Young Writers Society

A/N: First time I did a story like this. None of the drugs included in this short are real, and you should not do one of the drugs, as it will most likely kill you instantly.

I stare down at the paper. It is slightly crumpled, with a fold line straight through the middle. It crosses through the neck of the girl, making the picture seem uneven. The name “Chrissie Valerie Mae” is bolded above the photo. It is followed by the words “MISSING JUNE 7TH, 2014”. I fold the paper and hand it to the cop.

“Have you seen her around at all?” The hair lipped cop asks me. I slightly shake my head, looking at the cop. He has a slight hunch, thick eyebrows, and a death glare. A fellow police officer, who looks near identical to him, slightly taller, grabs him and whispers into his ear. They both start walking out of the office.

Someone touches my shoulder. I turn around to see Joe looking at me with a surprised look. He starts asking me if I know this girl. I told him no, that I haven’t seen her at all. I walk to my cubicle, sit down, then pull up Chrome. I start typing the name of the girl, and halfway through her middle name, she comes up. The first result shows up in big block letters.

“FOURTEEN YEAR OLD RUNAWAY STILL AT LARGE”

I scroll down Google to find many websites, all saying the same thing. I read most websites, all the way through, all of them saying the same thing. “14 year old has been missing for nine days”, “wearing a white tanktop, black jeans, black shoes, and a blue backpack”, “left with her supposed boyfriend Ray Martinez”. I never seen this girl, or any of the suspects pictured.

A message alert pops up on the screen. It is from my boss, Mr. Pitt. I usually get these messages for two reasons. One, Pitt likes to update everyone on small things, such as a new copy machine or if he lost his red stapler. The other reason is if he we are doing something not safe for work, which half of the office does.

To: Jeff Hall

From: Alexander Pitt

Subject: Hdhge Kfji Nmos Yvan

I open the message to find random letters filling the message box. There is no pattern in the letters. I copy the message, which felt like it went on forever, and paste it into Word. The word count is 190, but 20 pages long. A scream comes out of his office. I look up to find no one in the building.

I start rushing towards his office. I rush through the narrow path of the cubicles, the way getting longer with each step. Once I get about five feet from the door, the janitor’s cart blocks it. I start pushing it out of the way, but the door swings open. The janitor is standing there, covered in red and yellow liquid and carrying a small bucket.

“Ninguém passará!” The janitor screams. I take one step closer, and the janitor screams it again. He grabs the bucket with two hands and tosses it on me. Thick, white liquid splashes on me. A lot of it gets in my mouth.

I turn around and run to the exit. The janitor is still screaming, but it seems louder the farther I get away. I swallow the liquid, which tastes like strawberry milk, mixed with Sunny D. For some reason, there are an abundance of clocks covering the walls. I ignore them all, until I get to the exit.

I open the doors and rush to the street. The sky is pitch black, the moon barely shining through the clouds. No lights are on in the building across the street. I stare at my feet, which is all white. A vibration happens in my back pocket. I reach in there to find my phone, which is still magically working, and it says I got a new message.

“Jeff, come to Alejandro’s, like, right now.” The text message says. It’s from Joe, who is under my contacts as “Broseph Montana”. I go through my contacts and call a taxi. The taxi comes after a five minute wait. I step inside the cab, and right when I was about to sit down, the driver stops me.

“What the hell are you soaked in?” He asks, with a shocked face. I look down at my clothes, drenched in the strawberry milk. I feel it inside my shoes, causing my socks to feel like mush.

“Something, freaky happened. Just take me to Alejandro’s.” I tell him, in a strict voice. The cabbie is in shock, but turns his head forward, and starts driving. The road seems desolate and lonely, though buildings are on both sides. The drive seems to take forever, like we are passing the same thing over and over again.

Loud samba music blasts through the radio. I look over to the cabbie, who doesn't seem phased by it. We don’t speak to each other, just stare at the road. My stomach as it feels like it’s getting ripped apart from the inside. Any second now, I’m waiting for the feeling to come up and a chestburster to come out of me.

The taxi suddenly stops. I look over to find the sign “Alejandro’s” in bright LED lights. I hand the cabbie a random amount of money out of pocket, knowing that it’s enough no matter what. I stumble outside the door, onto the sidewalk, then go through the front entrance.

I walk in to find Joe on the bar, laughing and popping a champagne bottle. He looks over to the left, with a happy face, and comes down the bar. He rushes to me and hands me a beer.

“Finally made it, Jeff! Time to party!” Joe screams in my face. I head over to the bar, stomach is still hurting. I sit and put my head down, only to have someone pull my head back up. Joe is staring me straight in the eyes, places some blue powder on the bar, then pats my back.

“Try some Cyanthol, the magic powder! Takes only a minute to hit!” He waves his hands in front of my face. My stomach doesn’t feel good, still. I plug one nostril, put my nose to the table, and snort it across. It goes rough up my nostril, and feels horrible.

The feeling in my stomach starts coming up. I kick my stool over and rush to the bathroom. I open the door, and limp towards the handicap stall. It is covered in grime, and it doesn’t help me one bit. I get down on all fours, crawl over to the toilet, and put my head over it. The feeling is sitting there, still burning.

The feeling stops for a moment. It feels blissful. I have a shiver pass through my body, and my eyes suddenly widen. My vision becomes purple, blue, some sort of soft yellow, and then black. My hearing goes out. Everything in my body feels numb. Then, my vision and hearing comes back. The feeling starts coming up stronger than ever.

This chestburster is coming out of my mouth.

All of the strawberry milk comes out of my mouth. It widens my throat, then starts coming out of my nose. My vision starts getting blurrier as more comes out. My eyes start rolling to the back of my head, killing me from the inside. It stops, and I get my breath back.

I start panting, staring at the toilet. It looks clear, but has some white in it. Looking at it makes me want to throw up more. What the hell did I drink? Like, seriously? Tastes nasty. I hear the bathroom door open, and footsteps approaching the stall.

Joe opens the door, and stares at me. His mouth is wide open, eyes alert.

“When the hell did you drink Unicorn Sperm?” He asks me. I just stare at him.

“What is Unicorn Sperm?” I reply.

“Unicorn Sperm is what happens if you mix window cleaner and milk, and throw in trumpet cleaner.” Joe says, with a half laugh. “It’ll burn you from inside out, unless if you mix it with Cyanthol. I heard a theory that you’ll experience weird things if you do it. Everyone dies if they try though.”

My vision blacks out, and I collapse, landing on the toilet. Another blissful moment happens, just quietness and black. I feel shaking, and screaming in the background. I feel the moment fading away, but I pop right back into it.

A bright light shines in my hand. I find myself in Mr. Pitt’s office, covered in blood and Unicorn Sperm. His neck is back, mouth wide open and dripping with the mixture. Something is in his hand, covered with the mixture.

I pick it up with two fingers and look at it. In big black letters, it says

FIND 332 SLAUGHTERHOUSE ROAD. THE JUICE IS LOO

The last word is cut off, and covered with blood. A bunch of loud demands comes from the end of the office. I look out to find the hair lipped cop and the fellow officers approaching the office. They open the door, and just stare at me. The main cop stands a foot in front of me, coughs, and slaps me.

“Jeff! Stop daydreaming!” A voice says. Joe stands a foot in front of me. “Come on, we need to ask what happened.” He adds. I look at him, then he points to the office.

Police tape blocks the entrance to the office. An ambulance is on the sidewalk in front, with nine police cars. Many civilians and coworkers are looking at a body bag in horror, as the police walk around the front, talking to the janitor. Hair lip starts approaching us, and has a mean look.

“What happened?” Joe asks. I don’t care to listen to the cop, as I already know what happened. Pitt OD’d on Unicorn Sperm while trying to do something. I start blocking him out, staring at the entrance.

“Jeff, that’s crazy!” Jeff laughs, for some reason.

“I know.” I stare down at the ground.

“Pretty crazy that he had something to do with that missing girl, suicide is so damn sad.”

I stare at him. Holy crap, he committed suicide. He knows where Chrissie is, so does anyone at 332 Slaughterhouse, so does anyone associated with him. Probably wrong about the last part, but still.

Off to the Slaughterhouse.