Officer officer! I think I can solve... the Red Suburban Cases!

The voice, eager yet panicky, like a bratty kid's. It rang in Mr. Zaman's ear until now.

It was a night patrolman named Leo. Night patrolmen. Not a part of the police force, just some watchmen for small areas.

Mr. Zaman have always thought that night patrolmen are unnecessary in a place like Fleece Suburban (aka Red Suburban). It's a suburban for fuck's sake. Night patrolmen are for rough neighborhoods of dense slums resembling a beehive. Hives of petty criminals. They're not for suburban areas.

The seasoned policeman thought of them: young officer wanna-bees who are too soft to hold a gun. So instead they get to hold a baton.

He knew that these fuckers are trying hard to be relevant, it's their suburban after all, and it's bleeding red. If they couldn't protect a small suburban, then how can they even go to the criminal hives?

They want to be relevant. Especially when the police basically took over their place. Patrolling the suburbs at night as part of the new curfew.

They're useless, soft, and idiot. Then there's this Leo boy.

Officer officer! I think I can solve... the Red Suburban Cases!

Who is he to say that? Night patrolman Leo? Not even slightly a lion. He was tall, yet thin, like a stick. Wearing a black hip-hop band shirt like it's gonna make him look tougher. And his voice... how he announced it at the station. The whiny, panicky quality of it.

Lion? Don't make me laugh. You haven't even seen...

The bodies. The fucked-up state of the bodies. Not even his 4 decades of career can mentally and emotionally prepare him for that.

Case 1 was a lawyer named Horace. Guy looked like a cheap corned beef. Dripping with oil, shining with preservatives and fats. The mere thought of the food made him throw up. He looked like a bloody corned beef. Ground flesh in bleak crimson color, fading into black as it reached the ground. Located under some trees, the pile of mashed-up flesh was hungrily absorbed by the soil. He was only recognized through a patch of hair and a piece of eyeball. He was found a dozen steps from his own backyard.

Case 2 was an old man. Apollo. His body bloated, as if he drowned. But the most confusing was how his entire fat body was squeezed into a ball about 2 feet across. His limbs were entangled and curvy like they're tentacles. His head was deflated like a popped balloon. His entire body was grey. Like he's a horror movie prop.

Last case was the one that was actually assigned to him. Reported a day after the first two cases did. It was a daycare worker named Ben. Apparently, the guy was missing for a day already. Found at his own workplace. At the women's restroom to be exact. In one of the toilets to be more exact. Barely a flesh in him. He looked burned, but strangely wet and shining with yellow color. Acid, probably. But he never saw anything like it. The pile of bones, jumbled and crushed, with bits of flesh and organs, filling the toilet bowl like a wicked soup...

It's been almost a week. And what they found only made them more confused. The surveillance cameras showed nothing out of ordinary. There were vines covering Apollo's entire bedroom - even his family were shocked. The "bug" Horace's wife was compulsively talking about during interrogations. The pee samples found in the first two bodies: case number one was drenched in his own wife's pee, while case number 2 was drenched in their dog's. The third body, the one found in a fucking toilet bowl got no trace...

And now they're monitoring one missing person. Another night patrolman, of all people!

What does he know? What does this Leo boy offers? An inconvenience, probably.

He sighed and went back to the lobby, where his coworkers were surrounding him. Leo the lion was looking down, even trembling a bit.

"Oh Mr. Zaman is here," his coworkers scrambled into arranged lines.

"So, what is it that you want to tell us, mister?" Mr. Zaman said.

The boy looked up and faced him, "I saw it first hand."

*** *** ***

Mr. Zaman and the other policemen listened. It sounded like a pure stinking pile of bullshit, but they listened. What narrative makes sense about these fucking cases anyway?

It was a late evening of October 25, Friday. Second day of the new curfew. So aside from those useless night patrolmen, the suburban was swarming with a few policemen as well. Perhaps equally useless policemen.

It happened at a rather deep corner of Fleece Suburban. The place, according to Leo, reeks of cow shit and as dark as a cave. It's at least five streets away from the crime scenes, Mr. Zaman noted.

On that particular night, the corner wasn't as dark as a cave. And it stank, not of cow shit, but of alcohol.

There was a drinking session - led by an old man called Captain. Mr. Zaman - and pretty much everyone else - know him. Thin and almost frail, yet bustling with vulgar energy. Wearing oversized tees like a cloth hanger. One wouldn't think that it's a relative of Fleece Suburban's owner. But that's him - a relative of someone who literally owns the land that they patrol on. Both the patrolmen and the policemen cannot just stop their late night merrymaking.

Leo waved at them, even having a shot of their whisky. It was a typical sight of a drinking session. Cheap monoblock chairs, a small wooden table, some nuts and meaty dishes. Captain and other men, half-naked and letting the October chill cast away the pinkish warmth of the alcohol. At the middle of the table was a portable speaker, as small as an apple. Beside it was an electric lamp, exuding light in the dark corner like a lone star.

Leo described them all. He couldn't just forget it.

And while the policemen and patrolmen didn't dare stop Captain's little fun, somebody else did.

The chatters of them men, the thumping of the shot glass, the crickets in the trees - it sounded perfect. A whistle of a door hinge isn't something that Leo expected to hear. But then he saw a dark figure emerge from the door at one of the houses.

It was a young woman named Jean, living two doors from Captain's house. Her chestnut colored hair glowed in the lamp light, it was messy. Her face was droopy and she moved in intermittent heavy steps, like a zombie. He pink lips - thick, just like the rest of her body - glowed too. Leo couldn't forget the white shirt, revealing her smooth, fair skin at her back and shoulders. She folded her arms on her plump breasts, blocking her bra-less chest. And her shorts were neon orange, silky, and most notably, thin. It flashes against the lamp light. The slick shorts could barely hold her huge ass and thighs. It was so cramped the shape of her panties were visible even in the dim light.

Leo admitted it when they asked: he found it hot. A young woman, appearing out of nowhere, walking in rough yet elegant sleepy walk...

Even Captain and his drinking-mates stopped chattering and looked at her. Jean smiled, her lips thinning into a small U shape. She asked the men to be quiet, as she couldn't sleep. Of course that offended the Captain.

Lots of useless questions were hurled at Leo at that point. But in the end, it was clear: Jean may be a sassy girl, but she communicated her request respectfully... and perhaps even sexily. As a response, the drunken old man stood up and vented his anger in a pervy way.

Mr. Zaman couldn't help but think of Apollo, aka case number 2. Jenny, case number 1's daughter actually babysits for Apollo's family. She described him like he was Captain's twin. Grumpy and arrogant, the old man would always scold her for her alleged laziness, and he would always seek opportunities to touch her in places where he shouldn't.

Jean, being a sassy girl that she was, went full rage at what the Captain did. She yelled:

I've been tolerating you for two whole hours!

Commotion slowly unfolds, and Leo decided to step in. He grabbed the girl by the shoulders, his hand on his baton. The girl resisted, shouting and jumping like a child on tantrums.

The men laughed at her, making crude sexual comments. This enraged Jean, who stood there, eyes fixed on the pervy men.

Leo told them in careful detail what he saw next: the Captain fell on his knees, as if he got struck by a lightning. It became fairly windy, as if the trees - the river - were blowing on them. The Captain fell to the ground on his stomach, his fearful eyes trying to reach Jean's. When his drinking mates tried to get him up, he wiggled. As if his body was made of jelly. It was like picking a cat, Leo said. He became liquid-like.

Not only that. He slowly shrank. Shrinking and shrinking until he's the size of a dog.

Panicking, Leo tried to get the girl back to her house, but to his horror, he too felt like jelly. He raised his baton as well as his voice. He threatened to call for backups, his other hand on his walkie talkie attached to his chest.

Jean stomped back to her house, like a little girl who got told to go to her room for misbehaving. But, as Leo noted, she was smiling. From ear to ear, the usual small U now a big confident crescent.

When she's gone, Captain heaved for air, as if he was just strangled. He was now normal -sized. Leo went to him to check him out. He told him he felt like jelly.

After telling his story, Leo looked at Mr. Zaman, as well as the other policemen. He was clearly worried they wouldn't believe him.

They asked him a lot of questions, which are all rooted in one: is this true, or is it bullshit?

A trick of the dim light? A hallucination? A dream? A made-up nonsense?

Mr. Zaman asked how will the information help them. As a response, Leo asked if he could share his "theory".

Mr. Zaman could barely hide his giggles, a theory, really?.

But he let him share it.

Apparently, the mountains possesses the people at the suburban. Playing with their body - turning their body into jelly, corned beef, or mummified mass in a toilet bowl. The winds that suddenly emerged that night made him think of that.

Most of the policemen couldn't hide their laughters and annoyance. But Mr. Zaman was serious when he declared that they will look into it. He filed the patrolman's report.

Mr. Zaman looked at his peer, Marky. A relatively new recruit, Marky boasts spontaneous and aggressive ways to solve his cases. Mr. Zaman was genuinely scared that people like him get to hold a firearm, but he liked his carefree, no-bullshit approach. He's the one who was handling cases 1 and 2.

Marky looked back at him, equally serious. Mr. Zaman knew it's one of those rare cases where they're thinking the same: possession of mountains didn't sound as bullshit as it was. As all the suspects that they interviewed reported being mesmerized by the mountains, or the river. But it's the suspects, not the victims who reported being mesmerized by the mountains.

Considering mountain possessions ironically felt like they're moving forward. The cases get less confusing, the puzzles get less puzzle-y, though the policemen involved get less sane.

*** *** ***

"Mountain possessions," Marky said, looking up as if the words are sprawled across the air in shiny letters. As if staring at it will remove the bullshit quality of it. It's like trying to erase the make-up of a clown's face.

Across his desk, Mr. Zaman was staring at the floor, the opposite of his gaze. His forehead was wrinkled, forming three squiggly lines. Marky respects the man, but even in their simple gazes he saw that they're like water and fire. Opposing forces. Marky being the fire: the compulsive the-sooner-it's-done-the-better boy. While Mr. Zaman a water. Calm, reflective, and collects itself before making an attack.

Like a hurricane.

Oh, yes, the hurricane! It ravaged here right before the first case was reported. Heck, he wouldn't even be surprised if that shit is the one which started all the fuckery in Fleece Suburban.

"The hurricane," he said, making the older officer look up. It's still hard to believe that they were teaming up right now. Merely because their current cases are in the same place?

"Correct," Mr. Zaman said, "the hurricane. It left a massive landslide in the mountain."

"Yes yes! Do you think that..." he trailed off.

"That the people are curious about the landslide? Yes. And that explains them staring at the mountain right?"

Marky nodded. He's glad that the man kept being rational amidst all these madness.

"So no mountain possessions, right?"

Marky nodded again, but more slowly. He couldn't help but feel like a dumb kid. Not that Mr. Zaman sounded condescending. It's just that he clung too much on the intriguing idea of mountains possessing people.

"Who are most likely to be suspects if it is a possession though?" Marky blurted without thinking too much.

The three lines in Mr. Zaman's forehead came back, "most... likely?"

"Right? For Horace we have his wife. Her pee wouldn't just teleport to his body right? For Apollo..."

"The dog? Because the dog's pee wouldn't just teleport to his body?" Zaman said, now condescending.

"No... er... What about Ben. He's your case right?"

Mr. Zaman didn't answer.

"Definitely Chloe right? Guy was found in the women's restroom a day after she took a shit. It makes sense."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Mark," he said.

"I'm not concluding. You always tell me that. So I'll tell you again: whatever comes off my mouth that's not written is nothing but a what-if."

Both fell silent. Even Marky realized it's far fetched. After all, the most mesmerized one was Jenny, Case Number 1's daughter. And she's not even in their suspects list. Wait... Jenny Young babysits Case Number 2's family...

"Jenny," he gasped, "Jenny Young. She babysits the family."

Mr. Zaman looked at him. To his surprise, he seemed like he's taking him seriously this time.

"She... doesn't like the victim Apollo... and she was mesmerized by the mountains..."

"River," Mr. Zaman corrected him, "she was staring at the river because she thought it'll overflow."

"Yeah yeah I know I know... like it's gonna attack!" Marky said, a bit irritated at being corrected at his own case.

"For fucks sake Marky!" the older officer grunted.

"Fine! What do you have?" he yelled.

"It's better to be empty than brimming with bullshit, Marky."

He stood up, ready to strike him. The older man didn't flinch, he even wore that bring-it-on face. He sighed and sat again.

"But what's up with Jenny and Charlotte Young though? Both of them seem to be involved... and... they're involved in the first two cases after all."

"First two recorded cases. Who knows if there is a hidden body somewhere there."

The thought chilled Marky.

"But I can see your point," he said, "but they're the descendants of the past owners of that land right? Do you think it's relevant?"

Marky knew. The Young family are among the few remaining descendants of the past owner of that land. In fact, it was the Case Number 1 himself - the lawyer, Horace - who arranged the terms of selling the land, making sure they get compensated. That's the biggest reason his wife hated him...

Marky suddenly stood up. The realization hitting him via a tsunami of thoughts.

Zaman, you're a fucking genius!

He was about to blurt that out to his confused companion, but he found himself running across the police station, to the telephone. He was calling Charlotte Young, Case Number 1's wife, for an interrogation.

*** *** ***

Charlotte Young had a bad feeling that they knew. That it wasn't a bug. She kept her word to the cops, however. As she recalled her peculiar experience last Sunday, October 20th, she still narrated that it was just a bug. An insect that she was abnormally angry at. A nasty looking cockroach the size of a fist, to be specific. That's exactly what she told the old cop when he asked him about what kind of insect it was.

But it wasn't a cockroach. And even if Charlotte decided to tell the truth, she probably wouldn't end up in jail but in a mental institution. It was her husband, Horace. No, it was her husband's clone.  Charlotte kept convincing herself that. It can't be her husband: a piece of origami paper, folded into a one inch tall person. A moving one inch tall person. That wasn't her husband. It wasn't her who killed him, mashed him into paste. But deep inside she knew, she knew it was him.

She have always loved origami. And thought for too many times how cool it would be if her husband was as vulnerable as a paper. One blow and he'll be gone.

They've always hated each other since he sold her ancestors' land. She despised him. Divorce was out of question a long time ago. It's a tricky thing in this country, plus it's probably not a good idea considering her husband was a lawyer. A successful, perfect lawyer he was.

But her anger piled up like thick magma that Sunday night. It was raining a bit due to the hurricane. The river was raging - so was she. She was mad at her husband for staying late outside. What could he possibly up to at a stormy Sunday night? She was so mad that tears form in her eyes while she did last minute laundry that evening. Power was out for the second night in a row - an unusual thing in this suburban, even during hurricanes. She handwashed the clothes, and hanged them indoors to dry.

In the first interrogation, she told the cop about the river in their backyard. How it raged. And the mountains, how the trees there hiss at the strong winds. She told them how she wanted to run to the mountains and let out her rage.

Weird details she knew, but those were the parts of the day that she wouldn't forget. The bug... the bug was obviously a slip. And she hoped that the cops would consider it as another unimportant detail. But as her interrogation went on today, she knew they didn't think so.

The "bug" appeared about 7 in the evening. When her husband's car arrived, her daughter opened the garage and let it in. Then her daughter went away, running back to her room, Charlotte immediately went to the garage, ready to lash her husband's face off as soon as he steps out of his vehicle. Her raging words accumulated in her throat, ready to shout them all: his late arrival, the lies he told her, him gaslighting her with technical legal details, him selling her ancestors' land, him sacrificing their relationship for money, him flaunting his "success" at her...

At that point, she thought of it again: she wished he was as vulnerable as a mere paper. She would run to the mountains and use all her rage to blow his arrogant ass off like a paper he was.

Her silly wish came true, as soon as she glanced at the window. She angrily opened the door - it was unlocked.

A big cockroach, sitting on the driver's seat. That's what she told the cops, but in reality, it was an origami art. A thin paper folded to resemble a person. It was in kneeling position, moving... moving! Crawling towards her as she stare. Charlotte immediately knew, for some reason: it was her husband crawling to her.

She leaned closer to it. It was really just paper, and seeing it grovel slowly was surreal. It looked up at her, it has two tiny holes for eyes. It made gestures with its hands. Charlotte frowned and suddenly grabbed it, crumpling it in her sweaty hand.

She got out of the car and looked at the paper in her hand. The crumpled person's shape was almost unrecognizable. It twitched and moved a bit, as if it was in pain. Thinking about it now, she realized it's easy to dehumanize someone and let out your rage at them at that form. Lightweight, faceless, and incredibly vulnerable.

She picked one twitching limb, grabbing it with her thumb and index fingers. Slowly, she teared it off. The crumpled paper-man flailed its body in protest. Frankly, it made no impact in whatever Charlotte was doing then. The limb, a mere strip of paper, was teared off easily. She crumpled the paper person again, despite its continued flailing. She closed her fists tightly, reducing the strange creature into a tight ball.

She looked at her fist. She had long, elegant fingers. In The Good Old Days - before her husband's profession poisoned his head - he would describe them as candle-like. He would kiss her hand, smooth and mildly smelling of hand lotion. Her nails will always be manicured and painted bright red.

Now, those little manicured fingers of her were surrounding her husband's whole body - his whole being. The entirety of her husband, right inside her fist.

She marched into her house, then out to the backyard, her fist tightly holding the paper-creature. She told the cops that she was holding the cockroach by its antenna. The purpose will remain the same: to dispose the disgusting creature.

Outside, the strong wet winds dominated the evening. It was as if a giant water spray was above them, spraying intermittently. The river raged from a distance.

She threw the paper with all her might into the ground. It bounced along the concrete floor, settling on a corner. The water sprays were not enough to reduce the paper ball into a sagging wet mass. It moved a bit, maybe due to the wind, maybe due to its own motions, fighting for it's own paperthin life.

She slowly walked to it, not minding the wet strikes of the wind or the cold wet concrete on her bare sole. She stopped and looked down at the struggling mass of paper near her feet. She raised her right foot's big toe, setting it on the paper. She has big feet with toenails also painted the same bright red. As she pressed slowly, she couldn't help but grin. The pathetic origami creature tried to flail more under her big toe, its crumpled movements looking like seizures.

She stopped and squatted, looking at it. Gently swiping strips of her blonde hair to the back of her ears.

She removed her toe on it. Then gently, she uncrumpled the paper. The combination of sweat and rainwater in her toe created a big wet mark in its torso and face. It's entire form was somewhat crystalline, due to the crumpling. It struggled to move, slowly groveling towards her. It stopped near her opened legs. Her husband had always loved those legs. Smooth and thin, yet meaty enough to get that plump appearance. The trembling paper-creature looked up, craning its neck upwards, to those cotton-clad majesties.

She loved how it had to crane its cracked head as far up as it can to see her face. Her giant face was practically hovering over him. She felt like a Goddess to him, ready to strike Her judgement. Ironically, her husband used to comment on how she looked like a goddess. One of those corny stuffs that happens in The Good Old Days. Her small nose had always been her insecurity, but he would tell her that it magnified her beautiful red lips and her sharp eyes.

As it craned to her face, it bowed. Again and again it bowed.

She giggled. She couldn't help it. She was a Goddess, and this paper mortal was begging for Her mercy! Unfortunately for him, She'll cast Her judgement now.

As the paper man bowed again, she hocked. She let out all the toxic bile inside of her as she gathered her pleghm from her throat to her mouth.

Noticing something wrong, paper man's tiny head quickly shot up. Then those lips, those sweet slick lips he'd kissed for so many times... released a bile yellow-white mass. It fell so slowly, forming a long line from her lips. But no matter how slow, the poor paper mortal didn't escape.

The spit was thick and disgusting. With few huge bubbles that pop loudly, and an almost solid jelly-like form. She could barely see the creature's face and torso, pinned beneath the mass.

It's feet and remaining arm protuded from the mass, flailing wildly. One of its legs got stuck on the pleghm. Now he was only flailing with two limbs. His motions were quickly deteriorating, as his paper body absorbed the spit.

Charlotte had never felt so high in power. To think that her mere spit can paralyze and dissolve a whole person...

She squatted and positioned herself right above the spittle - there was more spit than paper, more spit than a person. She pouted her lips as she prepared another mass, this time to shutdown those pesky remaining limbs. But she had a better idea. It was so good she swore she'd been thinking about it for a while.

She stayed there, squatting. Then she looked around. The garden is a solitary place, even if it is outdoors. It's especially true during stormy nights.

She grinned and grabbed her shorts and panties at the same time. She was wearing a thin cotton shirt that night, the lightweight type that fiercely wraps her massive thighs. She pulled them down for a bit, exposing her pussy. she shivered as the cold wind caressed it. Horace Young may be a cerebral man who is so absorbed in his profession, but they had quite an active sex life. That pussy hovering over the him now felt his fingers, his lips and tongue, his thighs, and of course his dick...

At that moment, Horace Young's beloved pussy will be the one that would finish him.

A warm stream erupted from the depths of her bladder. It felt like a release - both physically and emotionally. A release of anger, of ill memories, of long hidden dark secrets.

The stream glowed yellow even under the rainy night sky. It wiped off her spittle and pinned down the paper person into a wet and helpless spot on the ground. The ammonic smell warmed up the spot. She stood up after peeing, grinning at her mess. There was a long line of yellow water along the ground. It came from a big circle. In the middle of that circle is a sagging, flattened paper. Barely moving.

She raised her bare foot on it and stomped. Hard. She rested her feet on it. It was like an APPROVE stamp in a document, or a gavel in the courtroom. It was a finality, a FINISHED gesture. Now, her husband was beneath her foot. Finished.

Of course, she omitted the spit and pee part when she talked about it to the cops. In her story there, she jumped right into the FINISHED part. She simply dumped the cockroach on the ground and stepped on it.

After that, she picked up the paper creature/murdered cockroach with two fingers, her face scrunched in disgust. Even at arms length, she could catch its disgusting smell thanks to the winds. She then ran to the edge of the backyard and threw it as far away as she can. Towards the raging river. It sounded like it's hungry for something like a cockroach, or a ruined origami art.

"So you're saying that... Horace Young... turned into an insect?" the lines in Mr. Zaman's forehead were deeper than ever, resembling trenches in the depths of his thoughts.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Marky said, taking a sip of his cigarette, "very ridiculous in fact. But... it... it... makes sense. At least in terms of evidences and witnesses, right?"

"Yes but..." Mr. Zaman trailed off, "I wouldn't tell the Chief that he'd just turned into a cockroach like some Kafka shit."

"Like some what?"

"The two of us... we might think it makes sense. But what about everyone else?"

"To hell with fucking everyone else!" Marky said.

"Don't get me wrong, I can see. I can see your point, no matter how absurd. The place where she threw the insect... it matches the victim's location."

"Yeah," Marky took another big sip of his cigarette.

"Assuming it did happen," Mr. Zaman said, "Charlotte Young would pick it and kill it in the garden? By stepping on it, correct?"

"Yes. That's what she told me yesterday. Killed the bug-"

"Cockroaches are notoriously hard to kill. And you told me it's as big as a fist?"

"Yeah, she told me that."

"Jesus. She's got balls not gonna lie."

"She's a ballsy woman, I can tell."

"But like I said, they're hard to kill. Insects have exoskeletons."

"Yeah yeah, I know. They have this shell thing on them. What about it?"

Mr. Zaman looked at him, "if it was indeed Horace, his skin would've been tough enough to stay whole. It wouldn't be molten into his flesh. Not to mention he was mushed up like he was-"

"Eeew! Okay okay I get it! But I think there's something else she did that she haven't told me."

Mr. Zaman's eyebrows raised up, but his eyes remained low and stoic.

"Remember the piss? Charlotte's urine? The body was drenched in it. Gallons of it, the autopsy reported. Did you know that elephants can produce a dozen gallons of pee at once?"

Mr. Zaman's face scrunched up in disgust, "you think she peed on it?"

Marky nodded.

It was quiet for a moment.

"Important question," Mr. Zaman suddenly declared.

"What?"

"Did Charlotte know that it was her husband?"

Marky thought for a while. Frankly, he didn't know. So he slowly shook his head.

"We both know she's deeply mad at him right?"

"Yeah but... would she go as far as kill her husband?"

"Would you piss at an insect?"

Marky was quiet. He quickly shook his head, "would *you* piss at your worst enemy?"

Mr. Zaman nodded slowly. "You got a point. You're more likely to piss on an insect than your enemy."

"Yeah... it's childish, yes, but... possible."

Silence.

It was broken by Mr. Zaman's grim laughter, "what these fucking cases made us do: talking about what are we more likely to piss on!"

Marky tried to laugh, but it came out as a sigh instead, "don't you think that there's something... savage about a grown-ass person pissing on someone - I mean something?"

"Hmmm? Yeah, I guess it's gross. And immature."

"No, you don't get it. It's... animalistic. It's something done by someone who has a deep deep deep anger on another."

"You told me she wouldn't kill her husband."

"I didn't assert it. We just don't have enough reason to think so."

Mr. Zaman looked down. Marky sipped the last of his cigarette, killing it in the ashtray. Only Marky had the balls to bring a fucking ashtray in the no-smoke-zone office.

"You know, I thought we have to talk to this Jean woman," Marky said.

"The girl that the night patrolman Ben mentioned?"

"Yeah."

"Why though? That Ben is a pussy anyway."

"Not an interrogation, we'll just ask her a few questions. I think she can clarify some things."

"And do we have a reason to talk to her?"

"I was thinking about it since Ben told us. We can tell her the truth. That a night patrolman reported her to us."

Mr. Zaman sighed, "I don't know. I really don't feel like coming back to that damn place."

Marky grinned a bit, "why? are you a pussy as well?"

Mr. Zaman's eyes widened as he chuckled, "shut up!"

"You're coming with me. We teamed up for a reason."

"I bet you only wanna see those big booty that Ben was talking about."

"Don't act like you don't want to as well."

With slightly lightened moods, the two officers skipped outside the police station.

*** *** ***

Big booty it was. Jean sat there, cross-legged, here dainty yet piercing eyes examining the two policemen, who were drinking some coffee that she had prepared. She was wearing bright blue shorts which barely covered her thighs. They were so short that they're basically thick, wrinkled panties. Her plump body was clad in a thin blouse with noodle straps, vaguely showing a glimpse of the black D cups bra beneath. She wasn't "fat", but she did have quite a weight. Yet her body and her smooth fair skin overall was quite a stunner. Even the relatively older man, Mr. Zaman, had his attention captured.

She probably did this in purpose, he thought.

Jean let out a sweet smile. Her lips thinning into a cute U. Then the smile immediately flattened into a thick horizontal line - a dash.

"What do you want to know, officers?" she said. Her voice was quite low - it had weight in it as well.

Mr. Zaman told her that it'll be about her little commotion with Captain, as well as how it was reported by the patrolman, Ben. Captain and some of his friends fled away not a long time ago, so they weren't in the suburban right now.

"And what did this Ben say, officer?" she asked, "nothing special happened. I simply told them to quiet down a bit - it was like 12 in the midnight - and... we had a little commotion but that's it. Anything else you have to know?"

"What happened during this 'commotion'?" Marky said.

"Okay, we almost had a fight and-"

"Physical fight?"

"Ye- Yeah, physical, you know men when they're drunk?" she shook her head, "that. And then Ben stopped me."

"Ok, so Ben stopped you, not any of the men?" Mr. Zaman said.

"Correct. That useless boy tackled me away from them."

"Then what happened?"

"What? Nothing. I came back in my house and slept, or tried to. Those men had been keeping me awake for hours, officer."

Mr. Zaman looked down, his hand on his chin. He glanced up and saw Marky staring at her, either with examining eyes or with perverted eyes.

"Something else officer?"

"What happened to Captain during the confrontation?" Marky said.

"Captain? I dunno, he just..." she squirmed a bit.

Mr. Zaman hid his grin. Marky and his explosive questions oftentimes impress him.

"Nothing happened to him?"

"Nothing! I'll tell you what, officer: the pervert old man groped me! Not even subtle! He lunged straight at my legs! Am I really in the wrong here officer?" she looked at the two. She blushed upon realizing that Marky was staring at her barely covered thighs.

"No, not that," Mr. Zaman said, "we just want to know more about the incident."

"What's so special about that incident anyway? Anything?" she said. Mr. Zaman didn't want her challenge-me tone.

"We just wanted your side of the story."

"You already heard my side of the story. Does that mean that it's over?"

She was indeed sassy. Mr. Zaman thought.

"You think there's something... unexplainable?" she said.

The two officers looked at Jean, who grinned.

"I'll tell you what, officer: the fucker groped me, he got karma. Had some sort of a heart attack or something. Fell on the ground," she said. Now, not only her words were heavy, they were also sharp.

"A heart attack? What do you mean? And why didn't you tell us right away?" Mr. Zaman said, almost yelling.

"I didn't think it was important! Besides, it's karma. For being a pervert and a noisy drunkard old fart."

"Anything else you didn't tell us because it's unimportant?" Marky said, also annoyed.

"Nope," she piped, "you know, officers..." she uncrossed her legs and put one of her foot on her seat. It revealed the surprisingly smooth and pink surface of her thighs, right near her cunt. The pinkish-white panties that covers it were visible beneath her shorts, which barely covers the intimate part.

Both officers frowned. Mr. Zaman confirmed to himself that she was indeed doing it in purpose.

But why?

Does this bitch really think that she could seduce his aging ass?

"You like it don't you?" she said.

Mr. Zaman yelled, "stop-"

"Shhhh, I just want to tell you two that... I believe that men... like you two... are all the same. Mindless creeps. I really think, officers, that all men will get their karma now. It's like it's judgement day here. Karma will come to you, that's all you have to know."

"Is that a threat?" Mr. Zaman said, his muscles clenching in full-attack mode.

"A disrespect to the authority!" Marky added.

"Men will no longer be the authority. They shouldn't be."

Mr. Zaman sighed, calming his nerves. This fucker... this fucker is crazy!

"Miss, we respect your... feminist beliefs. But this isn't the time for that."

"You already knew what you have to know, officers."

*** *** ***

As the two officers walked along the suburbs back to their car, they realized how eerie the place was. The entire sky was covered in a heavy grey blanket. The road was wet, with mosses invading the pavements and sidewalks. So much moss that it's almost impossible to walk there without slipping. And it's not only moss...

"Vines," Marky gasped.

The leafy lines appear anywhere they glance. Covering catch basins. Making huge cracks in the sidewalk. Embracing the light posts and even the windows.

The two officers looked at each other. Another instance where they were thinking of the same thing: Case number 2's bedroom. Covered in vines. Nobody knew why. They forgot about the bitchiness of that Jean girl for a while.

Mr. Zaman sensed someone in the shadows. A small figure in pink-

He turned around and was startled at a little girl giving him a death stare. She was wearing a pink, flowery dress and a blank face.

"Hello there, can we help you? Are you lost?" Mr. Zaman said. He knew suburban kids never get lost in their closed, suburban world. He merely said it to lighten up the atmosphere.

The little girl frowned, glaring at him. She then pointed at the suburb daycare - where case number 3 was found.

"Teacher Chloe is called by the mountains!" she said happily, like a normal daycare kid would. Then she ran away with the speed of a rat who got caught.

"Hey wait! You study there?" Marky shouted after her, but the child already entered their home, which is not far away from the daycare.

From that house, a woman emerged, wearing oversized tees that went all the way to her hips. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. She looked at the officers with curiosity.

"Officers! You here to investigate the daycare?"

Mr. Zaman frowned. Marky looked annoyed. Gossipers. Even suburban areas have gossipy women.

They slowly walked to her.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm afraid it's none of your business," Mr. Zaman said.

"Venice, just call me Venice, officers," she said, not even a bit offended. "You know, like the Italian city. Anyway, of course I care about that: it's my daughter's school!"

"Yeah, I understand, but... you don't have to... stick your nose in it like you always do," Mr. Zaman replied, not even hiding his contempt.

"Officer Marky, and this is Officer Zaman, or Mr. Zaman as we call him," Marky said.

"Nice to meet you. You know all these things are scaring the kids - my daughter..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

"We understand," Mr. Zaman said, "I've dealt with-"

"Do you think there's anything we should know? That you might share?" Marky suddenly piped.

Mr. Zaman gave him a disapproving glance.

"Oh- uh... nothing really," Venice said, "those patrolmen were keeping everyone away from the daycare. I-"

"Have you seen patrolman Stan?" Marky said, mentioning the patrolman who's been missing for days - feared to be case number 4.

Mr. Zaman looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Stan? Ehhhh... yeah. Why?" she said. Once again, Marky shot a sudden question that made someone squirm.

"He is missing, don't you know?"

"Uhhh... I, I know! Yeah. And... and I've last seen him in the daycare, keeping guard."

Marky looked at Mr. Zaman, who nodded slowly.

"Like I said, it scares the kids, like my daughter. All those things like closing her school... the curfew..."

She glanced at her house. Soon, the kid in pink dress appeared. Venice's countenance instantly sweetened, "why baby? I'm just talking with the cops here."

The little girl smiled and waved at the officers, who waved back.

"Boys are weak!" she said before marching back into her home.

"I'm sorry. My daughter says random things lately. Likely due to the trauma or something."

"She told us about her teacher being called by the mountains," Marky said.

Mr. Zaman wanted to reprimand him, but he didn't. This boy seems to have a knack at tying up irrational puzzle pieces.

"Yeah, she's always blabbing about how her teacher Chloe is stronger than... the canteen man..."

"The victim?"

"Yeah. He was a cook there you know. Really great with kids. Sweet young man he was. And... yeah, my daughter's been talking about how her teacher was called by the mountains for being stronger."

They nodded slowly.

"Did you ask her for explanations? Anything?"

"I did, and she just tell me the same thing. I don't worry about it because you know how preschoolers have imaginations right? Look," she pointed at their open doorway, "she'd been drawing all over our walls. I kind of regretted buying her crayons."

Marky leaned in to see. Mr. Zaman did too, expecting to see something like "HAIL SATAN 666" in kid's handwriting. But there's none. Just random, incoherent doodles in many colors. Perhaps he'd been watching too much horror movies.

"A masterpiece right?" Venice chuckled, her eyes glowing as she talked about her 5-6 year old, "she has a wild imagination. Mountains calling people? Come on!"

"Thanks, Venice. It's been nice talking to you. We are going through a lot right now," Marky said, also chuckling.

"Welcome," Venice said, "you know what's the funniest she had told me?"

"What?"

"She said that canteen man turned into a cabbage."

*** *** ***

Teacher Chloe walked along the familiar track of her workplace: Fleece Development Center. But today, the place was devoid of charm. It was a cloudy afternoon. The ground was wet, with occasional frogs hopping around. The daycare itself was closed due to the sickening thing that appeared in the women's restroom.

It was far from the first time she felt empty as she strode along the hallway, with walls depicting colorful scenes of children playing under the animated sun and clouds and trees. She'd been feeling drained lately, mostly due to the kids not listening to her. Working with kids have been her dream for a long time - yet for some reason, she hadn't anticipated such headache in dealing with them. The joy was gone, which is incredible considering she's just half a decade into the career.

Then there's this cook, Stan. She didn't hate him personally. She's just... jealous maybe? He handles the kids with so much ease and elegance that she question her own capabilities as an educator. He makes her insecure. A silly thought she knew, it wasn't like he was competing against her for the kids' attention. But he's still has a way of hurting her pride unintentionally. Maybe whenever he give her tips like he's better than her - she's the teacher for God's sake. Or whenever he effectively deals with a problem inside the classroom. Teacher Chloe knew it shouldn't bother her - he's helping. But for some reason - especially lately, it damages her in a fundamental way. It's like he's invalidating all of her investments in a career she loved.

Sometimes, it's crazy how can a seemingly shallow reason go as deep as a trench. So deep it touches something fundamental. So deep it's in the realm of the absurd.

Teacher Chloe knew, in the subconscious level, that the cabbage that she ate was in fact, Stan the cook. And that the monstrosity that she discovered in the women's restroom was him, dissolved by her digestive system. But of course, the conscious level of her mind would reject such an idea.

So when the cops called her for an urgent interrogation, she clung on her conscious mind in a way that someone clings to the edge of the cliff to avoid falling. Falling into insanity. Whatever answers she will give to the cops, it will come from the conscious, rational part of her mind. She met the cops there - they let her hop in with them as they went to the station.

She sat on the room with the two cops, one of which she recognized as Officer Zaman. She didn't bother getting a lawyer - the case itself wasn't even considered as murder anyway... she hoped. The cops pointed out three things: they found muriatic acid in the women's restroom (they say the body was dissolved by acid), Stan was last seen in the canteen - cooking food, and that she's the last person besides the janitor who went in the restroom before the body was found (the day Stan disappeared, she shat in the restroom - the very same cubicle where the body was found, though she didn't tell that to the cops).

Now, they were interested in what exactly happened on Monday, October 21st. Particularly about Stan's what's and where's before he disappeared, and whatever happened between her lunch and her untimely shitting.

She was impressed and afraid: the cops hit the bullseye before she could even dodge.

But still, she narrated her story that day as much as her conscious mind can do.

The most inexplicable thing that happened that day was actually before Stan disappeared. She described it as "phantom earthquake", because she felt like there was an earthquake in the classroom. Specifically, a volcanic force brewing under the mountains across the river. The river is fairly close to the daycare, and the landslide striken mountain loomed over them like a vengeful god. That's what she felt. She felt the earth trembling, threatening another landslide. A landslide that would gobble up the entire classroom with all the kids inside.

So they all did the duck-cover-hold thing that they do in earthquake drills. It was quite a scene. She was confused. The kids were confused. Some were making fresh mischiefs, some were looking at her with worried eyes.

She was so shocked and dazed that when half of the class screamed their ear-splitting kiddie scream, she didn't notice right away. She assumed it was another attention-seeking mischievious kid.

It wasn't.

Looking at the source of commotion, she saw vines. Vines crawling through the window - yes, crawling. Crawling towards her as a matter of fact. A good bunch of the kids cried, some stared at the moving plant. Teacher Chloe herself was stunned.

Interestingly, the cops didn't seem to be that skeptical about that part. Surprised yes, but they didn't show any sign that they think it's nonsense. Officer Zaman himself nodded slowly at the mention of the crawling vines.

Soon after the vines visited the room, the door blasted open, revealing a worried Stan. Apparently, he heard the screams. Some kids run up to him, like he's some superhero that will save the day. Some kids pointed at the vines - which stopped crawling. He was as shocked as she was. He then ran away, coming back seconds later with a kitchen knife on his hand. The sight of worried Stan with a knife on his hand further froze the teacher's mind. She doesn't know what's happening. Frankly, she was as scared and confused as her students.

Stan ran towards her, flinging the knife. No, towards the vines in the windows. He cut them branch by branch, struggling against the pesky, invasive green branches. He found himself tangled by it. He struggled untangling his hands from the vines. But eventually, he cut them all.

The whole time, Chloe was just watching. She came back to reality when Stan asked her if she's alright. She felt stupid and useless, just standing there while her entire class was melting down.

As she smiled and nodded at Stan, who was panting, she couldn't help but feel that fiery feeling again. Not anger, maybe jealousy, definitely insecurity. She wouldn't tell it to the cops, but she wanted to topple him. Not necessarily to fight him, but to rise above him. Absorb his superpowers and be a superhero herself. She wanted to consume him. She felt like it's the thing that will replenish her confidence back. The thing that will make her feel alive again.

Perhaps that's why during lunchtime, she was hungrier than usual. She wanted to consume more than just stew...

Lunchtime is actually a part of the feeding program for the kids. After the class dismissal, the kids can optionally go to the canteen to eat something. Usually, most kids do attend the feeding program. Because Stan was great at cooking, as well interacting with kids.

At lunchtime of that day, Teacher Chloe and the kids were marching down to the canteen in two lines, as usual. As the teacher walk, she felt an overwhelming desire to consume Stan. It wasn't really a cannibalistic thought, just some weird form of a desire to have power - which everyone has. 

She peeked at the canteen and did something that she would never tell the cops - or anyone. She stared at Stan, who was preparing the bowls of stew at the corner. He froze in the spot, and slowly, shrank and turn green. He merely held on one of the bowls, before he disappeared. The entire thing felt like a dream. Mere 5 seconds but it felt like several minutes.

When they all entered the canteen, the bowls were all ready, but Stan was nowhere to be found. Teacher Chloe, of course, wasn't surprised. But the kids were.

The two cops threw many questions at that point, but the narrative stayed the same: she and the kids entered the canteen and alas, he's now missing.

Where does she think he went? Well, she doesn't know. At least, the conscious part of her mind doesn't know. The unconscious, however... points at that moment.

One of the students, a little girl who claims that Teacher Chloe is "being called by the mountains" called her. She looked at the bowl as if there's worms in it, giving it to her. She looked at it, and there was something moving. Not worms or anything equally alarming. Just... a leaf. Teacher Chloe was shocked, thinking about the moving vines again, but she realized it was just one of the cabbage strips. A human shaped cabbage strip. And seeing the build of the human-cabbage, as well as the way its head tilts (a mannerism of Stan)... she knew. She knew it was Stan. She took the bowl and gave the girl a new one. She then skipped to her table, barely bottling up her excitement.

She didn't mention those details to the cops, but she did told them about something moving in one of the student's soup. And how she took it and ate it. Surprisingly, the cops unleashed another torrent of questions. It was terrifying to think that they probably know. When she told them that she saw a cabbage strip move, the cops made inflated oohs and aahs, as if they finally cornered her.

Yet she still clung to her narrative. That it was probably just some silly hallucination, perhaps due to the moving vines earlier. That she simply ate a bowl of soup.

But of course, that wasn't the case. In fact, she stared at it for a long time before she even took it from the girl. The human-cabbage was swimming away from the girl, slowly. It's as if its swimming across lava. The soup was steaming and the cabbage can barely move its softened leafy self across the bowl. In fact, it couldn't even surface itself that much. Only its head was protuding from the savory water. Chloe noticed that it has two hole for eyes. There was no expression in its face, but she can see the dread and fear that it felt when glancing at the little girl behind it. Quite enticing for Chloe to know that he almost got eaten by a preschooler girl. But no. There's an idea a dozen times more enticing than that...

When she took the bowl, the soup went into a turbulent mashup of waves that sank the human-cabbage below the surface. Chloe couldn't resist smiling when the cabbage-man rose on the surface, finding itself face-to-face with her. His thumb-sized face, right below Chloe's round gigantic face.

Stan may be average when it comes to height, but Chloe is quite short. Chloe's body resembles a nameless fruit: she was short and plump. Yes, she's in the "fat" category, with a massive waist that makes her buy panties the size of a laptop. Overall, her body is roughly shaped like a teardrop, with the thickest part being her hips. She may be fat, but her massive boobs and pair of thighs that can probably crush a human head like it's a walnut - combined with her youthful, tomboyish face, made her quite attractive. To complete the fruit resemblance, her hair was a short and spiky mass that look a bit like pineapple leaves.

She's small, so she often find herself looking up at Stan whenever she talk to him.

Now, looking down at him in that form - vulnerable, edible, helpless... it gave her so much excitement she thought she'd explode.

It began swimming away from her, or more like crawling across the steaming soup. It's an amusing sight. Chloe merely watched the cabbage-man persevere, as if he'd escape from her.

She ate the soup, purposefully avoiding the moving ingredient - whose movements freeze in an electrified fear whenever the spoon scoops up something in the soup. She noisily slurped the water and the vegetables. Droplets of soup dripped to her chin. She didn't mind eating in such a manner during that day. All her attention was at the leafy figure trying to escape the bowl.

She was barely full when all that remains was the cabbage man, trembling as it walked along the puddle of savory water, about knee deep for him. She grinned and raised the soup to her face, ready to devour the one that will actually make her full. It turned its leafy face on her, freezing in visible fear.

It's pathetic attempts to escape were futile when she tilted the soup, hungrily slurping all the remaining water. Then the cabbage man... it reached her pouted lips. To her surprise, it kicked her lips, trying to get away. It doesn't seem to be able to do such sudden movements. Still, it can't do nothing to escape her mouth.

Chloe had a big mouth. Open it wide enough and it'll look like fist can fit in it. Although Chloe's own pudgy hand can only go halfway through. Still, it's a wide cavern surrounded by blocky teeth and a thick set of lips.

She tilted the bowl further, until it's almost upside-down. The cabbage man couldn't get away from her grinning lips. And it was absolutely powerless when she opened her mouth - as wide as she could, to the point that her throat showed and opened wide in front of the creature. At that moment, she was sure her fist would definitely fit in her mouth, which was dripping in a thick concoction of her saliva and the soup's water.

The cabbage man - whom she knew was once her jolly co-worker - went all the way to the back of her tongue. She immediately closed her mouth when it landed, and to her surprise, she felt the creature flail inside, running to her lips. But it's leafy body can only tickle her mouth. She giggled as she felt it slip and slide along the dark and moisty cave. It's a surreal, having someone inside your mouth. Yet she giggled and swished the flailing creature to her right cheek, ready to crush it with her molars.

It staggered away, back to her tongue. Her tongue brought it back to her right cheek. She chewed down, but before she could crush its pesky body, it crawled away again.

Frustrated, she threw it on the direction it was crawling: to her left cheek. Before it could react, she quickly crushed it, making a crunchy yet rubbery sound that cabbages do.

It flailed even wilder upon being bitten. So she bit it again and again, chewing. Her spit thickening as it mixed with the perishing leaf between her molars.

The flailing went slower and slower, but never stopped. In fact, the creature was still fairly intact, feeling like a tiny, rubbery skeleton.

Almost disgusted, she swallowed the savory mass. She swore she could feel it struggling against her throat.

The rest of the afternoon went usually, much to the cops' disbelief. No stomachache whatsoever.

She didn't tell them, but she did feel some sort of vibrations and... a presence inside her stomach. As her stomach purred as it churned the soup, she felt something - someone - boiling. Later that afternoon, she felt her bowels processing some vibration that felt like its merging with her fat body. Maybe it was all her imagination. She could only imagine the cabbage man, screaming as it succumbed in her stomach acid, barely moving as it swam in her solidifying mass of shit. Dying, and becoming a part of her. She knew vegetables take time to digest. Sometimes, they come out of your asshole intact... like the cabbage man.

When she felt the sudden need to poo, it was almost the end of work. Almost 5 PM.

Should she tell the cops about how the cabbage felt like slimy worms? Or how it moved on the toilet bowl? It looked like a discolored and burned down leaf, covered in a semi-solid mass of shit. What exactly one would expect an undigested leaf would look like. No. She just shat, and that's the only thing the cops had to know.

But oh, it moved. Like a rat caught in a sticky trap. It struggled to move against the pile of shit surrounding it. It cemented it, but it persevered. It looked up at her, trying to resist the sticky goo that was bigger than its entire body. And in a very Stan-like manner, it tilted its head. It looked like devoid of life though, a zombie, compared her coworker. Cabbages don't have skeletons, but if they do, it'll be like that: lifeless, only consists of branches and burned leaves...

She washed her ass. After that, she dressed up. It didn't bother her that her male coworker just saw her ass. Her ass doing business as a matter of fact. But she didn't care, because as soon as she flushes the mixed-up puddle of shit and water in the bowl, he'll be gone and irrelevant. The creature wasn't even on the surface anymore. It sank and got mixed-up in the water-shit concoction when she washed her ass.

She grinned and flushed the toilet. And Stan the cabbage man was gone.

Marky leaned under a tree in front of the police station. The leaves rustled against the late October winds. He had to cup his hand around his cigarette as he lit it up. It was early morning, several minutes before office time. So it was quite cold.

He thought about the cases, watching the cars crawl like impatient snails along the road in front of him. It's one heck of a busy road right now, like it always does in late October. People traveling somewhere else in the country to spend the Halloween vacation and visit their dead loved ones.

It was October 28, Monday. He'll never get rest until Friday, November 1. The Day of the Dead. National holiday.

Mr. Zaman appeared beside him. A big, solemn shadow appearing on the tree, like a bad spirit in the movies.

Marky offered him his pack of cigarettes. To his surprise, he picked one.

"You finally gave in, huh?" he said, giving the older officer the lighter.

"We're outside the station. That's not counted," he responded, blowing out a puff.

Marky snickered, "not counted my ass."

For a while, they indulged in comfortable silence. With the familiar whiff of smoke surrounding them.

"I reported to the Chief," Marky broke the silence.

Mr. Zaman looked at him, the three lines in his forehead appearing, "what did you say?"

"The truth."

The older officer made a big sip, "why?"

"I feel like it's the right thing to do," he shrugged, the smoke making rough patterns in the air as he did.

"They might escalate it to the NBI," he replied, mentioning this country's equivalent of the FBI.

Marky took a sip of his cigarette, "surprisingly, they didn't. And the Chief didn't think it was completely bullshit."

Mr. Zaman snickered, coughing as the vile smoke rubbed into his throat.

"In fact, he gave me a very important information."

"Hmm?"

"The former owners of the land where Fleece Suburban stands... they were... they were accused of... witchcraft."

Silence.

"Holy shit," Mr. Zaman gasped, "I remember!"

"Yeah?"

"The fire," he said, sounding as if he unlocked a traumatic memory.

"You think it's witchcraft then?"

"Fuck no! They used it as an excuse to burn down the damn place!" Mr. Zaman said, now angry.

Marky remembered. That land used to be a small village deep in the woods. Quite incredible that such a fairly remote society persisted not far from the city. News of witchcraft then appeared. And spreaded. It's surprising how such bullshit is easily accepted in this superstitious country. So when it burned down, the suspicions of foul play was put behind this apparent lie. When Fleece Suburban appeared in the now sold land, everybody realized. It was all intentional. From the lies to the flames. But of course, what could they do?

It was more than a decade ago. He was still in middle school during those times. There was no classes that day. So it was a holiday, and they were at the cemetery...

"The fire," he blurted, "it happened in... The Day of the Dead!"

"Hmm," Mr. Zaman nodded, "November 1. When everyone was in the cemeteries. Less casualties, and less security in the area. Yeah."

"Do you think it's related. In our cases?"

Mr. Zaman threw his cigarette into the road. He glared at Marky, "no. It's not related in any way. Chief is an asshole who wants easy answers."

Mr. Zaman then stood up and dusted his uniform, "he should have called the NBI instead. Fuck him," he spat and walked away.

"He didn't, but he did something else-"

Mr. Zaman stopped and turned, "what?"

"He summoned the special forensics team. He thought dangerous substances were involved."

"He thinks were on drugs? Ok."

"No. He thinks there may be chemicals used. Some weird acids or whatever."

Mr. Zaman felt dumb for a while, "oh, right."

"By the way, I want to talk to Jenny Young."

He sighed, "for what? Is she a suspect now?"

"No, as a witness. I-"

"She already gave her statement!"

"No, not in Horace's case. In the other - Apollo. She babysits the family, remember?" he said. The truth is, while he also thought that the witchcraft thing is bullshit and confuses him more, he still believed that case number 1's daughter - a descendant of those accused witches - held answers that they were looking for.

*** *** ***

Jenny Young was in the midst of a tragedy. And a part of her knew what happened. It was her mom, who was fuming at her dad at that evening. The worst part is that it's probably karma. Karma for what she did at the afternoon of that day. What she did at the old man Apollo, when she was babysitting there.

And perhaps that's why she insisted to agree to let the cops interrogate her. Her mother didn't want to, but both of them didn't have enough energy to argue.

So both of them went to the station, together with their legal counsel - they share one legal counsel. Only the counsel was allowed to be with her in the interrogation room. Jenny remembered his number two tip: don't speak like you're guilty (number one is the classic, shut the fuck up).

The problem was... she was guilty.

It was Sunday afternoon. Power was out, but it was a cool and wet day. The hurricane was just about to leave the country.

She had been babysitting there for months now. An extra source of allowance, as well as a free time killer. That Sunday, the family invited her to babysit for the afternoon. Not necessarily because the parents will be away, but because they will be fixing the bedroom destroyed by the hurricane. Apparently, a twig or a rock smashed the window. Then the storm did stormy things inside the room. Jenny herself had nothing to do, so she accepted the sudden request.

Jenny arrived after lunch - 2 PM to be exact (one of the cops was asking for an exact time). The entire family was happy to see her, including the little baby. Even their small dog was welcoming her there. But there is one who is not that happy, as usual: Apollo.

Most of the time, she didn't mind the old man. He was oftentimes glued in his couch in one corner. Reading cheap newspapers, which often has barely dressed women in the pages. He would watch cock fights or cheesy '80s ballad videos in his phone. Sometimes he would walk around, but Jenny would barely notice him.

That afternoon, he sat in his usual spot. He was clearly grumpy because power was out and his phone was probably dead, which means that he can't read or watch anything.

So he constantly ordered her to pick up some things. The radio. The battery. The screwdriver. A handkerchief... He shoots her his usual remarks on how she's lazy, or how she's useless, or how she's too slow.

The boiling point happened somewhere in the late afternoon. Maybe 4 PM. Power was still out and Apollo was being more and more annoying. The old bastard asked for a cup of coffee, which she complied. In anger, she slammed the cup a bit too hard, splashing a bit of coffee off the lid and into the table.

"You fucking bitch!" the old man fumed, " didn't your parents teach you manners? Fucking ungrateful brat!"

Jenny didn't respond. Instead, she slowly walked back to the baby's room. She closed the door, careful not to slam it. She thought about locking the door, but she decided not to. It was a mistake. A short while later, the door opened, revealing an angry Apollo. "Hey you, clean up your mess there!"

She glared at him, standing up and walking past him in the doorway. As she walked though, a fat and disgusting set of fingers grabbed her arm.

"And do not close the door on me ever again, you fucking brat. Understand?"

She squirmed and tried to get the hand off. As a response, Apollo squeezed harder, "I said UNDERSTAND!"

"Okay okay!" she snapped her arm, but Apollo's hand wouldn't come off, like it was a pesky tentacle.

Then Apollo's other hand... cold and electrifying... caressing just below her ass. She was wearing thick cotton pants that day, but it doesn't matter how thick and how long she wears. That fucking hand penetrates anything.

Jenny exploded in anger and pushed the old man away with her free hand. Apollo staggered backwards, unclasping her arm. Jenny ran away, but Apollo's hand managed to catch her hair. He yanked it back to the doorway.

At that point, she screamed for the parents, who were at the second floor, busy with cleaning the bedroom. But Apollo's thick hand immediately covered her mouth.

"What did I tell you about snitching on me?" he whispered, "you think they'll believe you over me? Don't even think about it. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm definitely not afraid of your lawyer father."

He gradually released her hair. Jenny fought back her tears.

"Now clean the goddamn mess you had made there!" he said.

She went to the kitchen, getting some rugs. She sniffed as her tears found their way into her nose.

She hated him. And now she wanted to snitch on him. Or strike him. Or do anything just to fight back.

A presence - heavy and cold - appeared behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Don't cry," Apollo wiped her eyes with his gross thumb that reminds her of cheap sausage, "I'm sorry, I just-"

Jenny pushed the dirty hand away. But it came back to her face. Another hand. Right at her left ass cheek, "No seriously I-"

She snapped and grabbed the old man's shirt. "Get away from me!" she said through gritted teeth.

"What do you think you're doing, you brat?" he said, the nauseating fake-sweetness in his voice gone. Ironically, she liked this voice more. "You're supposed to clean up your mess."

Tears fell to her cheeks and all the way to her neck. She had a smooth, oval-shaped face. She inherited her mother's smooth blonde hair, as well as her gorgeous eyes and rounded face. She is pretty, but she wished that she's not in the eyes of this bastard. 

But something happened...

Apollo went away. That's what she remembered. That's what she told the cops. The disgusting presence of the old perverted man melted away. But she realized that she haven't let go of his shirt. Glancing at her clenched fist, she saw not a shirt, but a rag. A pale rag she never saw before.

The rag was swinging in her hand, as if it has a mind of its own. It tried to get a hold of her hand, like a struggling octopus with no tentacles.

She gripped it tighter, and the rag stiffened.

Upon closer inspection. She realized it wasn't rectangular, but has four long strips of clothe near its corners. On one side is a circular strip. It's loosely shaped like a human being.

She grabbed it by its "neck" and brought its head in front of her face. It has two tiny dots for eyes. Jenny found herself smirking as she lowered it to her thighs.

She unzipped her pants, revealing the pale cotton clothes that covers her cunt. She drew the rag closer, as if giving it a sniff of the moist air between her thighs. Sure enough, its "hands" raised like snakes and hungrily reached out for it. She put it closer, but not close enough so it could touch. It wiggled its cloth tentacles. She giggled. She knew perverts can be controlled like this, but not literally like this.

It's Apollo alright.

She zipped her pants back and walked around the living room. She peeked at the kitchen, at the baby's room, at the bathroom and even that sofa... no sign of that dirty old man.

She grinned and went to the table, where the spilled coffee was drying up already, leaving dark impressions of clouds on the table. She sighed as she saw the cup, still full and now cold. Clearly, that asshole just wanted to bother her, not a cup of coffee.

She grabbed the rag and wiped it off. At one swipe, the rag exploded - it flailed in her hand. It snapped its cloth strips everywhere, trying to get away. When it slowed down, she swiped it once again, and the rag-person flailed anew.

Then in a quick zip-zap motion, she wiped off the coffee stain.

"Here," she told the struggling rag, giggling. "I wiped it off. Wait a second-"

She saw that the dark clouds didn't disappear completely. There were still big marks on the table.

She wiped it more, grinding it into the table. She put much of her weight into grinding the cloth into the dirty table. The rag couldn't even flail that much. She could feel it heating up as she scrubbed.

After that, she noticed that the cloth was utterly ruined. It was lacerated all over. Small holes and tears already appeared in some places. It's pretty hot due to the friction. She won't be surprised if it steamed.

Jenny smiled, looking at those "eyes". She turned the "head" back to the table - there were still some few stains. So she scrubbed the "face" on it until her arm get tired and the rag get blazing hot. It flailed the whole time.

She found herself giggling as she saw its "face" barely whole. The tears created a big hole in the middle. She turned the "head" to the table - there were still stains, incredibly. 

Frustrated, she leaned into it and spat a gob of saliva on it. The clear yet sticky mass landed on the table, its tiny bubbles popping. Without any hesitation, she smashed the rag-person's face into it. She smeared her spit on the table - a gross thing that she rarely do, but that day was a special and weird day. The table was so slippery wiping it tickles, and it made the whole several seconds more fun. The cloth quickly absorbed the spittle, and the table quickly dried off as well. Now it is devoid of any pesky black clouds.

She looked at the battered rag, "you're quite weak for a rag"

Without thinking, she threw it on its favorite spot - on the sofa - and walked back to the baby's room. Nobody bothered her for the next few hours.

The cops weren't really interested with how she "found" that rag, or the first time she used it. But their interests piqued at the second and last time she used it.

About a quarter to 4, the baby's mom opened the door to the baby's room. It's unusual to have the door closed. And Jenny realized she closed it due to the irrational fear that the old man will come back to her, vengeful.

But now, the mother was looking for him, Apollo. Apparently, the old man wasn't anywhere in the house. Jenny told her that she didn't know, which was partially true. So, that's what she told the cops too.

Then the mother pointed somewhere in the living room. Apparently, their little doggy made a little mess while she's busy with the baby. The neon yellow puddle stood there, waiting to be cleaned.

She couldn't help but grin as she skipped to the old man's sofa. But the rag wasn't there. She looked around and quickly found it behind the sofa. When she spotted it, it quickly crawled under the sofa. She raised the sofa for a bit and put her foot there, looking for that ragged cloth.

She found it near a corner. She tried grabbing it with her foot, but it's squeezed into a pesky ball. She pushed the sofa off but the ball of cloth crawled back under instantly. Frustrated, she pushed off the sofa one more time and quickly put her foot on the ball of cloth. She then squatted and grabbed it with her hand. However, it slipped off and went back under the sofa. She grunted.

But she had an idea: she gently unzipped her pants, putting it down a bit. Then her panties... she slipped it down slowly... until some of the hair peeked.

In a flash, her other hand shot to the ball of cloth under the sofa. It was a tiny gap and pushing her arm into it hurt a bit. But the rag-person didn't slip away. She unballed the rag and put two of her fingers on the hole of its face, like a plastic bag handle. Now it can't escape no matter how it flailed.

She then walked to the living room, to the puddle of pee. She threw the rag into it. The rag instantly got darker and heavier as it absorbed the urine. Before it could move, Jenny's foot pinned it on the floor and wiped. She looked down at the struggling rag as she wiped off the floor. She felt like she's much higher than this creature, struggling beneath her foot. She put all of her weight into it, almost pushing it into the floor. She gritted her teeth as she stood there, grinding her foot as if killing a bug.

After that, the rag-person was barely moving. Its entire body was full of tears and holes. She grabbed the cloth by its corner and threw it on the garbage can in the kitchen. Just like that, Apollo the old pervert is no more.

*** *** ***

"Horace Young - turned into a cockroach, Stan... turned into a cabbage? And... and Apollo - turned into a rug," Marky was wincing as he said that, sighing.

"Marky?" Mr. Zaman said, the three lines on his forehead deep as usual.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that it's... organized bullshit?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"That Fleece Suburban folks are covering up the truth - badly."

"Hmm? That's very likely! But I got to admit that place is eerie, man. But them covering it all up? Possible."

"In the same way that people in the slums are covering their neighbors up. Something like that," Mr. Zaman said.

The telephone rang. An officer answered it, then he called both Mr. Zaman and Marky.

"It was a man named Leo."

*** *** ***

Night patrolman Leo was utterly embarrassed and humiliated.

He didn't really want to drag the two officers here - both were now pissed off. And he certainly didn't want to show that he's afraid of a mere young girl - which he was. That girl was there at the far end of his front yard, smiling her annoying boat-shaped smile. She saw him staring and spat a fat loogie on the ground. She wiped it off with her foot.

"Leo," Mr. Zaman said, "you cannot just call us and tell us you're threatened anytime. You know you can be charged for that."

"But she's trespassing!" he said, sounding like a whiny kid.

"But is she armed?" he said.

"Uh- eh... no!"

"Then it's not an emergency."

"I'm not trespassing, I was just strolling a bit!" Jean piped in.

Leo looked down on the ground. He could feel Jean's fiery glare even though he wasn't looking. Gazing up a bit, he saw a glimpse of her feet and long streak of the wiped off spittle. She was wearing those pretty purple flipflops. They look as soft as a rubber can be, but he knew they can feel like metal. He experienced the brutality that they can bring at that night.

As if she read his mind, Jean said, "What did you tell them about me during that night?"

Leo looked up at her, frowning.

"Did you tell them about how I stepped on you and how you cried like a baby?" 

Leo's felt his own face warming up like a flat iron, "that's not true. It-"

"They know," she said, "you don't have to hide it. We don't have to hide it."

"What did you do to him?" Mr. Zaman said, frowning.

"Stepped on him. Nothing too brutal. On his back. Can you show us your back, Leo boy?"

"No. Stop changing the topic!" Leo said.

"What do you mean stepped on him? You trampled on him?" Mr. Zaman said.

"Show us your back so we can see and get the fuck outta here," Marky said, annoyed.

Leo hesitated. Jean cackled. Marky then walked to him and raised his t-shirt. Marky yelled and recoiled, as if he found a live snake beneath.

Mr. Zaman went and took a look, "holy shit."

Marky knew what they were. Pink lines that were a bit patterned. About an inch thick and covering his entire back.

"Psst!" Jean said and the three men turned to her. She raised her foot so it shows the sole of her flip-flop. The pattern of that slipper... matches the ones in his back.

"Go to the station," Marky said, "now!!!"

*** *** ***

The night of Friday, October 25 was definitely the weirdest moment of Leo's life. He wouldn't tell anyone about it, not only because it sounds bullshit, but also because it's embarrassing.

But if it means standing up to that bitch Jean and even prosecuting her, he'll tell the cops. He'll tell them what actually happened.

The part until Jean's unwelcome appearance were all true. Captain and his friends were drinking late at night, and this girl just went out of her house and told them to be quiet. It's also true that she looked hot that night, even in the dim light, but of course Leo wouldn't say it with Jean there. And yes, Captain and some of the men did touched Jean in places they shouldn't. Driven by alcohol, they were sputtering with sexual remarks.

And yes, Leo stopped Jean, not the horny drunken men. But there's a reason for that.

It was because when she pushed Captain away, the old man fell on the ground, whining in pain. His friends gathered around him. When he saw Jean walking to them slowly, wearing a malicious grin, he stopped the girl.

He wouldn't forget how Captain sat there, looking up at the much younger girl with fear in his eyes. He moved like he was restrained, even if he's not. And he shrank. Literally. Shrank before his two sober eyes.

He grabbed his baton and pushed Jean back to her home, but at that exact moment, all his strength left him. He felt like he had a "power" switch that's been shut off in a flick. He wasn't able to push the girl an inch. Instead, he fell on his knees and dropped his baton. It rolled away. 

He found himself kneeling and looking up at the girl, who was glaring at him.

"Stop this," he said.

The girl smiled and pushed him softly. He tumbled like an empty plastic bottle. He crawled towards his baton, but...

He felt the rubber sole on his back, as well as Jean's presence, her shadow covering the ground in front of him, "What was it again, sir?"

He whined as a response.

But that was not the stepping that Jean was talking about.

As he flailed, trying to get free, his body felt stiff for some reason. Jean's foot sank deeper into his back. He felt like he was moving underwater. And that he's getting smaller.

Wait, he was getting smaller. Shrinking, just like what he saw happened with Captain.

The flip-flop got bigger and heavier gradually. He progressively got weaker and more intimidated by the ground. "What the fuck!" he cried.

It then came to the point where the slipper covered everything below the back of his head. He could barely move. It felt like a car was pinning him down.

Jean grunted as she pushed her foot deeper. Leo screamed in pain, "AAAAAH!!! STOP STOP! PLEASE!"

That prompted the girl to push her foot even further, "what is it, I can't hear you."

She rubbed her foot downwards - from his head to his legs, releasing him. He was not only bursting in tears, but dripping with snot too.

"You will not tell anyone about this, understand?" she said.

He merely sniffed.

She put her slipper on his body again, this time with the tip directly on his head.

"Yes yes I underst- AAAAAAH!" he felt like his head would break like eggs, or burst like a grape. The flip-flop felt like a rocky boulder. It rubbed his head from side to side, smearing some of his tears and snot on the ground and on his face. It seems that the mysterious stiffness of his body was preventing him from being a red pulp.

She raised her foot off his trembling body and squatted above of him, "You will not tell anyone about this. About what I can do, okay? It wasn't like anyone would believe you anyway."

"Okay.."

"I asked you a question!"

"OKAY OKAY! I UNDERSTAND I UNDERSTAND!"

"Good," Jean giggled and stood up.

Then Leo felt a comet fell on him, making his vision entirely white. Jean just stomped on him. His body felt like it was glowing in pain, yet the pain was dampened by the stiffness of it. He felt like... rubber.

Before he could recover, another comet fell. Another white flash.

Glitters filled his vision as he reoriented himself. He spat a bit as he accidentally ate some of the dust on the ground. He slowly got up with painful arms, and heard that bitch giggling.

Then truck-sized force hit his side, throwing him into the building-sized garbage can.

Jean left him there, to the alcohol-stenched corner. Captain and the others already left. So he waited there alone with his existential fear of being this way forever or simply being eaten by small animals.

He gradually grew back after what felt like hours. His entire body hurts, like he just got beaten up. Of course he did get beaten up. By a girl younger than him. He sat there on the ground, leaning on the garbage can. It took him a couple of hours to recover.

After his narration, he saw Jean beaming. The two officers were as annoyed as ever.

A few questions raised. As Jean supplied more info, Leo learned that she made his body made of rubber, which explains that stiff feeling.

The officers warned Jean about trespassing to anyone's property again, and both them about lying and withholding information. They then told Leo they wanted to examine those embarrassing marks on his back. He could tell they were trying to smell a whiff of bullshit in all of these.

Before they left, the two officers grunted and almost fell on their knees. They looked like old men struggling with arthritis.

Leo was confused, but when Jean smiled at the two, he knew.

"Anything wrong officer?" Jean said, grinning.

His knees felt weak as well, not because of Jean's spell, but because of fear. If even these two supposedly best officers can easily be under Jean's spell, then what can he do? Where will he find support?

Jean left the station, leaving Leo and the officers there. Leo couldn't help but dread the moment he will return to the suburbs, at Jean's range of attack.

The police car was rolling to Fleece Suburban at a leisurely pace. It was a cool afternoon, with barely a color in the sky. But the men inside the car were dripping with a few sweat.

October 31. Halloween. The suburban area wanted extra security for some Halloween event. They already set it up weeks ago, before all this fuckery began. Some officers were distributed among the cemeteries for The Day of the Dead. Then there were men like Mr. Zaman, who just wanted to chill in the suburban area on Halloween. Marky had to make a last minute switch so he could be with Mr. Zaman's team.

Mr. Zaman glanced at Marky. The younger officer was looking up at the ceiling, scratching his temple every now and then. He was worried about this boy. About what he could do today. He had to watch his ass like a parent.

Today is Halloween. Today, they have a plan.

The previous discoveries did nothing but confirm their outlandish theories: witchcraft. People possessed by mountains, giving them an ability to turn other people into objects...

Marky wanted to expose them, heck even eliminate them. He even suggested driving the community away from here, citing the special forensic team's discovery in the mountains: a mysterious chemical compound whatsoever that was unearthed by the recent landslide. He's quite a genius on his own, but Mr. Zaman doesn't want to repeat history. More than how he didn't want to destroy people's home in that place again, he didn't want to initiate another witch hunting.

They had arguments and heated debates, but in the end, the older officer had the final say: they'll set them up. With drugs.

He might be imagining it, but a chill ran across his spine as they entered the suburban area. It has a guard house and an arch colored in pale orange. Against the grey sky, the color take the hue of a peach. On the sides were giant pots in yellowish white, with barely alive plants trying their best to show off their remaining green pigments.

Today, there's the usual trick or treat, organized by the suburban into a big event featuring both kids and adults. Mr. Zaman's team was the first batch of the policemen who will patrol the event.

But the suburban wasn't lively. In fact, it was as dead as a cemetery. Occasional women would stare at them as they drive by, usually looking like they're holding grudge. A few kids, already in their various Halloween costumes, were passing by. But not even their energetic strides and colorful costumes could liven up the mood. The sidewalks were covered in moss. Vines were everywhere. Everyone gasped when they saw one abandoned home on a corner completely devoured by the leaves.

Mr. Zaman sighed as they spin along a roundabout. They're almost there. He looked at Marky, who also looked at him. It's almost ti-

HISS.

The car stopped. It creaked and made that hum that machines do just before they die.

The officers looked at each other as the driver tried to restart the car.

The car wouldn't start.

Outside, some people were looking at them. A woman started walking towards their car. On another side is another woman, also walking towards them.

Marky suddenly opened the door, gasping as if he was suffocating inside. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Marky!" Mr. Zaman got out of the car and walked to him. He was sitting on the ground, looking at the wheels. They were wrapped in thick vines.

"Do you need help?" a woman's voice.

Both officers turned around and discovered that they were now surrounded by a group of women.

Gossipers, Mr. Zaman thought.

The other officers also went out of the car. Now everyone was staring at the vine covered tires like idiots.

"Ooh!" a familiar gossiper voice announced, "Mr. Zaman, Marky, you're the first batch that will monitor the Trick or Treat event right?"

Mr. Zaman couldn't help but smile as they turned to Venice. Suddenly, a small black figure appeared in front of him and growled. He gasped.

He looked down and saw that it was Venice's daughter, dressed-up as a witch.

"Oh, aren't you a little cutie!" Venice cooed as the little girl embraced her. The kid glanced at Mr. Zaman and stuck out her tongue.

They discussed a bit more about the mysterious death of their police car. It's pretty new, bought a couple of years ago. Even now, it still gleamed in lustrous blue and silver.

"I think we should go to the event now, it's about to get started," Marky said.

"What, no! We can't just leave the car here!" Mr. Zaman sounded like he's pleading, so much that everyone looked at him. He turned to Marky and the others with wide eyes. They then understood: the drugs.

"We can just stay here to guard the car," one of the policemen said, "then we can... we can..."

The others looked at him as the silence got heavier.

"... switch places."

He was looking at Mr. Zaman with cryptic eyes as well. He assumed that he was trying to say that he'll initiate the raid like planned.

Mr. Zaman and Marky finally agreed and started walking together with the gossipy women.

Mr. Zaman walked slowly in purpose. When he was far from the gossipers' wide earshot, he went to Marky.

"We'll still go with the plan. Go signal is when officer Alan enters," he whispered to him.

"Copy that," he answered.

"YOOO!"  a loud voice from behind that made both officers jump. They turned around and saw laughing kids in bloody costumes.

They probably didn't hear them, since they all weren't looking at them. They did glance and frown at them, but that didn't mean that they heard.

In fact, everyone in this place seem to look at the police with cautious eyes. He assumed his organized bullshit theory is true, but a part of him believes it's not. Either way, it weirds him out.

Marky stopped their walk, "Zaman?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you noticed that... there's scarcely any men in this place?"

"Oh," he gasped, "I mean, there were little boys but..."

"Forget about the little boys- the men, where are they?"

"At work? Home? Maybe they're cleaning at the cemetery? Who knows? You might be overthinking it, Marky," Mr. Zaman said. 

They continued walking, "calm down okay? Relax. Everything's still going according to the plan," he said to Marky.

They're now at the heart of the suburban. The multipurpose building was bustling with that annoying crowd noise. But it's still devoid of life, Mr. Zaman thought. He might be imagining it, but he hated the weight of this "event". As if it's The Day of the Dead already, and not Halloween.

They entered the building. Both officers made sideways glance to the west. There, the daycare stood, devoid of lights or people. Case number 3's crime scene. Somehow, everyone cautiously glances at it. A real life Halloween icon. A hiding place for an adult Boogeyman.

They just walked around, talking to people - still not much men around. They just have to wait. Wait for the go signal. Their nerves got more and more tensed as the minutes - hours - went by...

***

The grey sky did show hints of reddish orange, quickly fading into indigo. Forming a starless sky with a faint glowing white spot for a moon.

It's been a few hours and Marky was already sweating despite the chill night. The kids part of the event was almost over: they were awarding the best costumes already. Perhaps that's what they've been waiting for. For the kids to get the hell out of here.

The winner was a ten year old dressed up as a forest fairy of some sort. Marky didn't like how she was covered in brown vines. Vines. But he guessed it's extra scary to wear it in a place that's being invaded by magic vines. Plus it's indeed a good costume.

He continued walking around. It's quite boring, since he wasn't talking with anyone. The people here - mostly women like they observed - were staring at him like he committed unspeakable crimes. Like they were staring into his soul. Like they'll judge him for his sins.

Mr. Zaman wasn't around.

And no matter where he looked, he's nowhere to be found. He saw other policemen, some night patrolmen. He couldn't even remember when and where did he lost him.

He walked to one of the doors, only to find it closed.

"Why is this closed?" he said to a woman, who raised her eyebrow.

"Why they closed it..." she said.

"For a special event later! Right?" another woman jumped in.

Marky doesn't like the sound of it. He doesn't like everything in this event in fact. He was feeling the classic something-is-wrong-and-I-gotta-get-the-fuck-out-of-here feeling.

So he stormed to the lobby. There, the two extra doors on the sides were still open. He went to the western one and headed to the direction where their car died down. The two fuckers there probably slept already.

Beside him, the daycare center stood against the moonlight. It's light brown color glowed pale blue against him. It's presence seemed to weaken Marky. The image of case number 3's remains in the toilet bowl... it loosens his appetite, it fogs his mind. It was like a fever.

He walked faster, looking away from the daycare and into the multipurpose hall. Still looking for Mr. Zaman. That other fucker probably slept as well.

There were a few people on the road he just turned to. Kids trick or treating, teens hanging out in groups, women exchanging bullshits that make them shoot into annoying dolphin-like laughs.

Not much men.

Men... they're mostly night patrolmen.

As he walked, he saw Leo. And he was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who was least likely to be with him. Jean. The two were strolling to the daycare... or behind it.

Cold sweat was dripping in his back as he followed them with his eyes.

They disappeared behind the empty daycare building. Marky, being a police officer he was, monitored all the possible exits. The doors and the lobbies, and especially, the road from behind.

A few minutes later, Jean appeared in the aforementioned road. Skipping away. Alone.

She stopped for a bit. Marky thought she saw him. But when she continued skipping, he thought he was probably imagining it.

As the girl got closer, he could see how her neon pink sweater flashed against the pale light. This girl has a thing for neon colors, it seems. Across it, in bold font and deep purple color: "GIRL POWER".

Marky remembered that she's one of those crazy feminists.

At that moment, it all clicked. So much that the cricket chirps stopped, the sound of people disappeared, and the winds halted.

The victims were all men. And the crazy mountain-possessed sorcerers are all women. The lack of men here, the feminist discourse... Even the fucking little girl saying "boys are weak"...

Suddenly, Marky sprinted back to the multipurpose hall. That special event... it can't be good. Especially considering his fellow policemen, and the night patrolmen - his fellow men...

His heart started to engage in an overdrive. He suppressed his urge to scream, saving his voice for when he found Mr. Zaman. He would shout "ZAMAN, IT'S NOT ORGANIZED BULLSHIT, IT'S ORGANIZED SLAUGHTER!"

Upon reaching the building's main entrance, he clashed against a fairly thick crowd of mostly kids. They were surrounding a peculiar Halloween decoration: a life-sized zombie. Upon closer inspection, the prop looked like a rock. Not glowing even a bit under the moonlight, and as immobile as a corpse. A familiar man in his forties.

It was Mr. Zaman.

***

The smell of sugar was everywhere, so much that Jim could taste it with his eyes. Combined with the striking, yeasty smell of cookies, it made him submit to the simple fact that he's now one of them. A mere ghost-shaped cookie.

More specifically, he's a soft sugar figure inside a ghost shaped cookie. He's trapped inside with little space to move. It was like being stuffed in a bag that is hard as stone.

The chatter of women from the outside was mildy audible. The unmistakable giggle sound making his prison vibrate.

His world shook. Fear flushed all the spirit in his body, as if he was free falling.

His fear tripled when he did feel like he was free falling... upwards. Like a really fast elevator, it put all his blood to his feet. Making his consciousness fuzzy. So when the prison cracked and revealed endless darkness in the outside, it barely registered to him. The smell - a putrid, wet stench, further degraded his consciousness. What is this place? And how can such a disgusting hell exist?

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a warm, thick liquid. It melted the stone-hard cookie that surrounded him. He felt the floor move and maneuver the melting cookie. Together, it created a bitter-sweet concoction that sticks to his body like glue.

He is in someone's mouth, of course he should've expected that.

As if the owner of the monstrous mouth heard his thoughts, she giggled. It was a hearty giggle that shook his world. But the momentary gesture showed him a glimpse of the outside - the familiar sight and sound of the multipurpose hall, where he was a few hours ago. He could see the yellowish-white teeth that were obscenely wide, like huge cardboard shaped stones. It was surreal that he'll end up like this... drenched in sugary spit. But he won't give up.

He flailed, crawling towards the teeth. It was a sticky terrain, and every desperate move forward made him smell and even eat some of the gross liquid. He was scratching the tongue with his nails to crawl forward, but it was so wet and slippery it only made him fall face-first to the massive muscle. He was retching as he desperately crawl. The mouth opened again, shaking his world. It's still a long way from here, and Mike was already tired.

"Hey, I got the one!"

"Good to know, Venice!"

Suddenly, the tongue pushed him to his destination. Through the teeth, then through the dark lips. It's surreal how he could see how they blend with the rest of the mouth, the opening looking like a big oval hole. Both the teeth and the lips clipped his torso so he wouldn't move further. He sighes as his head protuded from the massive lips. He was looking downwards, and a spit string dripped from his nose. It made a long line towards the black shirt Venice - his predator - was wearing.

He looked up and saw another woman, who was wincing in disgust, but giggled at the sight of him wiggling helplessly between her friend's lips.

She grabbed a phone and took a photo, "Tell your husband this is what'll happen to him if he angered you - or your kid actually!"

The mouth pinning him giggled, "I'm pretty sure he's obedient enough!" The teeth was pinning him hard as she talked. Her lips were embracing and releasing his head as she spoke, covering him in fresh layers of saliva.

The other woman giggled too, "I know, they're still here right?"

"Yeah, he's with our daughter at the lobby."

"Kid said she had to save the zombie because he'll turn into a dwarf."

They both giggled.

"Oh!" Venice's voice was so loud and sudden it vibrated Mike's entire body, "show him show him!"

Then the other woman showed him her phone screen. There he was between Venice's wide set of teeth, her lips pushed away suggestively and her eyes looking at him with fierceness. He couldn't recognize himself - a tiny white mass between the woman's teeth. Barely bigger than a piece of candy. Venice herself was quite a stunner, her well-built face showing elegance and femininity, despite looking like a tomboy with large teeth.

Suddenly, the lips embraced him and went all the way to his chin, like a snake. Then Venice started sucking, so hard that he grunted in pain. All the blood rushed to his head and his legs were squeezed into impossible sizes. He then realized that his dick was fully erect since seeing that picture, and being sucked now... it made him moan in sudden, tsunami-sized pleasure. Whether it's the pressure or the pleasure, his entire vision went white. Even when he was fully consumed by the hungry mouth, his vision was bright and cloudy. He even saw flashes of light as he felt his legs and torso being crushed by stones - the giantess's molars. Some of his "flesh" got stuck in the rocky structures, most of it never left the lower molars, inviting another round of grinding like an ingredient in a pestle-and-mortar.

By the time darkness and the stinking stench gripped his consciousness again, he only have a head, one arm, and half a torso. So he couldn't fight much as the molar smashed his face from above. As it grinded his head into paste, he got stuck to it. For a while, he hanged there with his head attached to the upper molars. He realized that's where the smell was coming from - the stale spit and tartar covering the monstrous stone structures.

He got crushed more and more, until he became one with the thick cookie-flavored spit. He felt like he was losing himself piece-by-piece. And was slowly merging with the disgusting slimy spit. He realized what being consumed was all about - abandoning your whole self, and merging with the superior being. That silly thought - an empty hope of continuing to live with meaning - was what vanquished his despair in his last moments.

***

Marky noticed that it's dinner time, and the party was just beginning. There were some snacks. Some mac-and-cheese, sandwiches with black bread, and some cookies that are supposed to look like ghosts. Wines and iced tea completed the strange meal.

The women were feasting on it, and it looked like they were having some sort of a contest of getting "the one". The best piece of sandwich probably. They were like little kids, and that dismayed Marky. But at least it made them distracted enough for him to perform his, admittedly, sinister plan. He thought of it as Plan Z, or Plan when-every-fucking-thing-fell-apart. And what will he do when every fucking thing fell apart? He'll perform his first instinct ever since learning about this witchcraft shit: he'll burn down the place. There'll be collaterals, but he hoped the other policemen and even the idiot night patrolmen have enough instincts to get the fuck out. Perhaps they could save many innocent women too - if they are innocent.

He knew it's insane, even for a Marky's action standards. And by the time he sneaked to behind the big black curtains at the end of the building, he knew he reached the point of no return. He'll destroy his life, his career... but at least he'll put an end to this fuckery. A kamekazee - that's something a desperate Marky would definitely do.

He laid on his stomach like a soldier crawling. He fished out his lighter, then his pistol, putting the latter in front of him. He then put the lighter next to the curtain. One click and it'll began. Sweat formed in small balls on his body. It's pretty hot in here, even without the fire. The curtain made lazy sways along the wind, unaware that it'll succumb to flames soon. With a shaky hand, he clicked the lighter.

It didn't light.

He clicked it again.

It didn't light.

He clicked it again, twice.

The flame appeared with its small, almost cute yellow form. He put it on the curtain, which started to dissolve as soon as the fire touches it. The fire then disappeared, leaving behind a small hole in the curtain.

"Fuck!" Marky whispered.

He clicked and the lighter lighted up again. He put the flame in the hole...

Something pinned his back, squeezing all air out of his lungs. He lost grasp of his lighter.

"What are you doing, officer?" the unmistakable voice from above. It was Jean.

He scrambled for his pistol, but the girl kicked it away.

He cursed himself for being so stupid and careless.

"Let me go!" he said.

Jean crouched, making him feel the weight of her presence more. Her pink GIRL POWER shirt almost reflected in the black curtain. She put her foot from his back to his face, she was wearing boots. He noticed those annoying, gross mouth sounds - she was chewing a gum?

"I said, what are you doing, officer?"

Marky's face heated up both from the humiliation and the rage. He quickly rolled and planted a swift punch to Jean's thighs, he crawled up and gave her a devastating uppercut... that never reached her flat chin.

Marky felt himself weakening, falling on his ass. Jean smiled and stood up at full height above him. He appreciated how striking the girl looked from here. So much that when she glared and put her boot on his chest, pinning him on the floor, he got an erection.

"You're trying to commit arson. You think I'm stupid, officer?"

It's astounding how she lacks respect and fear for a policeman like him, even for a crazy young feminist.

"Let me go, or you'll face the consequences."

Jean crouched again, putting her face near him. She was indeed chewing a gum! Gross. The white mass danced and stretched in her mouth, making slick sounds everytime.

"No, you'll face the consequences of your actions. You wanna see?"

Confused, Marky merely tried to squirm, but his body was so weakened he's basically immobilized.

Jean stood up again. With her boot, she turned his face to the side. Marky fought back screaming as the metallic heel treads his cheek.

He felt the girl crouching.

"PFOO!"

A white mass fell in front of him with a wet shower. Jean's gum, gross.

But to his horror, the white mass started to move. The chewed down slime reminded him of a worm, but it wasn't a worm but a...

"Heeeelp! Help meeee!" a small voice erupted from it as it moves slowly, like a slug.

"Do you hear it?" Jean whispered.

Tiny bubbles from the spit formed as the white mass crawled. He couldn't imagine being molded in such a form. Full of craters and covered in spit.

"I've been chewing him for like - an hour? He's delicious actually."

The chewed-up gum continued struggling to move.

"Heyyy! It's me, Leo! Please! I-" the boot, big as a house and bearing unimaginable weight in comparison to him, cut him off. It made a dull THUD as it did. Marky gasped.

"You see? But I'll let you go, and will never tell this to anyone."

He grunted, "and what's the catch?"

Jean giggled, "you'll be with me for the rest of the night. You know what'll happen? We'll basically ask all of you policemen a favor."

"What?"

"You'll see later! At the special event!"

"You never get out of my sight, or try to sabotage this night again. If you ever did anything like it, I'll make you suffer as much as I can! I'm not joking!"

Marky felt fear. He was threatened. It was a very long time since he felt that way. But whenever it happens, it usually involves big time criminals, not college girls.

A few minutes later, a tensed Marky was walking along with Jean. The policeman was following her like a dog. But he was observing the surroundings as he did.

He saw Venice. The tomboyish young mom was wearing a black shirt and denim shorts. She saw him and smiled, walking towards him.

"Hey there, oh hey Jean!"

"Miss Venice!" Jean squealed. It's almost uncanny how respectful she sounded this time, "you know, I already converted Sir Marky!"

Sir Marky, he thought, snickering. He gave Venice a help-me look. But Venice merely grinned at him.

"Do you know now?" she said, her smile disappearing. In fact, her countenance was as intimidating as Jean's.

"Know what?"

Then Venice proceeded to narrate using her usual friendly tone.

When the hurricane arrived, it unearthed something from the mountains: magic. 

The landslide and the mysterious chemical compound in it? Marky thought. Apparently, those are pixie dusts or some shit.

To make the long story short, this magic reignited the memory of the "witches" in this place. Nature started to reclaim the suburban, and people - women - started to unlock their ability to manipulate people without magic - men.

The reason for the gender specifics are unknown, at least to Marky, who wouldn't swallow the feminist bullshit being taken as its reason.

In the end, the women learned that they can hide the bodies by making them "immortal". Things that can't be broken.

"Like a bubblegum!" Jean piped in. The comment made Marky wince.

When transformed people get broken, their souls or whatever retake their original form. That explains the cases. In fact, it explains them all, perfectly.

"Here, take a look!" Venice said as she raised her Converse.

The dirty rubber edges showed nothing. Marky frowned.

"Look closer!" she said.

He sighed and crouched to the shoe. There were many dusts stuck in the corners of the sole. There were even some little stones...

"You see that big stone near the heel?" Venice said, giggling as she struggles to find her balance, her hand on the table.

There was indeed a big stone there. Marky frowned again, "what's so special about it?"

"Have you ever wondered why, in the ancient times, all witches are females and all statues are males?"

Marky kept frowning.

"I think he's wondering more about the whereabouts of night patrolman Stan," Jean piped in.

Marky's heart skipped a beat. Night patrolman Stan. Missing for almost a week... a piece of stone beneath a Converse shoe?

Venice giggled, "yep, that's him! I made sure he's stuck there indefinitely."

Marky stared at it. And he swore it was moving very slightly, trying to get out or scream for help. How long had he been struggling there?

"Can I touch it?" he asked.

"Sure!"

He slowly hovered his index finger to it, almost touching. But he had something else in mind.

He grabbed Venice's other leg with both arms and pushed it forwards. Venice fell on her butt and grabbed the table curtain with her. Spilling some food, wine, and to Marky's delight: candles. Everything went according to his half-baked plan. The flames started to eat the table up, as well as the curtain behind it.

Not letting his guard down, he quickly stood up and planted a swift punch on Jean's temple, knocking her to the table.

A thick smoke immediately covered the entire place. Screams echoed, followed but rushed feet and locked doors banging. He ran with the crowd to the lobby, not hesitating to push anyone in his way.

Soon, he was outside and the multipurpose building was glowing bright yellow in flames. Marky could only laugh. It's over, at least for now.

A few minuted later, firemen and some more policemen arrived. The police made the familiar routine of assessing the place. The team looked exhausted just looking around. Somebody hopped in and began leading the group.

It was Mr. Zaman.

***

HEEEELP!

HELP UUUUUUUS!

HEEEEEELP!

GODDDD! HAVE MERCY ON US!

KILL US!

Everytime they shout, Alan and Vince's voices were instantly damped by the deep dark water. No matter how loud, how passionate, how obscene their pleas. No God or human will hear them from here.

They on the floor of the sewers. Deep under dirty water that is as black as tar. On the floor, they were covered in soft, mushy thing. It reeked of an odour so foul an actual feces would smell like vanilla icing in comparison. The mushy thing on the sewer floor cemented them into place. Where no light, no sound, and no plea can ever enter or escape.

They're in literal hell.

It's been days, probably, but it felt like months for the two former policemen. That Halloween night... they were guarding the car while Mr. Zaman and Marky went to the event. After a while, a figure appeared. And it led to a strange confrontation that ended with them becoming a centimeter tall, and metallic. In fact, they couldn't move their metal bodies.

At an earth-shattering kick from the gigantic sneakers, they went rolling to the catch basin. Where they fell into hell.

From then on, they got submerged in that endless stream of foul liquid. Beneath the entire suburb's liquid wastes. Their metal bodies will be resilient for years, decades even. But they couldn't do anything but scream without sounds.

***

EPILOGUE

Mr. Zaman retired, and Marky never saw him again. The last time he heard, he mentioned something about his wife and daughters. Maybe the guy wanted to spend more time with his wife and girls.

Marky left the job as well. He is couldn't bring himself to continue after what happened that Halloween night. After what he did.

The supposed witches were framed up successfully, with the arson set up as their attempt to destroy evidence.

He went far into the countryside, living there offline and fairly low-key. Every day, he couldn't stop feeling like a criminal on a hiding.

He never read news about that fucking suburbs again. The last time he checked, the developer dropped the area. He couldn't salvage the damn thing after the investors left it anyway. The cases were fairly public, thanks to goddamn TikTok and all those shits kids use. Apparently, the place was eaten up by vines. But the people stayed. Even when the government warned them about the mysterious chemical that the landslide unearthed - magic dusts - they stayed. They stayed and Marky could imagine that they will rule the land.

He remembered what Venice told him that night. Among her last words. About nature and magic "reclaiming" the suburban.

He left them all. Like bad memories.

As he sat there near his garden, someone arrived calling his name. Addressing him as "officer".

Like a ghost, the memories came to haunt him here, in a form of a young man.

Frowning, he went to him. He was a mailman, and he had a note.

The anonymous envelope did refer to him like a police officer. And it was addressed in a place called "Vendigria". God knows where the fuck it is, if it is exists. It was as if a fantasy book nerd came to prank him. But what he read below the address, in small squiggly letters, is what shocked him.

(formerly fleece suburban)