The Last Night at the Edge of the Universe

The Last Night at the Edge of the Universe

It was especially dark last night. I remember noticing the streetlight outside my window sputter out just as I closed my eyes. 

I live in a small apartment in a mostly commercial area of town. This carries the obvious benefit of never having to deal with neighbors. Up one flight of rickety steps, past an obstacle course of a living room (I lovingly refer to it as the foyer), through a very loud and useless sliding door, and on the other side of the kitchen, you’ll find my room.

The kitchen floor is made of cheap linoleum, long since hardened and cracked like dried snake skin. A cockroach might sound like a tap-dancer as it skitters across it. 

Nobody else was there last night. I had closed the sliding door leading into the kitchen out of habit just before bed. I was surprised to hear it open, deliberately but not quietly, at 3:21am. Had it been my roommate, I would have expected to see the rectangular halo of light leaking in from the kitchen.

I could only see my alarm clock’s dim yellow glow. Someone was in my apartment. 

Of course my immediate thought, upon reaching the conclusion that I might not want to meet this person, was to get out of my room quickly and quietly. My options were terrible. One door led into, presumably, the same room this stranger was already in.

The other door led to the bathroom, in turn my roommate’s bedroom, and then into the living room. Given night vision goggles and cat-like agility, I still wouldn’t feel confident seeing as the kitchen’s sliding door and my roommate’s sliding door were less than 6 feet apart. And every door in the place is squeaky, broken, or prone to sticking. 

I could also go out the window. The window, naturally, is in the same state as the doors. It emits the sound that rubbing a fork on a plate does. From there, it’s a 10 foot drop to a rough stone wall and another 3 to the ground. From arm’s length, I could handle the drop.

My bare feet would not take the impact well, and I could only hope that the mass of wood scraps and construction materials on the ground would be avoidable as I fell. This would have to happen with no further delay, I thought. 

Only a moment had passed since I awoke. What sounded like a stampede began through the kitchen and toward my room. I couldn’t see anything. I got the blinds up halfway before my door opened and I was being tackled by at least 4 or 5 people.

Clearly this was overkill, but I put up a bit of a struggle before being summarily defeated in every possible way. I was tied tightly at every joint, gagged, with something over my head, and was being carried out of my apartment.

I noted that in all the chaos, somehow they made graceful work of the cluttered living room and made absolutely no noise as they took me down the stairs. I was scared out of my mind and struggling to keep my orientation as best as possible. 

Other than the rustling of the cloth over my head, it was dead silent. Someone opened a case and injected me with something. I heard that happen quite clearly, and then I heard them talking about something. They sounded like cats. That’s how I remember it. 

I awoke with a shiver in a small room. The drug I was injected with seemed to affect my memory, as I was completely unaware of the previous few minutes. I should be in bed, I thought. 

The room was soft in multiple ways. The walls, floor and ceiling met in smooth, rounded junctions. Every surface was covered in a brown fuzz, like a shag carpet.

The floor was slightly rubbery. Had I not been slowly coming to the realization that I had been kidnapped in my sleep and dumped into a weird room, I suppose I would have been comfortable curling back up and dozing off until my alarm went off. 

Sitting across from me were two older women and a man I guessed to be in his mid 30s. They all had the same look on their face, which mentally I pictured myself carrying as well - it was an interesting combination of horror, confusion, and “this carpet is soft, I hope it’s not made of hair”. 

I asked them where we were. The man responded in a thick French accent that they didn’t know either. (The accent explained why they were fully clothed and I was in my sleeping clothes) We didn’t talk anymore. 

After a few minutes of silence, a doorway began to open directly next to me. I scrambled away from it without standing up. This is the point where I went from mostly scared and confused to just scared, one hundred percent. 

In walked three creatures, about the size of tall humans. Their faces were very wide, dark and wet looking, while their bodies were thin and pale. Their eyes seemed to look in multiple directions at once and they did not blink.

As far as distinguishing features or notable structures, there were none. In overall appearance they were human-like, except slightly wrong in every possible way. 

They held between them a large piece of meat I eventually realized to be the upper half of a badly mutilated woman. With little fanfare or communicative attempt, they jointly tossed her into the center of the room and walked back out the way they came. 

I assumed we were next. It crossed my mind that it may have been an offering or peace, or a very unappreciated meal even. The two women were crying and the man was just staring at the remains that lay in front of him. 

They came back shortly thereafter, and immediately took me by the arm and dragged me down a hallway. I attempted to walk but they picked me up off the ground when I tried. Their hands dug into my arms enough to bruise me fairly severely. Soon I was placed in a room by myself and drugged with another injection. 

This room looks like the last one in every way, except for the furnishings. There is a typical wooden desk and wooden chair. On the desk is an envelope, which I have already addressed to my father, a pen and a few pieces of paper. There is also a mirror.

I look terrible. I’m not sure what this injection did this time, because I’m not feeling sleepy or anything, but it’s definitely kicking in full blast right now. Actually, I have to say I feel somewhat pleasant. It’s sort of funny given my situation actually. I’m not even sure where I am but I’m having a great time! This stuff is strong! 

They're watching me and I feel like I’ve been writing for a while. I hope they send my letter. I bet my dad will like to hear about my little adventure tonight. I don’t think they are going to let me go after all, because they keep tightening the strap around my waist.

Wait, they came back in again, maybe it’s time to go! I really do hope they locked the door at my house. Ugh, I have a huge headache, that medicine is not good. 

They said I have to keep writing now but I don’t want to. I wanted to watch what they were doing but they just made me write more. 

This isn’t fun anymore. I am writing like they told me to but they keep poking me and cutting off my legs and talking all weird. I am not feeling happy anymore at all and I think I’ve been drugged. Where is this. 

Are they going to mail my letter? I hope it’s all ready to go. it has a stamp. I really don’t like the blood smell and I am sad about my legs. probably should put this letter in the letter so the mailman can send it. OK I'm done. time to sleep.

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