Ms. Fischer's Passing "She's going off again." "Aww, what?! I literally just reset her pendant though!" "I'm well aware of that, Rory. You know how she is though. I'm sure by now, we all do." Rory Steiner nodded his head, acknowledging how aware he'd been of Helena Fischer's tendency to hog all the caregiving attention, often-times forcing others to tend to her needs first and foremost. Her gluttonous bear-like habits earned her a formidable reputation among the residents of Glendale Springs. "I'll go check on her, maybe try to settle her down a bit. She did seem irritated during the dinner serve-out. I hope we aren't looking at a UTI again, dang it!" Rory exclaimed. "God willing, she's just sun downing. But by all means, make your rounds. I'll give the East wing another once-over and join you shortly. I still have yet to show you how we tend to laundry and room trays, so stay alert! You're doing fine. I promise the rest of our tasks won't be nearly as tedious." "I appreciate that. Thank you, Karen." Rory said, inhaling deep and exerting a relieved sigh. Karen was the head veteran caregiver, the longest-lasting Assisted Living associate Glendale Springs had ever known. Therefore, Rory felt comfortable being led and trained under her wing. He knew his training wouldn't be in vain. He dialed in his employee code and hit the star button on his walkie-talkie intercom, actively acknowledging the pendant alarm. "Okay, I'll meet up with you later. Gotta go give Ms. Fisch-" "One-ten." "Pardon?" "We don't say resident names out loud. There's regulations against that sort of thing." "Right, the HIPAA laws." Rory addressed. Karen nodded with a grin. So he had been paying close attention to the training videos, after all. Thank goodness! "Exactly." Karen said, eyes beaming. "So we refer to them by their room numbers. Our dear German philanthropist is currently residing in room 110, so we refer to her as 'one-ten'. Oh, we could call them all by their names, but we also don't wish to run the risk of having anyone try to expose dirt on them, or draw estranged family members forth with grudges to settle. It's just a polite formality, really." "Perfectly understood." Rory said, adjusting his radio unit on his belt buckle. "Then I'll go check on one-ten and try to return back to you soon thereafter." "Good. Remember to keep an eye out for spare room trays, they ought to be returned back to the kitchen. And keep watch for anything weird or funny, we don't wish to alarm anyone too heavily." "Do odd things often happen during the NOC shifts?" Rory asked, glancing up at a nearby wall clock in the corridor which he and Karen now stood in. The clock read 12:56 am. "Not particularly so, at least in comparison with any other time of day." Karen smirked, her large bifocal glasses reflecting fluorescent tubes of light in her eye sockets. "Actually, all things considered, this is perhaps one of the more boring shifts we're apt to work. We are essentially guard-dog duty to this facility from ten at night 'til seven in the morning." "You make it sound so luxurious." Rory said, maintaining a low sarcastic edge. "This is paradise, baby. Don't you know?" Karen fired back, curling her eyebrow with sardonic wit. "Living the American freaking dream. Yeah, I know." Rory said, gearing up to walk to Ms. Fischer's quarters and settle the old German woman down for the evening's long stretch. A knock or two wasn't enough. Rory heard wheezing and moaning from behind room 110's large cedar door. He pulled an auxiliary key from his pocket, attached to a small turquoise lanyard and knocked one more time before resorting to forced entry. Ms. Fischer sounded terminally ill, practically weeping. Was she in pain? Maybe frightened of night terrors? Or had her dementia betrayed her trust in herself? Rory slid his granted failsafe key into a large door handle and turned the fob, unlocking the door. A stench of rotten fruit and mildewed decay welcomed Rory upon entry, causing him to gag profusely, choking back his will to upchuck violently all over Helena Fischer's front room carpets. He had a small LED light attachment on his keyring which he used prominently, refusing to switch on the large overhead lamps. He didn't wish to disturb her sleep. When he reached her bedroom, he clicked off the small pocket light and flipped a nearby wall switch to turn on her bedroom light after all. Helena Fischer was wide awake. Even worse, she looked utterly horrified. "Wir sind hier nicht allein." She said, whispering low so as not to be heard. Her eyes were gazing globes of paranoia, blood-shot and diluted. She was sat on the edge of her bed, dangerously close to slipping off and falling hard on her maroon-colored bedroom carpets. Rory jumped into action-reaction mode and hoisted the woman away from the edge of the mattress, opting to readjust her body comfortably. Helena fought back, prying herself free from Rory's grip. He wasn't sure if she would begin to throw punches at him or not, but he prepared himself mentally anyways, in case she did decide to resist. "Wir sind hier nicht allein." Helena said again, barely audible, a husky whisper at best. Rory rolled his eyes and curled his brow into a sullen frown, not looking forward to a long night of tending to her needs. "I'm sorry, Ms. Fischer, but its way past your bedtime. Let's get tucked in and comfortable for the night, okay?" Rory knew she didn't have to use the restroom, he'd watched Karen help Ms. Fischer tend to that detail with a surgeon's swift finesse. "Wir sind hier nicht allein." She repeated, even louder than before. "Es will uns alle töten. Es will essen. Es hungert. Hunger auf uns! Verstehst du es nicht?" Rory listened yet didn't comprehend at all with what she was saying. As far as he was concerned, she'd been actively hallucinating, which explained her chronic unease. "Listen, Ms. Fischer, let's try to get some sleep for now, okay? I'll let the head nurse know that you've got a situation and she'll arrive first thing tomorrow morning to help you out. Until then, I'm sorry but there's very little I can do to-" Helena Fischer screamed bloody murder, her face crumpled into a rictus of unending fright. Rory flinched and stepped away from her, creating a wide berth between the bed and himself. The old woman pulled locks of her hair from her head, pried entire clumps of hair follicles free between the firm grips of her wrinkled fingertips. She glanced at Rory and shook her head, slow at first then more aggressively. He was worried that she might give herself whiplash. She vomited up blood in a series of explosive outbursts. "Der Schmerz! Der Schmerz! Es wird uns alle verzehren!" Helena screamed through a mouth festering with blood and stomach bile. Her eyes rolled wildly in her sockets, trying to stare at every direction possible. She was losing focus, growing unconscious. Her screams weakened to low croupy muttering growls. Her arms jerked and twitched uncontrollably, as if she'd been possessed by Satan itself. She kicked her legs violently beneath her bedsheets, yanking cloth coverlets free from the mattress. Rory tried to grab hold of his radio intercom to request assistance, to ask for Karen immediately. With another deep congested sigh, Helena Fischer lolled her head back onto her pillow and died immediately, mouth drooped open, blood leaking in a small string down from her chin, pooling up in a small puddle on her lap. Rory's heart raced and his adrenaline threatened to kick in and take the reins. He resisted the urge, debating whether or not he ought to announce one-ten's violent departure over the radio. He turned his back away from Helena Fischer's blood-streaked corpse, deciding what exactly to say without sounding far too negligent or shady. He wished he didn't have to deal with such a violent death on one of his very first NOC-shift nights worked. While waiting for Karen to show up, Rory heard a small chuckle and labored breathing from behind him. Impossible, hadn't he just witnesses Ms. Fischer's untimely demise? No fucking way could she still be alive, she practically puked up her entire soul. Bedsprings creaked and groaned. Laborious breathing echoed through the room. A footstep, two and three more, approached Rory. Slow at first, yet each new step gained further speed. With nerves in tatters and hairs stood up on end damn-near everywhere on his body, Rory dared to glance back at what he'd heard. What he saw nearly floored him, practically provoking a heart attack. Helena Fischer's corpse stood upright. A short, stout elderly German woman with more brute strength than most. Her silver-grey hair was in a disarray of tangles and her chin and chest had become a torrential mess of crimson red and brown. She'd wet herself prior to her death too. This urine stench, paired up with the black stink of death and the rich iron-sweet cloying scent of fresh blood, a mouthful of dirty pennies that could practically be tasted in the air, caused Rory to lapse into a slight panic attack. Her eyes were ivory-white, glowing with an esoteric dim light, a spiritual life-force from beyond the grave. She grinned wide and blood ran down her jawline. Rory watched as runnels of red liquid dripped from her chin and stained her white pajama gown. The woman's groin area had been dampened with a foul murky greenish-yellow fluid that produced a faint hint of steam that trailed softly through the crisp chilly November air. Rory pressed his radio intercom button in, struggling to find the right words for Karen. "K-k… Karen, I may need some extra help in one-ten. Over." Rory muttered, depressing the call button and feeling absolutely helpless, doomed to whatever fate lay in store for him. His radio squelched to life and Karen's voice responded, as if from another dimension entirely. "On my way. Over and out. How's one-ten doing?" Rory would've answered, had he not fallen prey to the beast within Helena's ravaged body. By the time Karen arrived, the door was left ajar and strange chewing sounds could be heard from within the unit's bedroom. Karen thought of her dog, Bongo, chewing on a rawhide bone, one of the pooch's favorite treats. The sounds reminded her of how remarkably loud her dog could be while savoring such a tasty treat. Whatever she was hearing, there was no lack of satisfaction present. Karen reached for her radio and pressed the call button to inquire upon Rory's status. When she did, Rory's walkie barked into life in Helena Fischer's bedroom. The veteran caregiver with thick reading bifocals and years of experience beneath her belt entered into room one-ten and felt as if she'd entered a hell-bound morgue instead. The sight was truly disturbing, even to a woman who'd witnessed grown men high on PCP chewing holes into orderly's necks for years while working as a hospital ER receptionist. The walls were smothered with splashes of blood and flecks of skin, bone and organ matter - human detritus of all categorization. Large clotted patches of dirty webbing smothered all four corners of the roof's high-rise ceiling, spider-like in style. Tiny dust motes floated and circulated in the bedroom, some appeared to glow like fireflies, circling and looping in random figures, leaving tiny contrails in their wake. And at the center of it all, sat in the middle of a queen-sized bed smothered with blood, vomit and filth, was Helena Fischer. At least, that's what Karen settled on to maintain her own crippling sanity. The suggestion she gave herself to offer a little peace of mind. Anyone who may have caught a glimpse of what Karen was now witnessing would've suggested a humongous flesh-adorned Venus fly-trap, feasting on the severed carcass of Rory. One half of the caregiver's body lay in tatters near one corner of the room, the legs and waist. Karen's eyes followed a trail of gore and intestines that led from Rory's legs to the upper half of his young torso, which was resting on Helena Fischer's lap. Helena was busy consuming chunks of flesh from his neck, digging crooked inhuman teeth into his flesh and jerking her head violently, the way a dog chews a rawhide bone. His arms were spread-eagled to both sides of his body, dangling freely from the edge of the mattress. Rory's death-laden eyes stared up at nothing whatsoever as his defiled corpse rest upon Ms. Fischer's bed, being actively consumed. "Holy Jesus, sweet fuck." Karen said, her own voice scaring her to death. Whatever had inhabited Helena Fischer heard Karen's voice and ceased feasting immediately. Karen could see a single large cyclopean eye gaze at her from within the husk of Ms. Fischer's remains. An alien presence renting out the elderly woman's vessel for a time, aiming at relocating into a fresh new home. Rory was merely a snack in passing. A part of Karen's mind almost insisted that she heard the thing snarling at her. Karen reacted to the situation more appropriately, slamming the bedroom door and rushing to escape from the confined quarters of room one-ten. A bellowing inhuman roar hollered from Ms. Fischer's bedroom and the door nearly bent inward. Karen felt horrible for Rory, but her survival instincts were on overdrive mode and she wouldn't just keel over and accept defeat anytime soon. The door blew inward with rudimentary force, enough to cause nearby windowsills to rattle in their frames. A black gelatinous presence flowed out from within the bedroom. In Karen's mind, she could hear the babbling and gurgling of thousands of demented maniacs, a legion of cannibalistic pedophiles, every dire thing that was wrong with humanity had been concentrated and enhanced into this single living alien force, guided along by this unearthly presence that now flowed towards Karen like a sinister blob, ready to dig in for seconds. The black entity materialized from the ground up, assuming a new form, one that lingered tall and hovered over Karen. She could see multiple eyes opening and closing, lids blinking all over the surface of that shiny reflective onyx-black substance. Karen thought she'd seen her abusive father, maybe her domestically violent ex-husband, reflected in the presence of whatever the hell had eaten Rory alive. "Sie versuchte ihn zu warnen. Zu spät. Er schmeckte exquisit." The demonic entity said. Its voice echoed a thousand lost souls in limbo, knowledge far-surpassing all of humanity as a whole. "Ich frage mich, wie du schmeckst? Vielleicht werde ich dich zu Tode vergewaltigen, bevor ich dich ganz auffresse." The large, towering presence split in half down its center. An intaglio of teeth, bone, flesh and staring eyes formed its insides. Karen tried to crawl away from the demonic presence but failed miserably, for it had clamped its teeth down upon her ankle and refused to let go. Karen felt her foot being chewed into a pulp of raw fatty gristle and shattered bones. She hollered and reached for a nearby fire extinguisher, hoping to slam it against the presence, maybe to spray its contents upon the threatening demonic entity as a decoy of escape, to distract it for a moment in order to seek out further help. Karen's body suddenly felt immeasurably tense, as if a large amount of pressure were building up from the center of her spine. Then a numbing sensation overpowered everything else and Karen realized she couldn't feel her legs. She looked down and cursed herself for even bothering. The black presence had ripped her abdomen in two, much like how it had severed Rory's body. If Karen wished to escape with her life intact, she'd have to crawl across the ground, pulling the upper half of her body along with her arms, ensuring her organs didn't slide out from within her now-exposed ribcage. She knew all hope was lost and she was doomed to the grave already. Even in knowing this, she felt strangely content, unsurprised that it would be Helena Fischer to conjure forth such a maddening presence. Helena Fischer had specialized in black magicks and the spiritual conjuring arts throughout her long-winded life. She practically could've been a witch in another lifetime. Unfortunately, Ms. Fischer's most recent summoning experiment had cost her far more than she had originally bargained for. In the very last moments before Karen's skull was pried in two and her body was ravaged and consumed by the hungry demonic entity, she'd thought back upon how proud she was of Rory, how far he'd come in life and how much he'd worked at guaranteeing his position as a caregiver of Glendale Springs. Karen Steiner felt nothing but the strongest pride for her son. Sometimes pride simply wasn't enough.