When he discovers the bodies, they are planted in rows, only the tops of skulls visible. Hair flutters in the breeze; loose strands carried away on invisible currents. He isn't sure if they were buried or are growing; he's not waiting around to learn.

The fly drunkenly swerves in the air. It's the largest, fattest one Amy's ever seen.

The body it leads her to is huge and vaguely human-shaped; rotten skull sneering a permanent smile. She backs away from the giant and the swarm of flies that drink its juices.

“Let me in.”

“No,” she says. “Go away." The thing on the other side of the door stops rustling.

A thin, long arm slides through the gap at the bottom.

Discolored, peeling nails reach the deadbolt and tap once on the metal. “Then I’ll let myself in.”

“That's Orion," she tells her son. But she looks up and finds she doesn't recognize it. The stars slur together, like they're smeared across paper.

“What's that one?" her son asks. She follows where he points. The eyes that stare back are huge. Infinite.

“To a new me," he toasts with the others.

The clock strikes midnight.

He doesn't know why they're screaming or why they back away. He blinks all his eyes and flexes all his arms.

He doesn't know why the room doesn't seem to fit him anymore.

They stare at the centipede — all those legs undulating. Outside, they hear a rumbling. A giant insect scuttles by the window. It's jointed like the bug inside, but the limbs are human, hundreds of fingers tearing up the street. They look back — the centipede is missing.

She doesn't go outside much now; there's too many of them watching her from the buildings. They press their faces against the windows, breathe heavy on the panes. They don't look much like people anymore, as they rot behind glass and watch her pass by.

The piano fills the concert hall with beautiful melodies. If only there were others around to hear it. His fingers bleed against white ivory. If only it would let him stop playing.

The scalpel shakes in her grip. There are too many people crowded around, leaning in to watch.

She doesn't know how to do surgery, but they won't listen to her. The patient on the table is gagged and watches with her as the blade descends.

Her daughter calls for her, and she sighs; she's tired of yelling at the girl to stop playing with roadkill. But the child holds a skull in her arms, and the ghost of the man she hit last week hangs over her daughter and breathes out hot tar.

The mist sits over the river as it flows, carrying leaves and branches. A body floats by, bobbing in between detritus. She runs along the bank after it but sees the face. Stops.

It looks like her.

She lets it pass and steps back from the churning water.

The tower appears in the middle of town overnight. With no windows and no doors, it takes the authorities a while to break through thick concrete walls.

They don't know who built the tower. And they don't know who filled it with so many bodies.

He doesn't remember getting on the flight.

He sits in the narrow seat, listening to the engines drone. The lights are dim, the people around him silent.

“We landing soon?" he asks. The attendant walks by, doesn’t stop.

The plane tilts downward but never lands.

She watches the cranes lift heavy slabs. They seem to move on their own, never stopping their jerky movements.

The seats are empty, the construction uniforms frayed and rotten at the bottom of the concrete pit. She wonders what kind of structures ghosts build.

The room presses down around him slowly, oh so slowly. Curled in a tight ball, his nose grazes the wall in front of him. It's been days of waiting for it to crush him.

It'll be days more.

"Live bait."

The sign sits in the window of the crumbling store; the placid lake waits outside.

The clerk opens the door. People hang from hooks, wrapped and flailing like fish.

She walks right out, drives away. She doesn't want to catch whatever is in those waters.

The coffee tastes wonderful.

She glances around the cafe. There's blood smeared across an abandoned laptop, tipped chairs tangled around still limbs. The patrons weren't as engaging as she'd hoped, but the coffee still tastes great. She leaves a tip in the jar before she walks out.

He joins the parade - bright beads and twirling umbrellas drawing him in. He walks and feels the pulse of the music drive his feet forward.

They pass one block, then ten, then fifty.

The band keeps playing; he keeps marching. When will it stop? It must stop. It....

She cuts down the narrow street in hopes of a shortcut, but she doesn't like the windows of the buildings. They remind her of the blank eyes of a spider.

She drops her keys, bends to get them, and looks up.

The windows shift, blink, and stare down at her.

"Turn Right" the sign says. But it doesn't say to what. Curious, he swings his car at the intersection and drives.

The building that waits for him churns and quivers, folds in on itself and belches out new anatomy. It breathes.

He should have turned left.

In the light drizzle, she sees a man walking his dog.

“Can I pet your dog?" she asks, unable to see his face in the gloom.

“Of course." The voice emanates from the dog. When she looks closer, the two seem connected, the leash fleshy and pulsating.

She lets them pass by.

The dog's pacing again," Cecilia tells her. She squints through the dark at her wife. The other woman makes no move to get up. Sighing, she rolls out of bed and moves to calm the dog.

The thing pacing crawls along on all fours, but it's not her dog.

"You need to go," the man at her door says. She doesn't trust him. He glances at the mountains surrounding her house. He’s probably trying to get her land. She slams the door.

The next morning, the mountains have moved. They press in against her. She sneers up at them. She will not leave.

The mountains move closer.

"I saw an angel!" her mother raves. She rolls her eyes, goes outside to show the old woman the empty sky.

The thing above eclipses the horizon. It eats the moon, but its own glow blazes. Hundreds of wings beat, creating tornadoes in the hills. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears someone crying.

Her head cranes back to meet all those rolling eyes.

𝐻𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑗𝑎ℎ.