Trip.

By Benjamin Thierfelder

Daniel Woldt is a burn-out loser with nothing to live for and even less to lose. He drowns himself in a world of drugs until, one day, his friend brings over a mysterious new drug called 'Trip.' Daniel takes the drug and has the wildest night of his life.

But the Trip doesn't end.

Soon the fun visions and entertaining hallucinations swirl into a surreal nightmare of his own making. Fueled by his own feelings of hopelessness, guilt, rage and self-loathing, Daniel becomes trapped in an unending bad trip. With the help of his wary but devoted ex lover Mandy, Daniel embarks on a journey to discover the mysterious, and shocking, origins of trip in a vain hope to make the nightmare end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Thierfelder
• Release date: May 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310909641

Book preview

Introduction

Jesus Christ when will it be over? Daniel asked aloud. He laid on his back, his eyes focused on the spinning fan above. A thin translucent contrail followed in each of the blades wake like a propeller in cold wintery water. His room was completely dark except for the sooty brown light streaming in through is blinds. The lights pulsed rhythmically to the music as his head spun in pace with the throbbing beat.

Music?

The fuck? Daniel coughed as he sat up in bed, his messy, sweat-soaked sheets tangled about his legs. Where’s the music coming from? He listened carefully and recognized the steady kick drum of The Sisters Of Mercy’s Neverland pulsing through his walls. Shit. I must of left the stereo on. He pushed himself off his bed and ambled toward the door. These memory holes are getting real old, man. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open and was blinded by a bright, fiery yellow light.

Daniel held his hands to his eyes and stepped through the door, confused. The music was loud now, and he could hear Peter Murphy croon They are coming down. in his smooth baritone voice. The filthy light finally faded from his eyes and he found himself in his tiny living room. No, not tiny, it was huge! The size of a small club. The floor was shrouded in a thin but bitter smoke and the walls were painted yellow with that filthy light. On his wall just above his stereo there was an inverted crucifix with what looked like fire blazing inside.

Jesus Christ. He muttered to himself as he looked around. There were people everywhere. He must have invited all his friends over in his narcotic haze, except nobody here was his friend. They were all strangers. No, not just strangers. They were tall, thin painted creatures with dark clothing and smooth, wet featureless skin. Their faces were blank swirls of acrylic skin, their hair dripping rivers of black India Ink. They spoke in a hushed wallah, their words indecipherable.

But we will never never land. Peter Murphy finished, his watery voice rising above the din of wonky murmurs.

Okay, this isn’t fun anymore. Daniel said to himself as he strolled through the strange crowd. Hey guys can you turn off the music? I’m having a bad trip. No one answered him, or even acknowledged him. Hello? Anybody know where I can find Anthony? He gave me this new drug called Trip and I’ve been seeing shit for days, man! I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Nothing. Daniel looked past a pair of painted people at his window and noticed it was completely black. He strolled over and put his hand on it. It felt cool and damp against his skin. He tried to look closely through the shadowy pane but realized there was nothing outside but blackness. Then, above the music and the murmurs he heard a voice.

Repent! Repent and in Jesus you will find peace! Shouted a man somewhere further in his living room. Daniel waded through the weird people toward the voice. Every time he touched one they left a gray or black stain on his clothing, and when he did touch one they stopped whatever they were doing, turned their heads and stared at him with their blank faces. Daniel shivered and pushed forward. He felt hot and cold and damp and dry all at the same time. Repent! Daniel finally came upon the man, a tall, thin African American preacher in a black priests shirt and color, his face withered and pinched around his mouth like a prune. His eyes were solid white orbs and he stared blankly forward as he spoke, the Bible held aloft his in his left hand as he pointed with his right. Repent, for you have sinned against God, against Love, against Mother Earth, against progress, against your womb and your heart! You are a siiiiner. Sssssinnner. He hissed the words like a snake, his finger pointing accusingly at Daniel.

Daniel shook his head and drifted backwards away from the preacher, thoroughly unnerved.

I can offer you salvation! I can release you from your sin and your pain! Free me, Daniel! Free me and you will be free yourself! I am God. I am Jesus. I am Buddha. I am the way. I am the light. I am the shadow. I am the darkness unto heaven and the brilliance of hell. Come to me! Come to me! Come to me!

Fuck this! Daniel ran back to his room, which was now right behind him. He opened his door and walked inside but he was no longer in his room but a large dark hallway. The hallway looked decrepit and gutted, the walls were broken plywood to show the rotten dark wood and artery-like maze of rusted black pipes beneath. Spiderwebs were everywhere, and the only light came from a single light bulb above. Daniel walked down the hallway but it seemed to stretch on and then turn and wind. The pipes leaked what looked like rust-saturated water or blood, and he could hear the moan and screams of people on the other sides of the walls. They banged and screamed and pleaded in muffled voices. He heard a scraping sound behind himself and turned around to see a tall, thin emaciated man with no hair and dead yellow eyes. He was naked and his skin was ashen from malnutrition and ridden with sores and cuts. He was covered with blood. The man held out what looked like a metal pipe and jabbed it against the wooden wall with a loud thunk. It scowled a toothless grin and slowly shambled toward Daniel, the pipe scraping against the wood as he went. Daniel screamed and ran forward until he came to what looked like the door to his bathroom. Without thinking he charged through headfirst and fell into a heap on the ground.

Daniel was not in his bathroom, though. He was in his bedroom this time, except it was huge like his living room. Wide yet thin, fresh blue sunlight beamed in him windows high above, though the back wall and floor were still shrouded in early morning shadow. There was something huge against his back wall, something made of dark stone and carved like some ancient statue. That filthy yellow light flickered inside and the statue came to life. It was a monster; five faces stacked upon one another carved in gray Indian stone. Each face had a mouth and a pair of eyes that glowed yellow from the fire behind it. Long thin tentacle like protrusions extended from the sides of the faces and formed the frame of a deep fire pit that flanked each side of the statue.

The pits roared to life as fire sprouted up through the bottom and lined his whole room. Daniel watched the whole scene, shocked and weary. Within the fire he noticed strange shadowy forms, bizarre creatures of incomprehensible shapes and sizes, writhe, embrace, fuck and fight one another in some strange alien dance he could not process. Daniel felt something wet and warm run down his cheek and his ran his hand across his face and pulled it away. Blood. His nose was bleeding.

Free me. A voice echoed in his head. It was genderless and void of any dialect or even language. It was pure and clear and transcendently clean. Free me and I will free you from your torment, Daniel Woldt. Free me. Daniel’s head throbbed but he felt a strange sense of peace, and he looked up to see a cloud of butterflies descend from the ceiling above. His eyes rolled up into his heads and he felt himself fall backwards onto his bed. It was wet and warm and inviting. He closed his eyes and felt sleep grab hold of him and pull him into its warm, womb-like caul.

Free me Daniel Woldt and I can free you.

Part One

Spiders

Chapter One

When the light turns green, you go. When the light turns red, you stop. But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots? Daniel heard the sound of his own voice echoing the old Shel Silverstein line from A Light In The Attic. He was dreaming, not a dream of images or thought but simply that line repeated over and over in his head like a broken record. Daniel lain sprawled out and sleeping soundly on his dirty yellow mattress. The alarm screamed at him to get up but he was too hung over to hear it through the narcotic fog.

Afternoon sunlight peeked through the thin plastic window shades, bathing his room in a reverent white glow. White streaks of light danced across a valley of empty soda cans and greasy white paper plates that were dotted with red stains and rotting food. Those same streaks snaked across dog-eared porno magazines and CD cases. It slowly slithered its way up the dull brown entertainment center and black dust-caked television screen. The sunbeams moved along the powder blue walls where a thin film of grease and smoke silently glittered in the noble light. The light finally made its way to the slowly spinning ceiling fan above and showered choppy strobes of light down upon the slumbering 33 year old. The alternating currents of flashing light finally did the job, and after a few restless turns, Daniel finally began to stir.

Daniel let out a harsh, dry cough followed by a low groan. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and turned away, but the choppy light seeped through the creases of skin. He swallowed hard and smacked his lips together, tasting the bitterness of his mouth. Daniel peeped one eye open and looked up at the spinning fan.

Ffffucking fan. he grunted with contempt. Daniel coughed again, hard, then felt a pressure in his stomach that slowly rose to his throat. Fuuuck. he muttered to himself and clamped his jaw shut. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and opened his mouth to vomit. A sickly green-yellow line of bile splashed onto the ground below him. He stared down at the disgusting pile with dull bewilderment. What the hell did I eat? He asked himself was he watched a single strand of spittle dangle from the tip of his lip. He wiped it away and sat up, the bones in his back and joints cracked. He looked around the room and finally noticed the screeching alarm clock.

Shut up! he yelled and slapped at it with a limp wrist. It took two or three clumsy smacks to shut the machine off, and he slunk back to his sitting position and stared numbly at the blue wall before him. What the hell happened to me?

Daniel suddenly remembered the drug, trip, and looked over at the empty vial just a foot away. He reached over and picked it up and looked at the thing in a beam of silvery white light. The glass blazed with the light's reflection, but he noticed that a very small amount of the fluid had settled at the bottom. He brought it close and took a whiff. It smelled awful; like a cross between shit and rotten old food.

What is this shit? he asked himself. He brought it in for a closer look, his dark blue eye just inches from the glass. It had a dark caramel color like whiskey, but in the afternoon light he could see small specks of something floating around in there. There was no solid shape or consistency, and to him, they seemed to be floating around on their own, their movements not with but against the fluid.

Weird. he said to himself as he put it down on his cluttered nightstand.

Daniel sat back on his heels and tried to think about the nights before. He remembered his friend Anthony came over and said he had a new experimental drug to try. Military grade shit. He remembered thinking why not? He was bored of the other drugs anyways. Weed, meth, molly, acid, shrooms, wet... he tried just about everything at least once. Sure they felt good, and the highs were great, but in the end he was always left hanging and wanting more. Daniel didn't want to be Daniel anymore, and while he could escape being Daniel for a few hours here and there, in the end he always ended up as himself; a washed up burnout loser with nothing to show for himself. Anthony promised this was going to be the best and longest high yet. How could he turn down an offer like that?

Daniel closed his eyes and tried to recall more. He remembered the two of them oogling the small brown vial four or five nights ago while trying to figure out how to use the stuff. They dipped marijuana joints into it and tries smoking it. Nothing happened. Anthony tried drinking some but it was so nasty he spat it out. He tried chasing it with Mountain Dew next and still couldn't keep it down. They tried chasing a little bit of it with tin foil and a lighter and, again, nothing happened. The two were frustrated. There was only one thing left to do. Daniel broke out a syringe and injected the fluid right into his veins.

Daniel hissed through his teeth and exhaled. I injected some of this unknown shit into my fucking veins? How could I be so fucking stupid? He growled at himself. As if to punctuate the point he felt a dull throb of pain in his right arm. He looked down to see a tiny trail of dried blood, now blackened with time, set against an ugly purple bruise. It looked infected. Daniel fell back against his bed and stared up at the ceiling fan, which still painted waves of choppy light over his messy room. His head spun with the fan so he closed his eyes and ran his hands through his light brown hair. The acrid scent of regurgitated pizza rolls stung his nose and he remembered the vomit on the ground. He looked over and he saw half a dozen small white maggots squirming around in the mess. They looked bloated and quivered as they scrambled over the half-digested chunks of food.

Jesus Christ! he cried out loud. He grabbed a crumpled piece of paper towel and scooped them onto a paper plate along with the rest of the mess. He deposited it into the filthy trash bin next to his desk. Daniel covered his mouth as he looked down at the basket. God, how did they get there so fast? He looked back at the spot, now a thin yellow stain on the lacquered wood floor. Must of crawled off something else.

Daniel pushed off the wall and flicked the light switch. He half expected to see more of the little creatures squirming around his room but there was none.

I gotta clean this place. he muttered to himself. He looked back over his shoulder at the waste basket one last time. No wonder I can't get any girls. As an afterthought he quickly cleaned up his room, throwing out the paper plates and putting the magazines and CD's away. It only looked nominally cleaner but was good enough for him. Daniel rubbed his face and realized he was still glazed in a thin film of sticky sweat. Need a shower. He said to himself. That will help get this fucking fog out of my brain.

Daniel walked into his tiny bathroom and shut the door. If his bedroom was like a pigsty his bathroom was the exact opposite; a plain white sterile box with no remarkable features. The toilet, sink and bathtub were made of the same cheap off-white ceramic. Minus a crack here or a chip there they were practically indistinguishable from one another. The walls were painted white with only a few chunks missing to show the brown base coat beneath it. The floor was made of chipped white tiles that ran up the wall a good three feet or so. Even his towel and toothbrush were white.

Daniel flipped open the toilet lid with aloud clang and unzipped his fly. He let out a low grunt as piss exploded into the toilet. He sighed with relief and arched backwards and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he noticed a crack growing in his ceiling slowly spreading from corner toward the light fixture in the center. He shook his bleary head, gave it two shakes and cleaned off the lid of the toilet with a sheet of toilet paper. Daniel looked down and saw the flat white sheet of paper swim around in the yellow liquid. At first he thought it was just the movement of the water but then the sheet of paper swam around in strange jerky movements, the edges flapping up and down like the edges of manta ray. He watched it twirl and make loop-de-loops before reaching over and flushing the toilet.

That was weird. Whatever. He said to himself. Daniel stepped in front of his mirror and slowly undressed. He tossed his dirty AC/DC shirt into the white plastic hamper and looked at himself in the mirror. Tall and thin, he was your prototypical drug user. His body was wiry and his muscles were knobby bulges. His skin held a light brown summer tan that barely hid the road map of thick veins that ran up and down his arms. His dyed dirty-blonde hair was thinning near the crown but thankfully free of bald spots and receding hairlines. Daniel ran his big thick hands over his long thin face and stared back at his blue eyes, his only attractive feature. Too bad people were too busy staring at the pockmarks and stubborn red zits to notice. He wasn't ugly, really, but he wasn't good looking either. Just a normal guy. The kind of guy you would pass on the street without looking back. Daniel rubbed his fast and noticed that one of his teeth were lose.

How the fuck did this happen? he asked himself as he reached inside his mouth and yanked on it. It came free easily and left a long blood-streaked trail of saliva in its wake. God did I hit my head or something? He looked at the tooth for a moment, shrugged, and put it in his pocket.

Daniel sighed and got in the shower. He yanked on the hot water and hit the showerhead valve. A blast of cold water sent shivers up and down his spine, but mercifully the hot water kicked in shortly afterward. Daniel washed his hair then stood there in the shower for a long while, his head pressed against the wall. Water dripped down from his mouth and lips in long ropy strands, and he spit every few seconds to get the taste of selenium out of his mouth.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? he asked aloud. When will this shit end? I gotta get myself straight. I can't do this shit anymore. I can't be... he stopped. ... A nobody. Above the light seemed to brighten in the room and he slowly looked up. Probably just an after effect of the drug. He said to himself. That kind of shit is normal. Then he noticed something move in the shower head.

He thought he was just seeing things at first. Maybe it was just the drug playing with his mind? Or maybe a trick of the light from the water running down his eyes? He stared up at the shower head and saw movement again, something small and black wiggled around between the streams of water.

What the fuck? Daniel asked himself. He pressed against the wall to take a closer look. Nothing. He backed away and saw it again. This time it looked like something poked out one of the holes and waggled back and forth before retreating back inside, like a tiny worm or caterpillar. No way. I'm still tripping. That's all. Daniel turned away and stared forward, his heart thumping in his chest. Calm down, dude. Calm down. Freaking out is the last thing you want to do... He took a deep breath and counted to twenty, and just when he thought he was in the clear, he felt something touch his back.

It was light at first, like a piece of string bumping against your skin. Except the bump became a crawl as he felt movement up his back. Something tiny tickled his skin and he cried out and slapped at his back. He felt it move up his shoulder and looked over in horror as a giant black centipede, almost a foot in length and as thick as his pinky finger, crawled down his shoulder and chest, tickling his nipple with its tiny black legs. Daniel screamed and brushed it off him with his left hand. The centipede fell to the ground like a limp length of rope. He tried to stomp on it with his left foot and nearly slipped. Daniel threw out his arms and caught himself as the centipede slithered past him and down the shower drain.

Daniel stared down in horror for a long while, his breathing hard and erratic. His heart pounded so fast his whole chest ached.

Oh... my god... he huffed. ... Did that just... fucking... happen? He looked up at the shower head for more movement but only water came out. It was cold now. He slowly turned it off and took a closer look. There was no way that thing could have squeezed through one of those holes. It musta been smaller than I thought.

Or it wasn't real at all. He thought to himself. You're probably still tripping, dude.

Yeah I probably am. He said to himself. This is what you get for doing stupid shit. he dried himself up and threw on a fresh white t-shirt and black jeans.

Don't worry man. All you got to do is ride it out like every bad trip. He sat down on his bed and took in a deep breath. All I gotta do is sit back and relax. It will all be over soon.

Daniel opened the door to his bedroom and stepped in, but he found himself standing to the side of his bed instead of in front of it. Confused, he looked behind himself and saw that door leading the living room was now at his back, not the bathroom.

The hell? he asked aloud. Outside he heard his wind-chime shimmer and the blinders of his window wafted up and forward in a long arcing wave. The motion sent waves of choppy morning light across the room. Between the stabbing rays of light he thought he saw himself sitting on the edge of the bed shooting up. The bruise on his arm ached and he reflexively put his hand up to grab it.

Inside. A hissing voice said from somewhere. Daniel jumped up, startled, and looked around.

Who the fuck? he asked aloud.

You. It said this time. Daniel shook for a second and then let out a nervous laugh.

Your still hallucinating, dumb ass. Chill the fuck out. He put on his socks and shoes. Now let’s get out of here before things get any stranger.

Things did get stranger. A lot stranger. Daniel opened his door to his living room and stepped into a huge medical office. It was tall and lofty with bright blue sunlight beaming down from above, just like in his room the night before. Wooden tables and desks were filled with piles of books and yellowed scraps of paper. Medical equipment beeped and glowed blue in the dim shadowy corners. Daniel turned his head and gasped. He saw an enormous square glass tank filled with a dull pink fluid. Inside the tank he saw himself, naked, his skin pink and wrinkled like a fetus. He was bald and his eyes were puffy and closed. A long ribbed umbilical cord connected him at the belly to a large pulsing fleshy sac at the back of the tank. Little specks of skin and flesh floated in the amniotic bath.

Daniel stared horrified at his fetal self for a long while, not realizing that there was a wild eyed woman standing next to him. The man, a tall willowy doctor with tight gray hair and pale brown eyes, looked over at him with a wide grin, her teeth yellow from years of drinking coffee. She looked like his mother.

He’s beautiful, isn’t he? The doctor said. Daniel said nothing. I’ve grown him in this lab for thirty three years. He’ matured into a full adult without ever leaving his tank. He knows nothing beyond the glass. He spends most of the time dreaming but sometimes he is awake too. He’s a curious thing, my boy. He’s even begun exploring his body and pleasuring himself. He is so happy. She said in wonder. Daniel looked sideways at her and realized she no longer looked like his mother but every girl who’s ever cared for him. He’s in paradise, you know? Safe in his womb. I protect him. I keep him safe. He get’s everything he can possibly need. He’s ignorant to the world so he knows no pain and suffering. All he knows is contentment. My baby.

God. He groaned and backed away. She watched him go with intense eyes, her face flickering between his mother, aunt, cousins and ex-girlfriends. Why. Wont. It. Stop! he screamed the words and the whole world shook around him. The world became a blur and when it stopped shaking he found himself standing at the foot of his bed again, his eyes trained on the small empty vial on his nightstand. He felt a calm lucidity slip over him and wash away the anxiety and uncomfortable uneasiness that had slowly crept up his spine since he woke up. For the first time in days he felt sober. Thank God. At least its finally over.

Chapter Two

Shaken, Daniel opened his door and walked into his living room. Blue light poured in through the windows and bathed the room in a comforting afternoon glow. His television sat there quietly in the dark right across from a pea-green wing back chair. Behind the chair was a low dark coffee table filled with more paper plates, dusty piles of weed ash, empty soda bottles and a trio of tall colorful bongs. A dirty yellow couch was set against the wall with two tall brass lamps that flanked it on either side. Daniel strode through the dancing flecks of dust into a small kitchen with small dark cabinets, a bulky white fridge and a sink full of dirty dishes

.

Daniel paused and quickly thumbed through the lightly-stained china ware to make sure there were no more maggots crawling around in there. Satisfied, he opened his fridge and looked inside. The white interior was tinted yellow by a thick layer of grease, its color exaggerated by the humming interior light. The white plastic trays were dotted with dark splotches of dried General Tsao's sauce and tomato chunks. The fridge was mostly empty save for a half-empty milk carton, a barren box of Miller Lite Beer, half a dozen tupper ware containers with week-old left-overs and a paper plate that had a stack of hard, crusty pizza slices. Daniel reached in and pulled out the milk, grabbed a box of Honey Oat Cheerios and then retrieved the cleanest bowl and spoon he could find and walked over to his wing back chair.

Daniel set all the breakfast items onto a wooden TV dinner tray that was caked in a thin layer of gray ash and plopped down in his seat. A white cloud of settled marijuana ash poofed up and then dissipated into the air. Daniel dug under his ass and pulled out the bulky gray television remote and turned on the TV. He flicked over to a channel playing old Hanna Barbara cartoons and assembled his breakfast. He noticed the milk had a sour smell to it but it wasn't bad enough to make him stop eating. Daniel watched the Jetson's scamper across space with dull interest, just grateful to have something distract him for the time being. The centipede kept creeping back into his mind, and each time he saw the thing slither down the drain he made a sour face. He ate another spoonful then spat it out. It tasted real sour. He looked down and noticed curdles of milk floating around in his bowl.

Fucking gross! Daniel yelled. He had to stop himself from flipping the TV tray over. He scooped up the bowl in his hands and ran over into the sink and dumped it out. The clumpy white stuff clung to the side of the bowl for a moment before falling into the garbage disposal. He felt a hard knot in his stomach and bent over just in time to vomit his breakfast into the sink. Amidst the cluster of soggy white cheerios he saw a puddle of gray milk with knobby white curds floating on top. He numbly stared down at the rotten milk for a moment and then washed it away with water. Daniel spun around and leaned back against the counter on his hands. There is no way he would have eaten rotten milk like that. No way. I must still be seeing shit. he said to himself. Keep cool, bro. Keep cool.

Daniel shakily returned to his chair and sat down again. His stomach grumbled and his head ached. He was still hungry and thirsty but after that there was no way he was ready to eat something else. He tried watching the TV again. Now the Flintstones were at a drive in theater, a tiny pterodactyl squawked at them as they stuffed bags of popcorn into their mouths. He felt even hungrier now. Daniel patted his stomach as gurgled.

Hold on there. Let me level out a bit first. he cooed to it. His tummy responded with another irritable burble. Daniel sunk into the chair and watched the rest of the episode. His thumb tap-tap-tapped the controller to turn the volume up and down to compensate for the constant change in the pitch and timbre of television, another side effect of the drug. He also noticed the colors grew brighter and more vivid, only to darken the next moment. He glanced around the room to see that everything had a surreal, painted look. Like he was in an M.C. Escher painting. One wall, an empty expanse between his television and basement, had a brilliant golden glow to it.

Da... Da... Dani... Daniel... A cool, calm voice said from the wall. Daniel regarded the will with an irritated-yet-amused look.

Oookay. Definitely still tripping. He sighed to himself. God when is this shit gonna end?

Daniel reached down the side of the chair and grabbed the three-day old newspaper that was slumped on the ground next to him. Trying to ignore the strange sounds and colors around him he thumbed through the paper to the help wanted section. He scanned down the job postings to look for something that might fit him. A receptionist? He barely knew how to use a computer. A mechanic? Nope. Sales Associate? Sure, until they find out he was fired from FYE for stealing CD's and smoking pot in the back room on his breaks. Still, it was worth a shot. And even if he didn't get it he could tell his unemployment representative that at least tried to get a job. And as a bonus he could get his parents off his ass about finding a new job.

Of course they didn't seem to care that he was laid off, not fired, from his telemarketing position, and that the market is so bad even college graduates can't find a new career. Still, as long as he at least tried they wouldn't jump on him so bad. Daniel heaved his shoulders with an exaggerated shrug and copied down the information. As he scribbled the phone number and address of the department store into a clean sheet of paper towel he heard a strange sound coming from the vents.

Daniel paused and looked up. The scraping sound returned again, a dry scratchy sound of something being dragged across a metal surface.

Just the AC. he said dismissively, and the pen bounced between his thumb and pointer finger again. He heard the scrapping sound again, this time a hurried scuttle that stopped periodically and returned to the long dragging of before. There was no pattern, rhyme or reason to the sounds. I'm just hearing shit. he said, but there was a nervous tone in his voice. Come on this shit better wear off soon. He tried ignoring that weird sound until a low warbling coo floated out from the vents, like a pigeon being drowned. Okay what the fuck is that? Daniel stood up and walked over to the vent and looked inside.

It was pitch black inside but he could see movement somewhere down the shaft. The odd noises continued for a few moments then faded as whatever it was that was making it moved away from him. Daniel tore himself away and sat down in his chair again, listening for that sound. It was gone now, or at least too quiet to register.

It's in your head, dude. Stop being a spazz. he told himself. He laid his head back against the chair and stared up at the cracked white ceiling. He swore the roof was throbbing in and out, like the house was breathing.

Daniel closed his eyes and squared his jaw, trying to remain calm. He was definitely in a bad place. He was let go from his job four months before, followed by his girlfriend dumping him two weeks after that. Daniel never felt comfortable with himself, and after spending three years trying out different classes he dropped out of college. Nothing seemed to interest him. He was your typical unmotivated underachiever, taking whatever shitty job he could to support himself. Jobs that led him nowhere. He wanted to be a rock star when he was young, but after a decade playing musical chairs with band members he could barely get a gig, much less a record deal or a touring slot with some more famous band to get their names out. Nope, Daniel Woldt was a loser through and through, and at 33 he was starting to feel the crushing guilt and disappointment of letting his youth slip away in a haze of drug abuse and halfhearted stabs at fame. No wonder he was having such a bad trip.

Daniel sat there quietly for a long while trying not to let his depression overcome him. A loud banging in his basement stirred him from his ruminations.

What the fuck now? he moaned. He listened carefully and heard some more scrapping sounds beneath him. "What. The. Fuck. Is. That? he asked aloud. Against his better judgment (he was still tripping after all), he decided to check it out. Daniel headed for his basement stairs and paused at the door. He placed his ear against the dark wood and listened again. Nothing except the raspy huffing of the AC unit. He slowly opened the door and looked down into the yawning maw. An abyss of shadows saturating everything beyond the first ten steps. This is, like, the worst fucking idea ever." he said to himself. Daniel sucked in his breath and descended the stairs.

The basement is probably the worst place to go when you’re tripping, and Daniel's basement was no exception. Dark creaky wooden stairs and walls swollen from the cool