I met a mimic today.
And no,
it wasn't disguised as a treasure chest
or a dungeon door.

It wasn't even during a campaign either.
There wasn't a single dice or funny voice  involved.

Turns out,
my roommate's car has a craving
for insomnia-ridden writers.

When I went to get my longboard from the trunk
and I was thinking nothing could possibly go wrong,
it's jaws clamped down on my back.

That wasn't what I expected to do today,
being inside the mouth of a magical beast.
But hey,
at least I know the best tricks
to get them to spit you out!
Tickle the tongue with whatever you have
or the roof of their mouth works, too.

It worked like a charm.
And I was left on the asphalt
clutching my longboard
and soaked through with spit.
But at least I was alive
and not some kind of late-night mimic treat.

It is when the moon is full
that the bloodlust rushes in.
Those of us who hide within a daylight skin of innocence
are free to become our true selves
when that flaming tyrant finally retreats.

We stalk the darkness
tasting sweat and sleep upon the air
feeling that familiar hunger rise.

But we cannot simply take anyone.
No, a mass disappearance would draw too much attention.
So we plan and plot
wait for the right combination of pariah and stupid
drag them into the shadows
and feast.

We leave nothing left.
Not a scrap of torn cloth
nor a drop of blood upon the ground.

It took us centuries
but we're smarter now.
We know how you humans investigate.
Now we never leave you the slightest clue
of our existence.

Except, maybe the slightest breath
on the back of your neck.
Or the creak of the stairs
when the house is empty.

Because we know you won't find us
but it sure is fun to watch you try.

It's wonderful to have stuffed animals
to cuddle and snuggle with daily,
with their soft fur and endless smiles.

But don't watch them too closely.
Because you might just catch
those beady eyes blinking
or the flash of a long incisor,
just across the room from you.

If you do witness a lively one,
try not to call them out.
They don't like the attention.

I'm dragging myself through darkened corridors
passing row after row of silent faces
carved from marble and granite.

I recognize none of them
even as I know I've walked this road before.

Miles stretch forward
unblemished stone beneath
an empty abyss above
with only the sounds of my labored breaths and footfalls
echoing back at me.

This is when I normally realize I'm dreaming.
When waking logic sets in
and I wonder why there's no ceiling.

As soon as that thought appears
the world flips
and I'm standing in that void
looking up at the statues far above me.

But this time
the statues stare back,
craning their necks to look
while the rest of them remain unmoving.

And this time I'm running
because I have an inexplicable knowledge that something is coming
chasing me from deeper within the abyss.
Something ancient and ravenous.

But then I wake up
my mouth frozen in a scream.
The carver is working on me again.
I feel his chisel in my side this time.
Maybe he'll be finished soon.

You want to turn around.
I know.
But trust me when I say,
that is the worst possible thing you could do right now.
That will get you killed.
So just keep looking at me.

Yep, that's right.
Ignore the cold, wet drip between your shoulder blades
and the padding of nearly-silent feet.

It's not a monster.
I can tell you that much.
But it'll still rip you apart if you move.
Trust me.
I've seen it before.

You're not hearing that, okay?
Listen to me.
There are no screams,
wet crunches or popping sounds.
There's only my voice.

Okay...
okay. I think it's leaving.
Wait-
wait, we have to know for sure it's far enough away.
I'll go.
Don't wait up for me.

Have you noticed them yet?
The piles of pretty red pebbles
stacked outside your door?

Yeah, they've been out there for a while now,
glimmering with shades from setting sun to arterial blood.

You can hear them now.
Words just undecipherable
whispered through silent crimson lips.

They need you to find the others.
More pretty red pebbles
scattered and alone.
You can't just leave them like that, can you?
No. Of course not.

So you pace the roads,
the towns and hidden pathways,
searching for gleaming flashes of red
abandoned and forgotten.

Weeks and months go by
and yet
with your eyes to the ground
you never see another.
Until one day
you look up
and a voice asks,
"Are you okay?"

That's when you finally glimpse them.
Two pretty red pebbles
where his eyes should be.
Now all that's left to do
is take them back to the others
and learn from their whispers.

You really thought this was your best option?
When the screaming starts,
run to the library?
I mean, I know you're a bookworm...
but this seems excessive.
Even for you.

It doesn't really matter though.
Your flesh will sustain me for weeks.
And you'll be delicious.
So don't delay the inevitable.

I can smell your sweat through the bookcases,
hear as you try to slow your breathing
your heartbeat...
Thump-thump, thump-thump-, thump-thump and-
Damnit.
I could've sworn you'd be hiding there.
How about-
Nope.

Oh, you are a clever one, aren't you?
You probably think all the stories you've read
will help you survive.
Fun thought, but I doubt it.

If you try to leave
the others will catch you.
And they like to play with their food.
So why don't you just give up now
and save yourself the terror?

I'm sure you'll-
fuck- a bookcase?
How'd you even tip this-
you bitch, get back here!
You just wait until I get out of this!
​You're dead!

The water stretches outwards
stiller than a pane of glass,
a dark pool whose shine dares you to walk upon its surface.

It's had many names.
The Ocean's Eye.
The Bottomless Drink.
All coming from countless lips
in whispers and shouts.

Each story has lead you here,
drawn you like a fly to sweet syrup.
And though all the warnings you heard ring through your mind,
your logic is inconsequential
compared to your curiosity.
How could you possible get so close
and not even dip a toe in.

You tell yourself that's all you'll do.
A tiny touch
the smallest of ripples.

But that was never going to be enough.
For you or the water.

You break it's cool surface
and you watch as the ripples rushes out wards
passing beyond your sight
as you'd except.
Then a returning ridge
twice as large as the first
closes in
tighter than a vice
wraps around your ankle
and drags you under.

The nearby village hears your the echoes
of your gurgling screams and struggles,
and simply shake their heads.
They did warn you after all.
But you're just another thrill seeker,
another adventurer
another willing sacrifice.

Her fingers had fused to the keys on her laptop,
melting skin into plastic
so when they tried to move her,
the keys came of with little pops on her fingertips.

All color had been leached out of her
and instead of all her unique details
scars, freckles, and wrinkles
there were lines scribbled in Sans Serif.
They outlined her unblinking eyes and gently frowning lips.

With her features now overtaken by pieces of prose and verse,
she can't really speak anymore.
But when you're near her
occasionally you'll hear a desperate gasp from her unmoving lips:
"What happens next?"

There's a skittering, chittering, screaming chorus
floating behind my eyes.

I don't know what it wants
or why me.
But every day it's louder
and fills another part of me.

It makes me wonder
how long until I'm fully gone
​and only the denizens remain.