clear as he proceeded to flip me off while buzzing angrily, the sound somewhere between a phone vibration and a particularly offended bee.

His casual demonstration of profanity for some reason or other, put me at ease. I chuckle, the tension leaving my body, if only for a moment.

“I'll be back soon.”

Without further charades, I close the door, sealing Bram inside the wall. Part of me feels a pang of guilt for not thinking to grab some sort of light, but beggars, as well as potential fugitives, can’t be choosers. As I push myself back to a stand- physically feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on me. A nagging urge to stop and critically think about what on Earth had transpired itches at the edge of my mind- yet I refused to scratch. There was a sort of mental momentum I had built up, a series of tasks to complete one after the other, and the knowledge that the moment I stopped to pick apart the situation in its entirety said momentum would send me crashing into reality.

We can panic about this later. One thing at a time.

One foot in front of the other, I tear myself from the room- away from the strange little man who probably had all the answers, yet none of the words, or willingness, to share them. Honey reluctantly follows, letting out a soft whine in protest the same way she would if I were to take away a toy or an old bone. I grimace at the comparison.

Yeah, let's not leave her alone with him.

________

I surveyed the sci-fi nightmare my home had become. Kitchen to livingroom, various degrees of carnage were scattered, and worse yet, splattered, around across the floor. With no small effort, I resist the urge to gag. My once beautiful hardwood was littered with discarded… parts of what had apparently once been Bram. The cracked bits of his outer shell, while undeniably gross when I thought too much about it, were not that bad.

It was the flesh that made my skin crawl.

I was no stranger to flesh. Hunting had long since suppressed my gag reflex when it came to viscera… and yet that was precisely what made it worse. I knew what it should be. I knew how it should feel… and that knowledge left me deeply aware of just how wrong everything was.

It was the colours that I noticed first.

Some flesh seemed almost normal, save for something uncanny with the degree of saturation, but the more I cleaned, the more oddities I found. Pieces of flesh so deeply red they neared the point of being back. The pieces far too tough, almost solid to the touch.

Everything was coated in a strange slick opalescent mucous. Everything had this odd iridescent sheen. Though the fluids weren’t limited to the unnatural looking mucus. For a lack of better terminology, there was a general… ooze. A sickly blend of various fluids; an opaque pale yellow transitioning into some sickly greyish green… and red… so much red the floor looked black until disturbed by my frantic wiping.

What… what was all this?

What parts of him?

My stomach churned. The shed remains weren’t all just one consistency. There were… shapes in the flesh, lumps in the ooze. Whatever the inconsistencies in the gorey sludge had once been was impossible to tell, the lumps having lost much of their shape as if degraded by something.

My eyes flashed to my gloves- thankfully, still intact.

I sigh, wincing as I inhale the strange stale smell that had undoubtedly bled into the flooring. It wasn’t particularly foul, in fact, it was almost familiar, which in itself made it far worse- the smell of raw meat.

My throat clenches at the thought, and I struggle to suppress the involuntary response to start dry heaving.

Don’t think. Just clean.

No different from gutting a deer.

No difference at all.

My hands move idly, picking up piece after horrific piece. The pile dwindles, replaced by a collection of dangerously heavy garbage bags in the center of the room, leaving nothing but the slowly congealing ooze to tackle. Armed with a worryingly complex array of disinfectants, I begin working away at the fluids.

My stomach churns as I try desperately to force my brain to think about anything else aside from the liquid carnage I’m sopping up with a month's worth of paper towel. Anything at all.

Though the ‘anything’ that seems to permeate my mind, while less disgusting, is no less worrisome.

Just what was happening? My teeth dug into the flesh of my lip as I scrubbed harder, as if the answer lay somewhere under the layers of-

Was Bram really human? He seemed human... Maybe? His mannerisms were normal enough, save the extra appendages. But if he was human…

Why was he hiding? A distinct anxiety began to swell in my chest, and with it, a much more worrisome question came rising into my throat

Just who was he hiding from?

…and how long until they got here?

_______

For all my monumental efforts in cleaning, it seemed as though Honey lived to do the opposite. Her fur, once a light golden color, was a horrible mishmash of the various fluids that had been splattered across my floor. Snout to tail she was caked in a thick mucosal slime that had rapidly begun to crust over as it dried, becoming flaky and, ugh, crunchy.

From behind the filth, Honey stares up at me, her warm brown eyes filled with an innocent pleading as I stare down the nozzle at her- my finger hovering on the trigger.

She whines softly.

I don't hesitate.

Without a second thought, I spray her down- holding tight to her collar as she squirms in my grip, the cool spray from the hose apparently far less appealing than the rapidly decaying innards of some sci-fi mishap. I empty a container of dawn dish soap over her as she whines in protest, all the while desperately hoping that if Dawn worked for ducks in oil spills it’d work for dogs in biohazards as well.

From I could tell, it seemingly had done the trick.

As I finished rinsing her off, Honey finally managed to wriggle free, zipping off to dart around the yard to run off her offense at, God forbid, being clean.

My eyes hesitantly left her, moving to scan the lengthy driveway. I was almost expecting to see some unmarked government vehicle driving down to come and interrogate me.

How much time did I have before someone showed up? What was I even supposed to say? Hell- what were they going to say? ‘Hey Ma’am, have you seen a strange bug-person-thing in the area?’

A shaky breath blew past my lips as I forced out any hypothetical thoughts.

We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.

My eyes flick towards the stack of pallets and scrap wood leaning up against the garage.

But first we have more important things to burn.

__________

The warmth of the fire pricks at my skin, or maybe it was the lingering bits of Bram sludge and it's undetermined acidity slowly burning through my skin-

With an exhale, I banish the thought before it can fully form.

Everything’s fine. Kind of. Not really. I was harboring what was more and more in hindsight seeming like some fugitive alien or awol government experiment within the walls of my home. There was no way this wasn’t some type of felony, right? I was tampering with… evidence? A crime scene?

What even was this?

I massage the bridge of my nose, my eyes immediately watering at the remaining smell of gasoline on my hands- no other reason.

The fire continues to blaze on, the occasional pop and hiss emanating from the rapidly shrinking pile of charred remains. Around me, birds sang. I could hear the trill of chickadees and vireos as they hopped along the edge of the treeline. A soft breeze whispers through the foliage, rustling the leaves scattered on the ground. The early morning fog seemed to ease and give way to the everwarming rays of sunshine…

I took a deep breath.

Aside from the pungent odor of gasoline, there was a freshness in the air, as there so often was in fall. A crispness to the chill entering my lungs, with the sharp scent of evergreen dancing on each breath. I held out my hands, letting the heat from the fire soak into them.

It was turning out to be a beautiful day- clear skies, with the sun passively warming the October air. The atmosphere seemed to set a precedent. A subtle nod that everything would be okay.

I exhaled.

Maybe everything really would be fine.

A soft vibration at my side pulls my attention to my phone.

In my chest, my heart turns to ice- a sinking feeling of dread washing over me as I read the notification.

Trail Cam Alert: Movement detected by NW BOUNDARY CAM at 8:06 am

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