Episode 18: Latent

On WhatsApp, no one can see or hear your personal messages, whether it's a voice call message or sending a password to WhatsApp. It's all just this. So whether you're sharing the streaming password in the family chat. We're trading those late night voice messages that could basically become a podcast. Your personal messages stay between you, your friends, and your family. No one else. Not even us. WhatsApp. Message privately with everyone.

Not all meals are created equal. For instance, breakfast has the spicy egg McMuffin for a limited time, and lunch doesn't. McDonald's breakfast comes first. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba. Ryan Reynolds here from Mint Mobile. With the price of just about everything going up, we thought we'd bring our prices. So to help us, we brought in a reverse auctioneer, which is apparently a thing.

at mintmobile.com slash switch. Upfront payment of $45 for three-month plan equivalent to $15 per month required. New customer offer for first three months only. Speed slow after 35 gigabytes if network's busy. Taxes and fees extra. See mintmobile.com. Someone Just Like You is a horror series. We frequently feature unsettling depictions of modern life. Check the show notes for episode specific content warnings. listener discretion is advised my fingers bend backward and beg me please

Let us write a story for them. Let us peel back their skin to reveal the horror lurking beneath. Pain that feels all too familiar. Torment that hits too close to home. This isn't an alternate dimension. This isn't a liminal realm or a divergent timeline. These horrors are here and now. This could happen to... Someone just like you.

It's the silence that does it. That clues me into the fact that something is terribly, terribly wrong. Our hospitals are noisy places. If you've had the good fortune to never spend time in one, you may not realize just how true that is. Up until quite recently, I counted myself among that lucky and ignorant number. For the uninitiated who believe that hospitals, or at least the recovery wards of hospitals, are quiet and restful, I must disabuse you of that notion.

There's the bustle of nurses as they make their rounds, the rubber soles of their tennis shoes squeaking on linoleum floors, the beep of their pagers alerting them to the next emergency. which is sometimes followed by the frantic pounding of feet as every available person descends upon a room down the hall for what can only be a blue coat event. There is the wheeling of hospital beds through the halls.

issuing a low, dull roar as they pass by. There are the visiting family members who talk a bit too loudly on the phone. These calls are sometimes to other loved ones. surprising them of any updates on the situation. Other times, these calls are to colleagues or business partners, because God forbid a medical emergency throws a wrench into the gears of the capitalist machine.

There are the slow, measured footsteps of fellow patients, muted thanks to standard-issue gripper socks as they take their scheduled turns about the hallways. The doctors can't have your blood clotting now. Not after all the fuss of saving your life. So up you get, taking your walks through hallways painted in a shade somewhere between eggshell and beige. These are, of course, the sounds of the daytime.

Not even distracting in their noisiness, just ever-present. A low hum playing in the background of everything. But there's noise in the nighttime, too. The occasional sound of nurses entering a room to administer medication or check vitals. But mostly, when everything else subsides and grows still, the night belongs to the sound of machines. At least, it does for me. My heart rate monitors steady, beating rhythm. The chirps from an IV stand. Or, in my case, stands. Plural.

Why they chirp, I cannot remember. A nurse explained it to me as I was still coming down from the stupor of general anesthesia. And I retained about as much of that information as you'd expect. There's the occasional ding from the pulse oximeter clamped lightly around my finger. Why that makes noise, I'm also not sure. Probably something useful, but I can't help but think it's just a reminder not to rip it off.

One of the few apparatus that I could actually remove with ease. And if you're extra lucky like me, there's both the sound and feeling of suction. as a nasogastric tube siphoned stomach bile out through my nose and into a walnut. Displayed next to the bed like a mockery of a trophy. But that's beside the point. My point is that there is always, always noise in a hospital. Even in the quietest hours of the night, there is never true silence. At least...

There's not supposed to be. I'm not sure how long it takes me to realize it. I've spent most of the past four days in a state of consciousness that I can only describe as hazy. No food and little sleep will do that to you. Between the trauma that my body inflicted upon me which landed me here in the first place and the trauma that the doctors inflicted upon me to save my life.

I haven't been sleeping much. And whenever I do drift off, it is a fitful, uneasy thing. So when I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself not in the usual noisy quiet... But in true silence, it takes me a while to register the absolute lack of sound. The suction from the NG tube provides the first sign.

I feel the sensation deep in my throat, as I've grown accustomed to in the last few days. I see the dark bile travel through the tube on its way to the receptacle on the wall. This happens a few times before I clock that... No sound accompanies the feeling. No telltale slurp as gastric juices exit my body in reverse of both biology and the laws of gravity.

Next, I turn my head to the various monitors that note my vitals, proving that I'm still alive. Sure enough, the lime green peaks of the heart monitor reveal a steady rhythm, but there are no beeps to go with them. I listen harder now. Maybe temporary deafness is a side effect of my treatment that everyone forgot to mention? I think I hear my heartbeat, but...

That could just be my imagination, fed by blood pounding in my ears. On the heart monitor, my pulse quickens a little, the distance between those mountaintops shrinking ever so slightly. The next oddity to catch my notice is the shadows shifting on the wall in front of me. They're cast by tree branches lit from behind by a streetlight and projected through the slats of blinds that are...

quite closed. The past few days have been blustery, and this shadow puppet act is familiar, but the rush of wind, the rustle of branches nearly barren of their leaves, gone. In searching those shadows for an answer, my gaze falls on where they kiss the edge of the doorframe. I follow the clean vertical line down to the floor where... something blocks.

Part of the light creeping in beneath the closed door. As if someone were standing, flush against the other side. But the darkness that bleeds through the gap is too deep. both in hue and how far it reaches into the room. I blink once, twice. This wouldn't be the first time I've hallucinated something during my stay here in this bed.

But the not-bright shadow is still there, undulating slightly around the edges, like an amoeba inching itself along, taking out more and more of the floor. Moving closer.

toward the bed. I shake my head. It's probably just a nurse who paused outside my door to check a file or something. Hello? I ask. Relieved to hear the sound of my own voice, weak as it may be from lack of use. Is someone there? I think that maybe my question has broken this strange silence when two things happen at once.

First, a different, paler shadow passes quickly by my door, visible around the darker thing at its center. My time in this room tells me someone is wheeling a gurney down the hallway at a brisk pace.

Something that should be paired with the dull roar of wheels and the patter of hurried footsteps, but instead, that unnatural quiet. Second, As the probably-a-gurney casts its shadow through the gap in the threshold, the other thing, the darker thing, pushes deeper into the room, spreads further across the floor until it brushes the edge of the bed.

I know, even though I'm not looking at the monitor, that my heartbeat's geography on the screen has grown more crowded with mountains. Briefly, I entertained the notion of getting out of bed to investigate, but a whole host of reasons keep me beneath the blankets. On the practical end, any kind of movement is complicated at best.

Between the IVs, the NG tube, and the other less invasive things attached to me, moving requires hauling a supply closet's worth of equipment with me. There's also the matter of my... nearly fainting when I stood up earlier this afternoon. While several days without food has not manifested in hunger pangs, my body being too traumatized to even think about food,

Everywhere else outside my stomach has felt its absence, namely in my lack of energy and strength. Standing up might very well mean falling down, and nothing in that situation sounds appealing. On the less practical side of things, the child within me thinks that the covers will protect me from this boogeyman. Whatever it is. That and... memories of the game the floor is lava spring perplexingly to mind or in this case the flurry is darkness without any obvious source and it is definitely

Moving. Creeping up the side of the bed. Up the walls. Mingling with and obscuring the shadows of those still moving tree branches as they wave hello. Or goodbye, I think briefly, irrationally. Or maybe not so irrational. For the dark thing has crested the foot of the bed and is inching closer and closer to me. In the shrinking distance between me and it, I can see that my amoeba comparison is mostly accurate. Scuttling along, pulling its mass forward. Ever, ever forward.

A strange and potent cocktail of fear, curiosity, and disbelief holds me absolutely still. Which is why I don't think to pull my hand away before the... furthest edge of that darkness touches one of my fingertips, which rests above the blankets. A freezing chill and blistering heat as the shadow surges up my arm, reaching higher and higher still. Finally, I jerk away, jostling my IVs in a terrible jolt. I push myself farther up the bed, stretching my head away from that vile substance.

Either the unnatural silence has taken my voice at last, or my scream simply dies in my throat. Or maybe it's the bile that continues flowing out of me in suction bursts that prevents anything close to speech. In fact, that's how I picture the shadow, as it assaults me. Wave. of pitch black bile come to smother me blood rushes in my ears drowning everything in its perceived roar as i thrash and thrash fighting this thing as my world goes dark

Sweetheart. The muddied word reaches me as if through deep water. I barely understand it in my swelling panic. Sweetheart. My eyes snap open to daylight. and a concerned nurse looming over my face. My various monitors beep beside me and I hear the chatter of people just beyond my door. A bird chirps outside. And I even hear the low honk of a car horn somewhere on the street below. Relief washes over me. That was some dream you were having. Yeah. I say.

A little breathless. My body thrumming as adrenaline Irish goodbyes from my system. Just a dream. Just a dream. Well, I've got some good news. The doctor says that we've just got to run one last scan on you to make sure that they've patched you up properly. But if everything looks good, that means we can take this out today. She taps her nose, meaning my NG tube.

That will be so much better for you. Yeah. I say again, too weak and still reeling with the lingering effects of terror to properly rejoice. The relief when the doctor finally pulls the plastic tube out of my nose is pure intoxication. Despite the excess bile that spews out in the process, I grin, giddy with euphoria.

It is an emotional lightness unknown to me since before this whole debacle began. Not even the go-ahead from the doctors to slowly ease me back into food can match the bliss of having that thing out of my fucking face. I think the sheer potency of that relief is what delays my noticing it. The growing itch in my arm. The one the dark substance first touched in my dream.

I brush off the sensation in the beginning. The discomfort is fairly minor, truth be told. And at this point, my arms have rejected so many IVs that... one more irritating sensation barely phases me. At least, at first. I only spot it when I finally take a good look at my forearm after scratching it for the umpteenth time. For several days now, bruises have been blossoming beneath my skin. The result of those self-same rejected IVs. But beneath those shadowed patches...

I find something else. A dark, branching pattern. Somewhere deeper still in the flesh of my arm. I want to call those branches my veins and... Perhaps they are, but I should not be able to see them so clearly. Nor so many of them. And are those capillaries too? Those I know should be impossible to see with the naked eye. And yet, there they are. Impossibly dark.

My heart rate monitor sputters in a regular cry as I remember the thing from my dream. Pulling up the wide sleeve of my hospital gown, I find that the pattern continues even further up my arm. Fainter there, but still... very much present. And as I watch it, the darkness inches even closer to my shoulder, slowly splintering through me.

I fumble for the call button and smash it down. About a minute later, though it feels much longer, a nurse enters my room. Before he can say anything, I blurt out, I think something is wrong with my arm. He frowns. Oh no. Did one of your IV needles shift again? No. I say as he comes to my side. I think something's infected. I show him. Display the growing...

Jet black branches that stand out starkly against the power of my skin. But rather than the cry of alarm I expect, he simply tuts over the current placement of the IV. The bruising is unfortunate. And uncomfortable, I'm sure. But with small, deep veins like yours, the needle can move around sometimes. Or a lot of the time, in your case. But... I'm not seeing any signs of an infection.

And you've been on some heavy-duty antibiotics since before your surgery. So I don't think you need to worry about that. What? Let me see if we can get an ultrasound machine up here to find a vein in your upper arm. It'll be bigger. Which means it's more likely that the needle won't move out of place again. And with that, he's out the door before I can roll up my sleeve to show him the still creeping darkness beneath my skin.

An ultrasound technician comes and hunts down a less finicky vein in my upper arm. Sticks me with one of the longest needles I've ever seen in my life. And voila. An IV. Mostly. Guaranteed to never move. Problem solved according to every other nurse I see that day. No more trouble on that front. All my arm needs is time for the bruises to heal. And all the while...

The unnatural whatever-the-hell inside my veins spreads further and further throughout the day, somehow growing even darker in the process. A glance beneath my gown reveals that it's reached my shoulder. maybe even my neck, and yet no one else sees it. I mention growing pain in my shoulder, my neck, my diaphragm, aggravated by the slightest of movements.

The pain always located where I know those branches lengthened beneath my skin. In response, the nurses tell me that these are all unfortunate but common side effects of laparoscopic surgery. They give me more placid, sympathetic smiles. Provide offers to increase my painkiller dosage, all of which they follow with swift exits to tend to other patients.

By the time dusk rolls around, I've grown so agitated that I'm politely threatened with a sedative. Part of me wants it. The part of me that thinks that the physical trauma and compounding lack of sleep have broken some part of my brain to the point of delusion. But I can feel it now. I can feel it. inching through me not just as surface level irritation but within me deeper than the muscle and nerves

And I fear what might happen if I usher in pharmacological oblivion. I'm afraid of the shadows lengthening in my room as day finally gives way to night. So I keep my panic in check. Bite my tongue. And wait. Despite my bone-deep exhaustion, I managed to keep myself awake well into the night. And so far, I've experienced no dips into that...

piercing eldritch silence. No pools of darkness moving where they shouldn't. And based on the number of times the night shift nurse has been in to administer my meds, I think I'm roughly halfway through till dawn. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. No! I will stay awake. I have to. My inner monologue falters as the beeps and whirs of the various devices around me abruptly stop.

For a moment, there is utter stillness inside my room. Then, a shadow coalesces in a far corner, moving counter to anything that might be casting it. i feel whatever lies inside me thrumming calling to it this source or extension of itself whatever it is And with each of my heartbeats, it moves closer and closer to me, slinking across the room.

Tendrils of darkness spiderweb their way across my field of vision, and I instinctively know that this substance has crept into the blood vessels of my eyes, for they also thrum to that same rhythm. Silent sobs wrap my body. Tears run down my cheeks and I wonder if they are clear or made of that same strange substance that is slowly overtaking me. The animate shadow glides up and over the bed. Over me. Over everything. And as a soundless scream escapes my mouth, the darkness pours itself in.

Somehow, miraculously, I wake. My various machines beep and whirr as they should. Footsteps travel past my door. The night shift nurse stands beside my bed. Checking my chart, she notices me staring and smiles. I'm glad you got some good rest last night. You are out like a light every time I came in to check on you. Confusion mingles with my fragile, burgeoning sense of relief.

I... I was? She nods. Now just so you know, my shift is nearly done. But I'm actually about to fill in my replacement on the good news. Good news? This is still pending the surgeon's approval, but we might be able to discharge you by the end of today. What? Misinterpreting the quaver in my voice, she adds. I know. You must be so excited to get out of here. She continues talking, but the words blend into meaningless babble as I check my arms. Apart from the bruising, I find no discoloration.

No spidery, branching veins of impossible shadow. Nothing. Even the pain in my shoulder and diaphragm has dulled to something almost manageable. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, then open them. No remnant of my obscured vision from the night before. The nurse clearly mistakes the gesture for something else because she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, It's okay to cry if you want to. You've been through a lot.

It would be taxing for anybody. I'm still so confused and deliriously hopeful that I just nod. She gives me a quick smile and leaves me alone with my racing mind. The rest of the day passes in a blur. More nurses, more doctors, more messages of maybe until one definitive yes, you can go home. Then there are even more nurses who disconnect me from all the machines and tubes that have kept me company these long days and longer nights.

Someone finally dumps the container of my stomach vial still sitting on its bedside mount when I dry heave at the sight of it. But even that moment fades into the dizzying reality that those dark branches beneath my skin... do not return. After nearly a week of torments, some explainable, some not, I'm suddenly being wheeled out to the parking lot of the hospital. And just like that...

I'm free. A shower is my first priority when I get home. I need to wash the everything off of me. The grime, the memories, the lingering fear. All of it. I'm still weak and a bit unsteady on my feet, but that's fine. I've got nowhere to be, and I move carefully through the familiar motions, taking my time. The hot water is a balm against my poor, abused body, and I stay in there for a long while. Long enough for condensation to coat everything in my small bathroom. At last, I shut off the water.

and ease out of the shower, wrap a towel around myself, wipe the mirror clean with my hand, and for the first time today, I look at my reflection, the normal color of my irises. has been overtaken by that inky piercing darkness. No longer stagnant perfect circles, there is undulation to their form. ebbing and flowing over what remains of the whites of my eyes and my pupils. Black holes. That's what they make me think of. Gravity so strong that they swallow light itself.

And there is no glint, no reflection of light anywhere in my eyes. Just pure darkness staring back at me. And as I regard myself... As I focus on my own appearance within the mirror, I see my shadow move behind me. Even though I am locked in place from shock and terror, my shadow moves. I think it was waiting for me to see it. I think it wanted me to know that it had won, had followed me home.

For as I see a shadow that is not my shadow move upon the wall, before I even have time to scream, it engulfs me. I can feel my body. but I'm no longer in control of it. I no longer see what is in front of me, but through some strange relay between this thing and my consciousness, I can sense my surroundings. The sounds of the outside world come to me as if through deep water, muddied and warped. What is clear is the new voice inside my mind. I feel my mouth.

Form the shape of a laugh. Hear the chuckle that escapes my lips. The voice is my own and not my own. I intuit the thoughts of this new entity within me rather than hear them. And the part of me that is still me, that can still react to such things, sends a weak but imperative signal throughout my body, and the hairs rise on my arms. Yes. the Entity thinks. This vessel shall do.

The Fable and Folly Network, where fiction producers flourish. Greetings, people of Earth. My name is Shmoe Branigan. I have hacked into this RSS feed with a promotional feature for the Wizard Scroll Podcast. Transcribing in three, two, one. Hold on, let me unfurl this wizard scroll real quick.

When out of Bubba Bowie nowhere, ten humongous scorpions had surrounded the campsite tails outstretched. Hello, welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order? What are you gonna get? I don't know what I want. Let me get the double, triple lobster. I'll take one too. Two Mclobsters. As if on cue, the camera panned upwards, directing everyone's attention towards the giant hot air balloon presently taking a pass over the stadium. Holy mother's... Sassafras, it's Gargan the Destroyer!

wizard scrollers available on iTunes, Spotify, Audible, and wherever else fine podcasts are found. This concludes today's promotional feature.