Body Bag

As far as coworkers go, Tim was alright. He wasn’t bad to talk to during a long night shift and he never did anything stupid on the clock. I liked him. So, when he asked if I wanted to hang out outside of work I didn’t see any reason to turn him down.

His apartment was a dump, which I had expected from somebody working full time at a gas station. It was bigger than mine, but not by much, and way messier. He’d been expecting me, but you never would've known it. The dirty dishes in his sink were piled high, and I’d almost tripped over the mess on the floor when I walked in. Tim was a self-proclaimed “antique hoarder.” He’d talked about it at work before, but I hadn’t understood just how deep the hobby went. There was a keepsake on just about any surface with enough room for it. Most of them were caked in dirt or covered in a layer of dust. There was a distinctly sour smell in the apartment. It clung to every surface and seemed to make the air itself thicker; harder to breathe.

Tim wasn’t doing much better himself. He was tall and seemed pretty fit—fitter than I was by far—but his personal hygiene left something to be desired. He had that same, sour smell as the rest of the apartment. Actually, it was stronger around him. I chose to keep my distance.

We drank, played some games, and talked. The company was good enough to make up for the conditions of the apartment, for a little while. After a couple of hours, I was thinking of a way to excuse myself.

“Hey.” Tim said, "I wanna show you something." He walked to the TV and shut it off.

“Sure.” I said.

“Cool, follow me. It’s in my room.”

When Tim opened the door, the sour odor that permeated the apartment hit me again, but with twice as much intensity. I slapped my hand over my nose without thinking. What in the world could create a smell like that?

The bedroom was a total mess. I stepped onto a thin blanket of discarded clothing and nearly knocked over another dirty trinket. I sighed.

A duffel bag sat on the floor in front of the bed. Tim unsteadily started to hoist it up by its straps. I cocked an eyebrow.

“Is that the thing?” I asked.

“Yup,” Tim grunted. The bag was almost too heavy for him, “gimme a minute.”

“Do you need help with that?”

“Nope.” Tim shot me a dark look, “I got it. I’ve done it before.”

I watched from the far side of the room as, in a series of awkward jerking motions, Tim lifted the bag from the ground to his bed. Tim turned towards me, grinning and motioning me towards him.

“So, what is this supposed to be?” I said.

“I’ll show you,” said Tim, “but I need you to promise me something first.”

I nodded.

“I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna freak out when I show you what's in this bag.”

“Why would I freak out? What did you put in there?”

“Just trust me, dude. Don't be a pussy about it.”

It suddenly clicked with me that the smell had been coming from the bag the whole time.

“Promise me.” Tim said forcefully.

I stood, unsure of what to say.

"Promise."

I nodded.

Tim watched my expression carefully with a furrowed brow. Then, he started to unzip the bag. I instinctively held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled at the zipper, and the bag's opening grew larger. I began to see the shape of something on the inside. Something caked in black bile and thick mucus. Without hesitation, Tim reached inside. He took hold of it, and yanked.

I stepped backwards.

Tim pulled an arm out of the bag.

“What the fuck.” I tried to say, before gagging part way through the sentence. I was choking on the air. Every time I inhaled it was like hot water was spilling down my throat.

“I told you not to be a pussy, man.” Tim placed the arm back into the bag.

“That’s a dead body! Why the fuck do you have that? Did you-”

“It’s not! I swear to God, it isn’t. Please trust me. Just watch this!”

All I could do was stand and stare. Tim tipped the bag on its side, letting its contents spill onto the floor of the apartment. An arm fell out, landing with a wet slap. Then a leg, then just a foot, then a couple fingers, a second arm, some body parts I couldn’t identify, and several more limbs and cuts of flesh. the pile of viscera might have been over three feet when Tim finally finished, and placed the bag back on the bed. That was more meat than one person could have on their body. More than two. More than that bag could carry. I doubled over and began to vomit.

“You’re still freaking out.” Tim said, exasperated.

My stomach twisted, I didn't stop throwing up.

“I guess I don’t blame you, but the point is: It’s not just a dead body. I didn’t kill anybody. I think it’s some kind of portal into a world of human body parts or some shit. I just found this thing in a junkyard like two weeks ago and I had to show somebody but I couldn’t figure out who! And then, you know, I thought about-”

I wretched.

“-you! Because you really like those, umm, those horror movies; Cronenberg movies, the ones with the body horror and all the blood and guts and shit, y'know? It just made sense. I don’t know, I guess I should have expected you to react like that. The first time I saw it… I mean it was like-”

I gasped for air, but the air here wasn't exactly clean. I realized just what the smell was: blood, piss, shit, every disgusting scent a human body could produce blended together into an overwhelming mist. It coated everything. It was on me now, too.

“-well, it wasn’t much better than you. But I got used to it eventually! You can too. I get that this is insane but I actually want your help with this. You get me right?" Tim stood there, waiting for me to respond.

It was a while before I could speak in complete sentences again. Tim helped me into a chair and brought me a glass of water. The glass was dirty, of course, and the water was lukewarm. It tasted faintly bitter. I still drank it.

“Okay,” I mumbled, “I get what this thing is, but why would you even keep it? Why would you bring it into your home? Why not just call the cops and forget it ever happened?”

Tim leaned on the wall beside the bedroom door, absentmindedly staring at the bag on his bed. He’d spent quite a while placing the spilled organs back into it. Now all that was left was the liquid viscera and vomit puddle.

Tim paused, then spoke, “I think that I found this thing for a reason. I don’t want to just give it away for nothing. I mean, think about it: proof of the supernatural gets dropped right in front of me. Do you expect me to just hand that over to the nearest fed? No fucking way.”

“‘Supernatural?’ Is that what this is?” I asked.

“What other word is there? What explanation could you give for this?”

“Fair enough.” I took another sip of bitter water.

“All my life I’ve been waiting for something like this,” Tim continued, “not exactly this, but just something to prove that there’s really something more than this.” Tim spread his arms out for emphasis. “And now it’s in front of me—in front of us, waiting for us to figure out what it all means!”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Well,” Tim averted his gaze, “I dunno. But I feel like two people are better than one for this. I can tell you're grossed out, but I know that you get how I feel. I mean, aren’t you curious? I let you in on this, the least you could do is help me with it.”

I sighed, “Yeah, of course I’m curious."

Tim nodded.

"I’ll help you, if I don't have to go too far out of my way, for it. If this turns out to be dangerous I’m leaving and I’m probably gonna report it to the police.”

"good enough." Tim grinned, flashing his yellow teeth.

Tim and I stayed silent as I finished my glass of water. I stood slowly, but realized too late that I was still unsteady. I stumbled, and nearly fell over, catching myself on the nearby wall.

“Woah! You alright?” Tim rushed to me. “How do you feel?”

“I feel okay, sorry.” I said, “I’m still woozy I guess. Could you help me to my car? I think I’ve had enough of this for today. You can tell me all about your plans for this thing tomorrow at work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Tim mumbled.

With his arm on my back, Tim guided me towards his bedroom door. I thanked him. Despite everything that had happened today, I didn’t find myself liking Tim much less. I felt like I understood him just a little bit more. That was something to be glad about, probably. I turned my head towards him.

I was sprawled on the ground. My nose was throbbing in pain. Sparks clouded my vision. Tim stood over me, fist clenched.

“Sorry about that.” He said as he bent down and gripped my ankles, dragging me back down the hallway into his room.

I tried to struggle. Every movement I made felt slow. My brain was clouded. My muscles were too weak.

“Don’t struggle. I dosed your water with sleeping pills, and that plus the concussion makes you pretty much completely helpless.”

I was dragged over the pile of viscera to the foot of the bed. The bag was sitting open only inches away. I could feel the warm wetness seeping into my clothes, getting caught in my hair. I could feel it staining my skin. It tingled where it touched me. I wanted to scream. Maybe I did.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me out with this. It was hard to think of people in my life that absolutely nobody would miss, so I appreciate what you're doing for me here."

I tried to ask 'why?' But my mouth didn't cooperate. I groaned. Tim seemed to understand, anyways.

“Well, I had an idea a while ago: I can take body parts out of the bag, but I don’t know what happens if I try to put new ones in. So I needed a person for that.” Tim paused. “You probably think that’s crazy; you don’t know the bag like I do. I said it found me for a reason, didn’t I? I have a connection to it. I know what I’m doing here.”

Tim removed my shoes, then my socks. He grabbed my pants and began to pull. I kicked him in the sternum, and he keeled over, wheezing. I turned onto my stomach and tried to crawl away. My hands slid on the bile pool. I flailed helplessly, reaching for anything to grab onto.

I felt Tim grab my ankle again from behind, then the leg of my pants. I couldn’t see him as he began to strip me. I screamed. He stomped on my back, knocking the air out of my lungs, and smashing my face into the pool of black slime below me.

“Stop struggling.” Tim said.

He sat on my back and pulled my shirt off. I couldn’t resist him. Tears ran down my cheeks. He stopped when I was left in only my underwear.

“That should be enough.” Tim said, swiping the sweat from his forehead.

I felt him grab my foot, and then I felt something slimy graze my toe. Then I felt something pulling.

“It’s working!” I could hear him laughing at me.

It took only a few minutes for the bag to consume me all the way up to my waist. Every time I tried to free myself, Tim hit me again. I didn’t stop trying. I was openly sobbing, and Tim had given up on trying to tell me to stop struggling. My entire lower half was covered in it. That awful black bile. That shit, that waste. I felt the mass of flesh pressing on me from every angle. It stained my skin. It left burning marks. I nearly vomited again as I felt fingers sliding past my crotch. Tim gripped my shoulder and pushed me in further, and before long I was almost fully enveloped.

I could see the zipper teeth encroaching on the edges of my vision. The light of the apartment shrank away. The darkness was collapsing in on me. Restraining my arms, so I couldn’t fight. Pressing on my chest, so I couldn’t breathe. Caressing me. Gripping me tightly. Taking me away. Eventually, I couldn’t see a thing. All I could do was feel as the flesh crushed me, and the mouth swallowed me. I couldn’t scream anymore, my voice had died in my throat. I couldn’t throw up or cry anymore, I had nothing left to expel.

I closed my eyes and prayed.