Nightmare Egress, Part 2 - "Connections"

CONNECTIONS
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The following is a transcription of the contents of an audio recording taken by former M.E.G agent David Heavers on October 5th, 2008, a few months before his passing. Henry O’Leary, another former agent and Heavers’ closest friend and companion, was communicating with the late wanderer via phone while traveling alone to find resources in Level 0.
[RECORDER CLICKS ON, O’LEARY ANSWERS HEAVERS’ CALL.]
H.O'L: Am I coming through loud and clear?
D.H: Yeah. I’m holding this thing a bit too close to my ear now, though. You know how technology is, please don’t try bursting my eardrums.
H.O'L: You can count on me not doing that to you. Should I introduce myself to the audience for posterity?
D.H: Haha, yeah, you really don’t need to do that. This is more for my personal concerns. Gotta record everything.
H.O'L: Exactly, man. Is this going in the journal too?
D.H: You know damn well it is. 
H.O'L: Aren’t you aware that you’re inevitably going to run out of pages? We might stay here forever.
D.H: Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’ve still got ties with the Major Explorer Group. I’m pretty sure they have a few spare journals. Otherwise, we’ll just resort to audio recording only, and that, I am trying to evade, as without writing, I’m pretty sure I’ll lose a portion of my soul.
H.O'L: You sure do like writing, don’t you?
D.H: Old habit. Can you really blame me, though? I have always wanted to be a renowned writer. Writing is very satisfactory as a hobby. Very fulfilling. As a profession, too. Now, guess that dream won’t ever come true. We’re just a bunch of losers scavenging for almond water and shitty snacks now so we can survive on this web we’re all caught in ... “The Backrooms”, as they like to call it.
H.O'L: If this is the web, then who— I mean, what is the spider?
D.H: I don’t know, and I think I’m better off not knowing.
H.O'L: Well ... in any case, you do have survival guides for common entities written in the book, right?
[Silence, minus the buzzing of fluorescent lights paralleling on both ends.]
H.O'L: David?
D.H: I don’t. Gotta save space. Just shoot everything down.
H.O'L: Fuck you.
D.H: (laughs) I’m just pulling your leg. I’ve got them here in my rucksack. Each one on a labeled slide. 
H.O'L: Thank God. I would appreciate it if your jokes could stop freaking me out.
[Silence.]
D.H: I’ve been joking a lot recently, haven’t I, Henry? Call me crazy, but maybe this place had an influence on it. Is it odd to say that being here in The Backrooms is kind of comfortable? I mean, especially when I’ve got my main man on my side. We’ve been here for what ... two years? We’re still alive, too.
H.O'L: I don’t want to feel alive. I want to be thriving. This complex is “thriving”’s arch-nemesis. It feels so hollow. Empty. Not the comforting kind of empty, the kind that makes you feel like you’re under surveillance but you can’t tell who’s watching. Some people call that “liminality”, or whatever. Magic of liminal spaces. Remember when we went to the countryside back in ‘99? All of that was so ... lively, and it sucks that I’m only realizing how much it was all worth now. I can barely even remember what home looked like. 
D.H: Yes, but we’re living like gods here, aren’t we? I haven’t seen a face, (coughs) a human face other than yours for two years. That’s aside from M.E.G agents, but we’ve had little-to-no contact with them, and most of them were a bunch of total cowards. Not to sound condescending, but our service and loyalty to the establishment must have helped it more than their efforts.
H.O'L: Don’t you at least miss your parents, Dave?
D.H: I really have no way to sugarcoat this, but it’s difficult to say I do. Both of my parents were busy with work, or alcohol. Mostly work, thankfully, for my whole childhood. I feel like an asshole for saying this, but the treatment I got as a kid was insufficient. You and my younger sister were the only ones who I know truly cared for me whenever I was going through, you know, a multitude of adversities. Should I say more?
H.O'L: No, you’re fine. I’m just happy that we’re here together and we’re still young, even if we are destined to live the rest of our lives running in a circle of paranoia. You never know what could be around here, clambering in the shadows.
[Silence. Heavers is heard writing something in his personal journal. He stops almost two minutes later.]
H.O'L: Oh hey, David, I’ve wanted to ask you this for a while. A long while.
D.H: Shoot.
H.O'L: You sure? I’m about to go full theorist mode.
D.H: Whatever it is, I have probably heard a bigger mindfuck. 
H.O'L: Do you think that ... The Backrooms could be that neighbor to our reality we just didn’t learn or know how to accept? Think about it, neighbors are friendly and civil. Maybe this realm wants to harbor good people, like us, but it can’t because it has its own parasites; the entities. But is it really their fault? Who knows how long those things were here? We’re intruders, all things considered, and we are asserting our dominance over the horrors residing within The Backrooms because even here, we still believe that we’re the dominant species, despite this clearly being an entirely different ecosystem, if you can even call it that. Then again, I did call them “parasites”, maybe they’re intruders too? Maybe this place was meant to stay empty forever, but that was against something else's volition, or maybe even its own volition, so it tried breaking through the code and bringing all of us in?
D.H: That’s a lot of speculating in one statement, wheel-horse.
H.O'L: It’s fun to think about though. It’s all about hypothesis. Who needs power when you can admire the inscrutability of this, all of it?
 
D.H: You just said you hated this place because it wasn’t as lively as Earth.
H.O'L: Yes, and nothing has changed since that very moment, but I am a big fan of mystery.
[Heavers chuckles softly and quietly begins to write in his journal.]
H.O'L: Ey, I can hear you writing, friend.
 
D.H: Your theory is intriguing, I’m not even gonna lie. I should probably write down your thoughts. Imagine if we do get out of here, and decades later when we’re old geezers, I show you my writings and we reminisce of the hell we went through here. Now this is for posterity.
H.O'L: Ain’t that journal top-secret? You even have a lock for it.
D.H: Secrets can’t stay secrets forever.
H.O'L: Nuh-uh. The Backrooms can.
D.H: Are you sure?
H.O'L: Positive.
[Silence.]
D.H: Any luck finding consumables? It’s barely been a few minutes, but I’m just checking.
H.O'L: Nothing so far. I’m wandering down a hallway. The walls are all stained. Ink-stained. You think an entity did this?
D.H: There’s not a single thing in my records that can manipulate ink. Something here might have had black blood.
H.O'L: If that’s true, then there was some real carnage here. Some of the spots haven’t dried out completely yet.
[More silence.]
D.H: Hey, Henry?
H.O'L: What’s up?
D.H: Why ... have we left the Major Explorer Group?
H.O'L: Because they suck.
D.H: I’d highly require elaboration.
H.O'L: They suck morally, functionally, everything-ly. They didn’t pay us much. They were generally unstable, like a bunch of flies versus something titanic that's bound to rip them apart in every possible aspect. Moreover, don’t you remember the whole incident several months ago with the—
D.H: “They didn’t pay us”? Excuse me, what the fuck? You’re serving misguided humanity here.
H.O'L: No. No, we weren’t, Dave. We were being exploited. We were stuck in one huge, cruel, goose chase and I feel like a fool for not realizing that sooner. I know that you know that you don’t really have the respect you think you have for them anymore, and if I told you about their clandestine mistreatment, you’d lose those few grains of appreciation still remaining in your heart for them.
D.H: Alright, save that for later, but even if they did pay you, what would you spend the money on?! This is more of a forest than a grocery store, pal.
H.O'L: There’s some vending machines over here that said I need to pay them! You know my financial anxiety. Sure, tell me that I can’t trust talking vending machines with shit, but I’m starting to think they’re honest.
D.H: You’re tripping.
H.O'L: Am I, though?
D.H: We all are, you’re just tripping the most right now.
H.O'L: Don’t blame me, blame all the noxious shit we find around here. If I catch a brain-eating amoeba or some other unwelcome fiend, you know who to suspect.
D.H: We lived off a restricted diet for two years. I’m starting to forget what some drinks taste like.
H.O'L: Speaking of forgetting, you think The Backrooms were made for people with overclocked memory? Like, they need to forget stuff to function or else ... something will happen, I trust.
D.H: I'm too dumb to answer that, so I'll just write this down. [He proceeds to write for a while.]
H.O'L: I’ve been told I have a good voice for radio, a good face for TV, but I think what I really do have are good thoughts for a journal.
[The two laugh.]
D.H: Cheers, I’ll drink to that.
H.O'L: No, you won’t.
D.H: Chill, it’s just this one bottle of almond water I saved for myself.
H.O'L: Knock yourself out, I guess.
[Silence. David is heard opening a bottle of almond water. A distant thud is audible as he throws the cap away. He begins gulping, but abruptly gags, almost vomiting, and seemingly spits the liquid out.]
D.H (muffled): Oh, son of a bitch!
H.O'L: What- Wh- What’s up? Dave? 
D.H: Dude, did you put something in here?!
H.O'L: No, I didn’t! We have a principle of trust, remember? Does it taste bad? It might have expired or something.
D.H: "Tastes bad"? No, it tastes like shit! I don’t think Almond Water expires, O’Leary. [A pouring noise] It’s all red, too!
H.O'L: Could it be that “liquid pain” thing those kids at the database were talking about?
D.H: No, God no! That’s an entirely different thing! I could swear I picked this up untouched, clean! I even opened it and it looked good ... [Unintelligible.] Wait ...
[Fumbling noises. David tampers around with the bottle. Soon after, a sharp “twinkling” noise is heard.]
D.H: Henry?
H.O'L (slightly shaken, coming to a halt): Huh?
D.H: There’s-
[David is cut off by the sound of a gunshot from Henry’s end. The latter is heard panting, while the former stutters inarticulately.]
D.H: Are you alright?!
H.O'L: I’m ... I’m okay. Just thought I saw something running in the distance. Shot at it. I’m just feeling a little confused right now, don’t mind me. What were you saying?
[Silence continues.]
D.H: There’s ... glass in the drink.
H.O'L: You can’t be serious.
D.H: I’m not joking! You can hurry back to our outpost and see for yourself! Is that– Is that paper inside?!
H.O'L: Should I pay you a visit? You look like you're in some, uh, dire straits back there.
[Long silence.]
D.H (seemingly at a loss of words): I- Some- Th... It’s a note. It’s been here for a while, but it somehow didn’t get all soggy.
 
H.O'L: The fuck does it say?!
[Paper rustling as Heavers unfolds it. He shakily clears his throat.]
D.H: 
“Dear David, Dear Henry.
You two are deplorable.
You don’t need food, or sleep. You don’t need sport. You don’t need to make merry. You don't even need each other. The path you are following is a primitive facade. Let it all go. Hurt yourselves; be weak. Your weakness pokes a hole through your very essence. And I need that. You need that. I will help you until you're ripe. I will make you feel pain. Drink this, for it tastes like Heaven. Drink it. Do it. I can only be patient for so long. Remember my eye. Remember my words, for I'll be watching. Sweet nightmares."
 ... and it just ends. The signature at the bottom of the paper is all scribbled out. Heavily. I can’t make out any words.
H.O'L: This- Woah, we’re practically being harassed right now?! Probably some kid messing around with our stuff.
D.H: That can’t be. We guard this. We guard all of it. I’ve kept my eye on this for weeks. If something happened, I’d know ... Should we tell the M.E.G about it?
H.O'L: Absolutely not.
D.H: But they’re professionals with this-
H.O'L: They are far from professionals. Hell, this could be some trick conjured up by those bastards, now that I think of it. They’ve tried killing us once, twice, and now even when we’ve quit, they’re still after us. They hate us.
D.H: Dude, calm down.
H.O'L: They put glass in your drink. Where’d they even get that?
D.H: Listen, best case scenario, this is just a pretty bar-crossing troll some guy put together for shits and giggles. They’ve probably got cameras on me right now and want to send the footage to their friends. Dude’s gonna get what’s coming. No need to make a big deal out of it.
H.O'L: Worst case scenario?
D.H: Worst case scenario, some entity of some sort is pursuing us and it wants something. I don’t know, I haven’t met a lot of entities in my lifetime.
 
H.O'L: And you’re completely going to ignore the fact that you said you picked this up fresh, and now it’s replaced with ... something. What even is that?
D.H: Looks like blood. Even smells like it.
H.O'L: Doesn’t that tell you anything?
D.H: Not much. Hey, get going, I don’t want you getting actually mauled by some freak out there.
H.O'L: Alright.
[O’Leary sighs, and David is heard writing in his personal journal not long after. Henry’s steps are noticeably much faster.]
D.H: Henry. Since you asked me if I miss my parents, do you miss your family? I know how much you love those guys.
H.O'L: I do. Though, it’s a shame this had to happen to us. I’m thinking less about my suffering here than my parents’ suffering back home.
D.H: It’s destiny, son. You don’t get to control it, but you can control yourself through its flow.
H.O'L: Cut it with the deep cliche quotes, dude.
D.H: Hey, your dad taught me this one.
H.O'L: Of course he did.
D.H: Well, do you miss anyone else aside from your family?
H.O'L: Can’t say. Sarah, maybe.
D.H: Never heard of her.
H.O'L: Sarah’s my neighbor, you dingus dummy.
D.H: Oh, right. Damn, my memory really is withering. She was like me #2 for you, no?
H.O'L: I guess so, and it's a shame you guys haven't met each other more, but over the years, she’s grown so distant. She said she had to focus on a personal project of hers, but I’ve never heard anything from her since.
D.H: Anything? Anything at all?
H.O'L: I mean, I used to see her in the grocery store sometimes.
 
D.H: You didn’t talk to her?
H.O'L: Well, what can I say? Shy, reclusive little Henry needs the other end to make the first move. But luckily for me, she did spot me there once and ran up to me to say hi. We talked a little bit, but the conversation was fairly awkward because I was too busy looking at her hand.
D.H: What’s up with her hand?
H.O'L: I could tell she was trying to hide it with her sleeves, but it looked like something had been carved on her palm. Looked painful, and it was shaped like a halfway-open door, I trust. I don’t have the wherewithal to keep a prolonged conversation about something she’s visibly uncomfortable talking about, so I just minded my own business. I would keep seeing that mark whenever I saw her later down the road. Though, eventually, I stopped seeing her. She just disappeared without notice. I couldn’t even see her in her home. I went to ask her brother about it, and even he said he doesn’t know because she’s too dead-set on getting that “secret project” done.
D.H: Odd. Think she’s here too, somewhere?
H.O'L: I haven’t the slightest idea. I just hope she’s doing alright. I got really worried since that one injury I told you about popped up.
D.H: Do you think it’s self-inflicted?
 
H.O'L: Why would it be? She’s the healthiest person I know, I doubt she would do that to herself.
D.H: What if she picked it up while working on the project?
H.O'L: No, no. It looked too dainty. Too ... artistic. If that makes sense.
D.H: That sure is weird. Maybe she just wanted to make it look nicer so she carved the door shape herself.
H.O'L: I heard she had issues with her parents. Those guys were horrible, not gonna lie. Wouldn’t be surprised if they had something to do with it. Ugh, in hindsight, I kind of regret not asking about it later.
D.H: Maybe it’s best if you don’t know.
H.O'L: Yeah. Oh, hey, swell. There’s a gigantic crate here.
D.H: Got anything to break it?
H.O'L: Just hold on, let me get my hammer.
D.H: You never told me you had a whole hammer!
H.O'L: It was in my haversack when I no-clipped! Dude, this thing is brutal. You should’ve seen how many entities I violated with this thing.
[Several wood smashing noises are heard as Henry strikes the crate with his hammer. It was hit seven times, and seemingly destroyed on the eighth.]
H.O'L: Oh, it’s... a relatively large ammunition box. Box in a box, how clever.
D.H: Sometimes I wonder if this place is AI-generated, like some sort of video game with patterns that change every time the level is loaded.
H.O'L: Can’t blame you if you think so. Let’s see. [He opens the ammunition box.] Probably like, six packs of crackers here, and eight bottles of Almond Water.
D.H: That’s a good catch! Bring em’ over here.
H.O'L: Not so fast...
[Henry opens all eight of the Almond Water bottles, and closes each one after opening it. He takes a gulp out of one of the drinks for certainty's sake.]
H.O'L: Fresh. Clean. No pranks, no glass, no blood, no cryptic assholes here. Hope it stays like this.
D.H: Okay. Great.
[Long silence.]
D.H: Uhhh, ya still there?
H.O'L: Just a second.
[O’Leary tampers with the bottles, said tampering gradually growing more aggressive. After a few moments, his breathing is heavy and audible. His next few speeches have a hint of anxiety in them.]
D.H: Hey, pal?
H.O'L: This place is fucking with me, David. This place is fucking with me! With us!
D.H: What do you mean? Did you find an unusual one?
H.O'L: Unusual? No. I mean yes. I mean... no. This eighth one. Remember the door-shaped mark on Sarah’s palm? I literally just told you about it.
D.H: Yes, I do. Why?
H.O'L: It’s painted on the back of this bottle.
D.H: It can’t be. This is a joke, right?
H.O'L: Need me to storm back there and show you myself?!
D.H: Like, an exact copy?
H.O'L: A perfect replica. I remember exactly how it looked, and now it’s here, after so long, and right after I mentioned it to you.
D.H: I honestly don’t know what to say anymore... Supernatural force here, maybe. Something might be stalking you. Get out of there, dude. 
H.O'L: I don't think that thing from earlier was really an illusion, after all. Should I... bring these with me?
D.H: Do it. Run, quick.
[Prolonged silence, minus O’Leary running back to his outpost, panting.]
H.O’L: This is honestly amazing. These unnatural occurrences only hit us when we ignore their existence and pretend they never happened.
 
D.H: I think we might be ... cursed.
H.O’L: Ditto. And I don’t feel like keeping up with them for longer. After I’m back, mark my words, we’ll find someone to help.
[Silence.]
[RECORDING ENDS.]
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Open Author & Licensing Information
Close Author & Licensing Information
Writing by NexnapThePhilsophist/Nexnap. Mentioned concept of "Talking Vending Machines" by CorporalCardiolog.
Category:Tales
Category:Nightmare Egress
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