Tiara

Are you afraid of the dark? Are you afraid of what lies just beyond the shadows of the night? If you are not, by all means you should be, because there’s something out there, something that has roamed the world since the early 1900’s. I have encountered this abomination only twice, and both times, I barely escaped with my life.
I now believe that I was born and put on this earth to live through those encounters, in order to warn others not to follow in the footsteps of those who weren’t as lucky as me. This affront to reality goes by many names, but I am the only one who knows its true name: “Tiara”.
It will appear to you as a young and bizarrely short woman, with an exaggeratedly feminine form. It wears filthy and bloodied military fatigues, as well as a Kevlar Vest.
You’re most likely to see it at night, on a sidewalk, usually if there is little to no light--natural or artificial. Well, that’s how my encounters went, anyway. According to some leads that will come up later, that’s how a lot of other encounters went as well.
I can recall every detail my first encounter. It was a few weeks into January. At least half a foot of snow surrounded the neighborhood. I had to endure my usual pilgrimage to my job at the local diner in this less-than-ideal environment, as I was a poor 20-year-old without a car or friends to give me a ride, I had no choice but to walk.
Unfortunately for me, I had to work a double shift. I dreaded the very notion of working twice as much as I had to, but I knew how desperately I needed the money, with the due date for my first month’s rent looming over my shoulder, akin to a starved wolf, prepared to strike. And thus, I went and worked my ass off. I started off with a positive attitude, and I practically danced around the tables. But by the time it was over, my feet throbbed inside my shoes, my head agonizingly pounded, my soul ached, and I longed for the comforts of home that seemed to taunt me as time went on. As if held back by some sadistic puppeteer, I was forced to stand idly by and wait til my time was up. A blinding blizzard blew in a berserk fashion just outside the doors of the diner. I know I could have called a cab, I know I could have asked one of the other employees cleaning up for a ride, but my exhausted state must have clouded my judgement. I’m well aware of how meaningless of an excuse it is.
Beyond that, I threw on my heavy winter coat and braved the storm. While it wasn’t as strong as some of the other storms that had come and gone, it was still a bloody difficult task to traipse through such a treacherous storm. The sheer exhaustion I felt certainly didn’t help matters any. Seemingly out of nowhere (aided by the abysmal visibility), I managed to see through the snow for a split-second, what looked like the silhouette of a young girl. As if through instinct, or foresight, or whatever one wishes to call it, I instantly caught an overwhelming sense of danger and relative unease. It was the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be there, so naturally, I tried walking faster to get past her, all while not making eye contact. But, as I walked past, my side grazed her. In an instant, she whipped around and took hold of my wrist. I was powerless against the shockingly powerful iron grip, which cut off the blood to my hand and crushed the bone as if it were not but a measly twig. I bellowed in sheer pain, and tried to reel back, but her grip only seemed to get tighter, making matters ever more worse for me.
“Let go of my fucking arm, you psychotic fuck!” I hissed through the pain.
“Do not make demands of me, you pathetic creature,” she said in a voice that did not by any means sound like it belonged to the same person it was coming out of.
It was low, empty, rough, soulless, and I could somehow hear it over the sound of the whipping wind. She - no, it. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t human. It grabbed my other wrist, and began to push my arms back, its sheer strength was enough to push me into the ground, lest my arms be painfully folded in the style of some twisted and sadistic origami. Just inches away from my face was the face of a young woman. Eyes, empty as the void. Her hair was a deplorable mess, to the point where an encyclopedia’s worth of insects and other arthropods called it home, and had even begun to crawl onto me. To say that its hair smelled would be to call the CN Tower a toothpick. The odor that continued to accost me and pierce my soul could be best described as a broken freezer stuffed full with rotting flesh, left out to fester in the desert heat for a month. But the most jarring of all, at the center of its forehead was a deep, scabbed-over mark, possibly a bullet wound, which left long dried blood that now decorated its face. I have the feeling that if I had physically investigated this wound, I would have found this creature’s brain, if it even had one.
I soon found myself glaring at the glimmering point of a large knife. I would be officially fucked if I did absolutely nothing. Luckily, the thing hadn’t thought to bind my legs in any way. Mind racing, I raised my boot and kicked it square in the chest. The strike didn’t seem to do much, as the creature didn’t make a single sound, only staggering back, and thankfully releasing my arms, giving me a chance to make a run for it.
When I had finally made it home, every hair on my body was standing up, my hands were twitching and shaking, and I could hear my heart vibrating against my ribs.
I took my time to regain my bearings, and as soon as I was able to stand again, I wasted no time and dialed 911. I described the situation to the operator as detailed as written out beforehand. As soon as I mentioned it’s vice-like grip and inhuman strength, alongside its corpse-like appearance, the operator paused, and then said, 
“What were they wearing?”
“I didn’t really see. It was snowing and it was dark, but I think it looked like it might have been a green jacket or something.” I sighed, slightly embarrassed by my newfound lack of information.
The operator paused again.
“Did they say anything?”
I explained the bizarre way it spoke to me, and I swear I could feel the operator tense up as soon as I said it.
“Thank you for letting us know. There should be some officers coming by your house tomorrow.”
Before I got a chance to say anything, I was hung up on.
The next day, a woman introducing herself as a Paranormal Investigator showed up at my apartment door. She was far older then me, probably 85 or 86. She looked troubled and anxious from the minute she stepped inside. We sat down, made some tea, and I explained to her the story I had told the 911 operator. As soon as I was done, she looked me in the eye.
“The first thing you need to know, is that the story I’m about to tell you happened a very long time ago. Things were different back then, to say the least.” Her voice was empty and distant, a precursor of what was to come.
I nodded, and leaned closer in anticipation.
The story was as follows:
The investigator, named Greta Martin, once worked as a sort of young intern at a research facility at the peak of the Second World War. One day, there was a story in the newspaper that most people took as little more than sick humor. An 18-year-old girl named Tiara Henson had tried to disguise herself as a man in order to be drafted into war, but the standing commanding officer saw right through the guise of the FNG. She then tried to prove she was a man by shooting a target with her gun, but instead of firing on the target, she had shot herself.
Instead of disposing the body, the unit had come up with an idea. How could one make a functioning weapon of war out of a fatally shot human body?
Unfortunately, the research team couldn’t get approval for the experiment, and by then, Tiara had already been buried. But at the time, grave-robbing must have seemed like just a small stepping-stone leading to the end of the war. Roughly five years later, the team had finally finished. Their illegal and amoral experiment had involved technology far more complicated then anything else around at the time. In order to prevent the body from decomposing, they removed almost every organ, and substituted her brain with a cybernetic replacement, complete with what the team called a “Personality chip”. The truth was, the brain itself could only send tiny electric shocks to her muscles, allowing her to move and talk. The chip actually made these movements automatic, and also told the brain when it was appropriate to send the shocks and where to send them to. In a way, they had managed to bring her back to life. But there was a catch.
The only reason for the experiment in the first place was to make Tiara an able-bodied warrior, capable of mowing down enemy soldiers, but still keeping a sense of honor and mercy. At least, that was the intention. Unfortunately, there was a major glitch in the chip.
Tiara had turned into an unrelenting, merciless killer. It seemed like the only way to keep her quiet and at bay was to lock her in the basement and give her stuffed dummies to tear apart while the team worked on a new chip. But after she had torn the dummies to shreds, she was still restless and insanely violent. Soon, their worst fears came true. Tiara started to get bored with the dummies. The failed experiment demanded something much more sinister to sate her rage.
Eventually, the war ended on its own. But now, the team had a merciless psychopath holed up in their basement. They had no choice but to destroy what they had created. Soon enough, someone would find out about her existence. There would be legal trouble, yes, but that wasn’t what they were concerned about. If Tiara ever escaped the science facility, there’d be jack that anyone could do. They tied her down to the floor with ropes. The only way to truly destroy her would be to destroy the chip in her head.
The other members of the facility became aware of the hysterical screaming coming from the basement. Just as Greta was about to make the fatal blow, someone opened the door to ask what was going on. Seeing an escape, Tiara finally broke the ropes and began her rampage. 
It was a blood bath, people desperately scrambling to get out of the building or at least find a safe place to hide. All the while, knowing that just behind them, their friends and colleagues were being brutally murdered by a psychotic creature that was once just as human as the rest of them. She would have succeeded and this story would have been lost to time, had it not been for some very lucky souls who lay in the blood puddles of their fallen and played dead, which was precisely how Greta and her then-boyfriend survived. But, it wasn’t enough to prevent Tiara from escaping the facility into the outside world.
At first, it seemed maybe the people were safe for now. Weeks went by, and no news of mysterious murders reached the ears of Greta and the other survivors. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. Eventually, Greta got married and had a son. The memories of that horrible night soon began to fade.
Thirty years after the story of the Science Facility massacre made headlines and front pages all over America, Greta’s son was planning to visit her. One day, the two were taking a leisurely walk through the woods together. He stopped and told his mother that he was going to use the bathroom behind a bush. So Greta sat there and waited. She started walking again, hoping to find out if her son was farther ahead and just playing a trick. When she didn’t find him, she began looking in bushes. Not too far away from where she had been waiting, there was a large stone with words carved in it. It said: “I found you.”
She picked the stone up. The bottom of the stone was dripping with blood. And right under it, was a single human finger. That’s when Greta became aware that scattered around that area, was what remained of her poor son. That’s when the murders and disappearances started. 
It was always the same story. Someone would tell friends or family that they were leaving the house, and that they would be back soon, but they would never return. Those close to the victims always said that they woke up in the middle of the night with cold sweats and a feeling of heart-stopping terror, and then they suddenly just knew that their loved one couldn’t be anything but dead. That’s why Greta became a Paranormal Investigator. She knew that one day she would find Tiara again, and she could exact revenge on the sadistic creature responsible for the death of her son, and countless others. As Greta finished her story, I could see tears in her eyes. She stood up and left after that.
That same night, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Tiara was waiting just outside my door. Waiting to rectify its mistake. Exhaustion won in the end though. Every night, my dreams from that point forward were a chaotic and confusing swirl of hellish faces and blood-curdling screams that I would always forget the details of as soon as I opened my eyes.
One night, I had enough. I decided the only way to stop these nightmares and go back to my normal life was to destroy the source of the fear. Don’t ask how, but I just knew that tonight would be the night. I would either die, or I would live. 
At around two in the morning, I was woken up by the sound of something tapping the walls.
Thunk Thunk Thunk
Having been preparing for weeks, I jumped out of bed and took out the rifle that was under my bed.
THUNK THUNK THUNK
It was louder now. Tiara was getting impatient. It must have thought I was stupid enough to open the door. I was getting impatient too. I just wanted the door to open so I could end the source of my continued torture. The second my door opened, I pulled the trigger and almost fell backwards with the force of the gun. Tiara stood there, a gaping bullet hole in the center of its chest. My stomach dropped. I failed to shoot the head!
Tiara shrieked and came at me, I could see in its hand, its OWN gun. Now I was screwed. I fumbled around the trigger for a second.
I heard two shots go off, but I’d only fired once. Tiara ran right past me, jumped on my bed, and launched out the window. Confused, I suddenly felt something warm and wet trickle down from the middle of my torso. 
I looked down. The bottom half of my shirt was quickly growing a dark red stain. A paralyzing chill overcame my entire body, as I fell into darkness.
But somehow, I had survived. Perhaps by luck (or lack thereof), I survived the encounter. I woke up in a hospital bed, my friends and family at my side. For a second, I couldn’t remember why I was even there. Then, the memories came back, like a sledgehammer smashing my face in. Ever since, I tell everyone what happened in painful detail. Of course, no one believes me. They all say it was just a home intruder, and blood loss had prevented me from remembering the night clearly. I don’t mind, though. I know the truth; I know that Tiara is coming for me again. But it’ll be hard-pressed to take me out without a fight. So come at me, you freak, because I’ll be waiting on you with a whiff of brimstone. I’m a grim bloody fable with an unhappy bloody end, and if I die, I’m sure as shit taking you with me.
Category:Beings
Category:Science