Basil gazed down at the bottle of beer; this one was thin and went down easier than the others, with a hint of sweetness that was barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. He took a small sip and looked at the neatly organized row of empty containers that he had accumulated over the past fifteen minutes, a straight and kept line of bottles and cans that ascended in order of height, highlighted within the petulant bask of rotting light. There were five in total now. For reasons beyond his reckoning, his throat still felt brittle. For every breath of air he took, dry warmth would scratch at his irritated tongue.

Maybe it was the dilapidated room that he stood in, a claustrophobic box being dimly lit by a single, hanging lightbulb that he had turned on with a pull chain. The air here was horribly musty, its smell culminating into a sour taste in his mouth that was only amplified by the lingering scent of alcohol that had long since merged with his breath. From the looks of it, he was in the laundry room; two white cubes were sitting amidst a maze of rusted pipes and valves, sticking out sorely against the dirty background with their surprisingly well-kept appearance. Kel’s cooler sat on top of one of them. Next to it, the wall of empty drinks that he had built up.

Somewhere, amidst the dusk, Something stared. Basil took another sip, and it didn’t blink.

“Because.” He said, calmly. Somehow, he found that the sound of his own voice was soothing. A soft break from the harrowing silence that had bore down on him in isolation, the rust. Something reached forward with a barbed appendage and rubbed his shoulder gently. A slow winding, the lifting of his arm, and then he struck his fist against the side of his face. A high pitched buzzing filled his ears. “Because. Because.”

He was so, so thirsty. Taking another drink, he found that the brew had turned black in his mouth. A disgustingly thick sourness that ate away at his tongue and gums, biting into the sensitive flesh like chewing a mouthful of tacks. With one swift motion, he finished the rest of the bottle and then threw it on the floor. It didn’t break, only making a harsh noise, jarring and unpleasant, before rolling away. Not missing a beat, he bent down to pick it up and tried again. It broke this time, fracturing into several segmented shards of brown glass.

Basil grabbed one of the pieces of broken glass; it was small enough to easily fit in his palm, but big enough to actually be tangible, just slightly larger than his thumb. An object, gleaming and deadly under the light. With slow, measured movements, he unwrapped the bandages around his left arm to reveal a small slit of dried skin, dark red and obscene. His hands shook terribly as he tucked the shard of glass between the pads of his middle finger and thumb.

The index finger on his right hand jutted out and began moving towards the scab, the nail on it long and uneven, with opaque gray dirt tucked underneath it. Mouth hanging ajar, he stared unblinkingly as the fingernail dug underneath the scab. It worked its way through, wriggling horribly as he enveloped itself within the familiar cloud of pain, reawoken from its slumber of inaction.

His whispering moans filled the empty room. Eyes bulging, he found it in himself to stare through the clouds of red and look, really look as he peeled barely-formed scab off his arm through pulls and scratches. The dried piece of skin stuck to the underside of his nail, though when he absent-mindedly shook his hand, it fell loose easily. A small string of drool fell from the side of his mouth and pooled on the top of his arm. There.

If he pulled at the skin hard enough, he could see the thin cut begin to expand, to open. If he drew his arm muscles taut and squeezed his fist until his veins popped, he could see the small drops of blood begin to gather. He brought forth the piece of glass and touched the freshly bleeding wound with it. An undeniably exhilarating coldness spawned from the contact, breaking off into webs and bringing his nerves into high alert.

Basil pushed the blade further into the wound, There was resistance at first, though it did not take much effort to overcome it. The shard of glass squeezed in between the gap in his skin and settled within the pocket of flesh with ease, now painted a glossy red that gave it the appearance of glowing, even in the faint gleam of the lightbulb. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his mind sputtered to comprehend the radiant sense of hurt that had spawned and begun its journey throughout his body. His mouth moved and sounds came, but they were utterly nonsensical, half-words and whimpers and groans and silent wheezing. He twisted the glass some and shivered as the pain brought his lungs to a screeching halt. He couldn’t breathe.

“It goes, it goes, it goes, don’t drop it don’t drop it hold on to it don’t let it slip”

Brilliant, burning, a shard of metal embedded into his flesh that sent spasms through his body. The pain that spawned from the reopened wound was bright and flaring, overloading him with a sort of agony that was just short of electrifying.

Because. Because, he deserved it. Because, how could he still live with the knowledge that such obstruction of justice would go unpunished, unknown? The unfairness of it was black and rotting, an obscene stain upon life that left a strong sense of distaste within him. Unable to bear it any longer, he pulled the shard out from his body and stuffed it in his pocket. It was disgusting, warm. He picked up what he could that remained of the glass bottle and dumped them in the empty cooler. It was only then that his breathing resumed.

Because it was the next best thing. Because it was all he could do in the face of the never ending loop that presented itself to him, a self-perpetuating cycle of fear, pain, and cowardice. Panting, he rewrapped his wound, sealing the bandage with a small tab of medical tape that he had stolen from a first-aid kid he found in the restroom. The pain had ebbed now, though it left an incredibly dense weight hanging in the back of his throat. His fingertip was red. The repetition of it all was red. He was red.

Where did his exhaustion go? He wanted it back. He wanted to close his eyes and feel the comfortable heaviness settle upon him. He wanted for his mind to grow sluggish and for his limbs to beg weakly for a moment’s rest. He wanted to lay down on his bed and bring a heavy blanket over his body and to just be enveloped in warmth, to allow himself to be lulled into a state of sleep and never wake up.

The frigid cold haunting him wouldn’t let him. The shaking, the trembling, it wouldn’t let him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be brought under the spell of drowsiness. He would see it. Something. Or Sunny. Or Aubrey. Or simply an intertwining mass of veins, pulsating thinly in weaved webs of disgusting, dripping red with organs entangled within. How could he be inclined to allow his body a good night’s sleep when all it brought upon him was pain in the form of hellish nightmares that would rob him of any energy he had by the next morning? It seemed counter-productive.

“Hey! Basil, there you are!”

Basil looked up to see Kel, slightly disheveled and panting with the looks of someone who had just ran a marathon. Kel was staring at him from just outside the door frame, blocking the outside light with his body; Basil hadn’t even noticed that the door opened. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he had closed it at all to begin with. “Jeez, where the heck did you run off too? We were looking for you, man. What even is this place? And… um, did you drink all of those?”

“You… were? Oh. Sorry, I just… had to get away from the shouting.” Basil said sheepishly. After they had started arguing, Basil had got up and left, finding a glass sliding door just on the other side of the porch. Their voices felt loud enough that if he were to stay for any longer, his eardrums would shatter. Unfortunately, the party going on inside of the house didn’t make things much better. Somehow though, he managed to find the laundry room, tucked away in the basement next to some teenagers playing pool. Thankfully, they didn’t ask questions as he awkwardly snuck into the room with the cooler.

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“Holy crap, did you finish off the rest of the drinks?” Kel stared at the row of bottles and cans incredulously. “Were you just chugging away in here for the past fifteen minutes? You’re not gonna start throwing up or anything, are you? You gotta be careful man, you’re pretty skinny so this stuff gets to you easier.”

“Um… I’m okay, yeah.” Basil scratched the back of his head.

“Well, you should probably carry a plastic bag around just in case you get sick. Anyway, Aubrey was freaking out when she found out you were missing.” Kel explained as he grabbed onto Basil’s arm - his wounded arm - and pulled him out of the room. He bit down on his lips just in time to choke back a scream as his arm muscles spasmed in protest of the unexpected burst of pain. “She just jumped off the porch and ran into the woods. Like, I guess she thought you were hiding there? I dunno why though, it would be kind of weird if you decided to go there.”

“A-Aubrey? Ugh, I’m worrying her again… I didn’t… I’m such an idiot.” Basil groaned. What a burden he was, making them search for him like that while he locked himself in the laundry room and hogged all of Kel’s drinks for himself. Why they would even consider him as a friend at this point, he had no idea. “I’ll… I’ll go find her. The woods, right?”

“Uh, maybe not a great idea. It’s getting dark out, you might get lost. I’ll just call her.” Kel whipped out his phone, a thick brick-like device that was just barely modern enough to have a touchscreen, and quickly called her from his contacts list. Ten seconds passed, and he frowned before redialing. Then he recalled again, and again, and again. Finally, he shook his head. “She’s not answering. Huh. Maybe there’s no signal out there or something.”

“What? Aubrey…” Basil’s breathing quickened. “This… This is all my fault. Aubrey’s lost and it’s my fault. W-What if she gets hurt? Or worse? I need to find her. I need to find her! I can’t let this happen… Not again, please not again…”

“What? Oh no, now you’re freaking out too?” Kel complained. “Wait. Maybe you’re just drunk... Huh, drunk Basil. Never thought I’d see the day! You know, I always thought that you would start smoking weed someday but you never struck me as - hey, where are you going?”

Basil ignored him and stumbled his way outside. Retracing his steps, he managed to get back to the porch where Kel and Aubrey had their fight; the various burger wrappers and empty plastic cups that Aubrey sweeped off the rocking chair were still there.

Kel caught up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Basil didn’t even notice. “Hey, Basil! Seriously, chill out. Oh wait, I know! What if we look for her together? In fact, I’ll get some of my friends to help too. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Without even a glance back, Kel left as soon as he had appeared. Basil promptly walked down the porch steps and approached the web of bare trees, beckoning him with their dark, crooked limbs. Aubrey was there, somewhere. He had to let her know that he was okay. That he was sorry for everything. That he wouldn’t leave her again.

----------------------------------------

She walked and listened to the crackly crunching of leaves produced by every step she took. There was no life here, no light, no hope, only the dark, and the never-changing scenery of looming trees surrounding her as well as the faintly foul stench permeating the chilling air. All she could think about was Basil, Basil hanging from a tree, Basil laying face down in a bed of leaves, Basil with his back against a tree and a knife stuck in his chest; every now and again, she saw it. Him. Dead, his corpse brutally wounded or otherwise generally lifeless and with a crown of frail twigs stuck to his hair. When she approached these mirages with spikes of fear stabbing into her heart and found that they were just malformed shadows playing tricks on her panic-stricken brain, there was no relief. Only a sense of dread that told her she had been lucky, that the next time she saw an odd shape or silhouette, it wouldn’t be any sort of illusion.

“Basil. Basil, come out. I’m not mad at you, we can go home. Let’s go home Basil, come out… please.” Whether she screamed or whispered, she did not know. All she could hear was the crunching. Of the leaves, of the dead leaves, of the bones of Basil, the bones of Sunny and Mari and her mother dead on the couch from a brain aneurysm or a heart attack or stroke and rotting with no one to notice or care. Her nail-studded bat crushing the skulls of strangers.

Why was it so dark outside?

Something moved in the corner of her eye and she leapt at it, an arm outstretched and with a strangled yelp. It was nothing, of course. Simply a trick of the light, the shadow of a shadow of a shadow of a branch waving in the air from a slight breeze. She laughed, once, and contemplated whether or not she was lost. She was. It was so cold. When she looked up, she couldn’t even make out the moon; the sky had been blotted out with layers upon layers of branches, some with nooses hanging from them, some dripping thick, coagulated blood.

“Get ahold of yourself, Aubrey. You just need to find Basil and make sure he stays safe. He isn’t dead. You would know if he died, that’s a fact. Just calm down and stop jumping at every shadow.”

“But what if he is dead? What if he just fucking ended it? He’s suicidal, he’s hiding from me, and it’s all my fault because he’s still scared of me. Why did I bully him? Over that photo album. That damn album.”

“He isn’t dead. You would know. You would know, we would know. Find him, make sure he doesn’t get a chance to even try anything.”

“How? How would I know?”

“...”

Unsurprisingly, Aubrey couldn’t provide a reason and neither could her imaginary counterpart. Because really, she would have no idea. That simple fact shook her to the core, the sheer uncertainty of it all, the possibility that all of this was just to find the remains of yet another suicide. She stared at it, the unfolding scene built upon the path of leaves and twigs and moss and bark ahead of her.

Basil was sitting on the ground, staring up with lifeless eyes that looked at her without recognition. Something, something dark and twisted and with a single, bulging eye loomed over his corpse, which had a giant, bloody gaping hole in his stomach. Laying on top of a pale hand, gardening shears sticky with thick blood coating its blades. He wore his ruined green sweater, stained brown and torn from his near drowning at the lake.

Repressing the urge to vomit, she looked away, though what was that in the distance? At first glance, it appeared to be an oddly shaped mound of dirt with some sort of plant growing on it, and above it, a snapped branch that clung on to a tree through only a string of bark sinew.

The crumpled corpse of Sunny, body broken and battered from his deadly jump. With his uninjured eye still closed, his expression could have almost been peaceful were it not for the awkward angles his limbs were bent in and the ugly stains of bright red trailing over his pale skin, pooling under his body in a thin puddle of blood spawned from reopened wounds. Above him, inexplicably, was the body of Mari, dug up from her grave and practically zombified, with starkly white maggots eating away at her rotting skin and with worms wriggling within the black nest of wire that was once her hair. Her head hung at a crooked angle from the brightly colored jump rope from which she hung; her body, lightly swinging back and forth in the wind, was completely bare. Dark purple, almost black bruises colored her naked corpse in a bizarre act of body painting, complementing the various other forms of gangrene rot that marred her once angelic beauty.

Her phone rang. She dug it out of her jacket pocket and held it up to her ear and muttered, “Hello?”

“Hey Aubrey, this is Kel. Hero’s dead. He suffered a heart attack, the doctors said it was from prolonged stress. He hadn’t slept in days and had been running on coffee, juggling a bunch of jobs with studying for his college stuff. His funeral is in thirty minutes.”

She wasn’t holding her phone.

“Fuck, I need to get out of here.”

“Gee, you really think so?”

“Shut up, me.”

“Make me.”

She suddenly pistoned her fist forward to punch a nearby tree. The bark splintered and at once, her fist was alight in a haze of burning pain. She grinned nastily as her voice grew silent, though the grin soon died out as she slowly realized what she had done. Cursing under her breath, she pressed her limp and bleeding hand against her shirt and began sprinting aimlessly, bat dragging roughly along the ground behind her. She had to find Basil and get out, get out of whatever field of nightmares she had found herself trapped in. A plan, simple but definitive, had formed. She would find Basil. If he was alive, they would find a way out. If he was dead, she would carry his corpse out of the woods. If she couldn’t find him, she would look some more.

She would just keep on looking until she dropped dead.