
18 Jul Mouthborn
βMouthbornβ
Written by S.R. Underschultz Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
β° ESTIMATED READING TIME β 10 minutes
Sickness overcame Emily without warning. While we strode, arms linked, through downtown after a late movie, taking turns trashing itβEmily became silent, and stopped walking.
I thought maybe sheβd stepped in gum, or forgot something at the theatre, but on her face grew an expression signaling something far more severeβface pale, her pupils, unfocused, roved side to side, her mouth agape.
The action of my heart increased and against the back of my mouth I tasted the smell of wet pavement. People walked byβtheir footfalls so loud each step stung my ears.
My arm moved around Emilyβs shoulders. βAre you alright?β
Her eyes flared open wide and darted up to meet mine. βJacob…β Her voice came out strained, panicked.
βEmily, whatβs wrong?β
I fought to keep cool, to pretend my palms werenβt sweating. Iβd never seen her like thisβevery muscle in her face tensed, her body rippled with tremors.Β Frantic, I scanned the street, for what I donβt knowβfor help, for a hospital, a cop, anything.
Her head jerked into my chest and she clutched my sweater.
βSomethingβs…in me.β
βItβs okay sweetie, itβs okay. Iβll call an ambuββ
A violent paroxysm jolted her. It stole my breath; blanked my thoughts.
Hands wrapped around her belly, she slowly, painfully, doubled over.
βJacobβ¦help…β she said, barely audible.
Before I could reply, she looked at me again, and I saw it. Being a foot taller, I had a clear view into her mouth as she opened it.
I can scarcely believe it was real.
So shocked, I froze, my eyes unblinking, mind locked.
AΒ hand clawed and scratched its way out of Emilyβs mouth from inside her body. A human hand. Quickly joined by another. Emily could do nothing, her eyes wide as eggs, unable to utter a sound, her body convulsed and her throat bulged as the strange hands gripped both rows of teeth and pushed her mouth open wider and wider, until, with a bone-splitting crack, her jaw unhinged.
Emily collapsed into me. The oddly heavy weight of her body I couldnβt brace, so I broke her fall onto the sidewalk, and helped her lay on her back. Gaining enough of my senses to make noise, I screamed for help, for someone to call an ambulance, and looking up, realized a small crowd had formed around usβtheir phones held up, filming.
Several heavy cracks, like breaking ribs, drew my attention back to Emily.
The blood drained from my head, my stomach knotted, and I nearly fainted, so traumatized by what I saw.
Arms, slick with blood and viscera, reached through Emilyβs mouth, bent at the elbows, and with its hands, found purchase on Emilyβs shoulders. Like a snake shedding its skin, the creature, which seemed an adult human, kicked and yanked the bloated, disfigured, body of my girlfriend off itself. The screams and cries from the crowd were lost on meβthe connection between my mind and body short-circuited, my consciousness able only to witness the horror unfold.
From the enormous hole that moments ago was Emilyβs mouth, a head emerged, glistening with blood and mucous. Half out, the naked, blood-covered creature sat upright and pulled Emilyβs lifeless body (now reduced to a hollow sack of skin and bones) off its legs like a pair of pants. The creature wiped a thick red webbing of mucous from its eyes, and opened them. It glanced up, and our eyes met.
No, it canβt be, I thought.
It was Emily.
* * * * * *
After the incident, the creature that came out of Emilyβs body, the thing that outwardly seemed identical to her in every way, was taken to the hospital and quarantined. Countless tests were done on it. Meanwhile, I tried my best to answer questions the police and FBI asked me. There was plenty of footage for them to look atβso many witnesses had filmed the gruesome scene, and each had gone viral by the time I got home.
Of my Emily, the woman Iβd known and loved, there was nothing left, except the bloody pile left on the sidewalk by the strange imposter. In shock, I barely spoke and didnβt eat for several daysβmy mind reeling with unsolvable thoughts, and, like the rest of the world, unable to process what happened. The media attention astronomical, I avoided everyone and refused to leave the bedroom of my apartment. Without showering or changing clothes, I developed a putrid stink, as I waited for news from the doctors about what happened.
Finally, when the doctors did have news, it provided no comfort. According to them, the creature lying in the bed of its quarantined hospital roomβwas Emily. Right down to her DNA. She had Emilyβs memories, and apparently, under rigorous interrogations by doctors and FBI investigators, she could recall the details of her life with great accuracy. In fact, the only memory she didnβt have was of the horrific event itself. This imposter recalled everything up until feeling sick outside the movie theatreβwhen, according to her, everything went blank.
βWhat about Emilyβs body?β I asked the doctor over the phone. βThe real Emilyβs body, the one on the sidewalk.β
βDNA tests prove thatβs Emily too,β the doctors said. βAt this time, we canβt explain her transformation. Not without more tests. I know that isnβt what you want to hear, but obviously this epidemic is unprecedented.β
My brow furrowed. βEpidemic? What do you mean?β
βYou havenβt seen the news?β
βI guess not.β
βTransformations like Emilyβs have been popping up all over the world. But it appears as though, Emily was the first.β
My jaw clenched. I couldnβt speak. Iβd been so wrapped up in my own pain and shock and grief I hadnβt had the strength to see another screen with a story about Emily, so Iβd turned off my phone and went completely offline.
βBut,β the doctor continued, βyouβll be happy to know, Emily is completely healthy, and cleared to leave quarantine. Would you like to see her? She hasnβt stopped asking about you.β
βSee her?β I muttered. What was she? How could I face that thing again, after it literally ripped my girlfriend apart, then, somehow, stole her identity. Legs weak, palms soaked, I could barely grip the phone. The sour stink from my armpits nearly made me gag. I was a wreck. Now this thing wanted to see me.
βIf there are more of these things, couldnβt they be aliens? Or some disease that could be contagious?β I said.
βThereβs no evidence itβs contagious, or aliens,β assured the doctor. βEvery case so far has been isolated incidents, with no contact having occurred between victims. Emily has been quarantined for three weeks, and shows no signs of ill health or further mutation.β
I rubbed my head. βThree weeks? No, itβs only been a few days. Hasnβt it?β
βYou were in shock,β the doctor said. βAfter such a traumatic event itβs not surprising you lost track of time.β
βWait, so what do you want me to do?β
βJacob, the hospital is full and weβre in desperate need of beds for regular patients. I have no reason not to discharge her.β He paused to issue a long sigh. βWe realize this is a difficult time for you.β
I cleared my throat. βA difficult timeβ¦β
βBut, Emilyβs ready to go home.β
* * * * * *
Outside her room at hospital, I stood immobilizedβwondering whether I could go through with it. Could I really let this thing into my apartment, and live with it? Iβd finally caught up on the news, and the doctor was rightβwhat happened to Emily had happened to hundreds around the world, more every day. So many βbirthsβ had been filmed and had gone viral.
Mouthborn, people called them. They seemed normal, did interviews with the news and everything, all stating the exact same thing as Emily, that they remember everything about their lives, except being mouthborn. Even couples, like Emily and I, had been interviewedβseemingly accepting the new mouthborn member of the familyβno doubt making a fortune along the way. Iβd been offered a million dollars by a journalist on my way into the hospital for an exclusive with me and Emilyβthe first mouthborn.
Am I making too much of this? I thought. Shouldnβt I be happy Emily is alive, in any form? The other mouthborn seem like regular people, she probably is too. If I canβt distinguish between the new Emily and the old one, whatβs the difference?
Slowly, I pushed open the door and entered.
In a hospital gown, on the bedβthere it was. It looked exactly like Emily. Just as I remembered her.
Its face lit up at the sight of me. βJacob! Oh, thank goodness you came. I missed you so much.β
It β¦ she β¦ welled up with tears and held a hand out toward me.
A few steps from the end of the bed, I remained standing, unable to speak. It looked and sounded like the Emily Iβd known for so many years. I wanted to rush up and hug her, but something held me back. The memory. That night, outside the theatre, seeing the terror in Emilyβs eyesβthat was my Emily. Not this thing, with no memory of the night at all, the worst night of our lives.
βSweetie itβs me, I swear itβs me,β Emily said. Her wet green eyes pleaded. She shuffled forward. βI know youβre freaked out. What happened is super weird, I know, but you have to believe itβs me, Jacob.β She was crying. βI need you, so badly. Iβm scared.β
She reached out again.
I swallowed hard.
Emily hugged her knees. Her cries broke into sobbing.
No longer could I fight the urge to console her. Maybe this was Emilyβor at least, enough of her was, enough for me. Tears streamed down my face as I moved next to the bed and sat down. Resting her head gently on my shoulder, she uttered tender cries of relief.
βI missed you so much,β she said between sobs.
βI missed you too.β
* * * * * *
Two months have passed since Emily was mouthborn. Weβd signed an exclusive with a news company and did an interview for a million dollars. We even signed a book deal. It seemed too good to be true, but it was happeningβwe were rich, and we had each other. Our shitty jobs behind us, we were able to move into a fancy apartment and fill it with the highest quality furnishings.
But, sitting with Emily at the breakfast table, aimlessly scrolling though the news, I couldnβt help puzzling over little details, little inconsistencies that nagged my brain like a splinter. For example, when Iβd asked Emily if she wanted to go to a movie on the weekend, she didnβt want to and preferred staying home to watch trashy reality TV, which sheβd become glued to, day and night. Before, Emily hated reality TV and loved our movie nights. But, sheβd been through a traumatic change, whether she remembered it or not. Who was I to judge how she processed it?
Another thing worried me though. Emily had taken to drinking. Every day since she got out of the hospital, she started at about sunset and kept going late into the evening. A bottle of wine disappeared in no time at all, and then sheβd yell and curse at her shows, and laugh so loud I couldnβt get to sleep. Emily never used to drink that much, only on social occasions.
This morning, when I looked across at her, she gave a sad smileβher lips curled at the edges in a way Iβd never seen before, and I got a sinking feelingβthat there would never be an explanation for what she was, or for any of the thousands of mouthborn out there.
βHow are you feeling?β I asked.
She shrugged. βFine.β
βNot hung over?β
She shook her head. βDonβt get hangovers.β
βYou used to.β
βI know.β
βYou drank a lot last night,β I said.
She issued me a cold stare, got up from the table and went to the couch without saying another word.
βIβm worried about you,β I said. βCan we talk?β
She spooned some cereal into her mouth. βWhat about?β
βEverything happened so fast, we havenβt discussed your transformation. I watched you get ripped open from the inside. I mean, the other you.β
Emily didnβt reply. Instead she turned on the TV and kept eating.
It didnβt add up. Emily and I used to talk about everything. Two open books. No, this mouthborn thing in my house wasnβt Emilyβit was an imposter.
βWhat are you?β I said.
Again, no response. Expressionless, she remained glued to the screen.
βWill you answer me?β
She rose from the couch, lifted the cereal bowl above her head and smashed it on the floor.
βIβm sick of this!β Nostrils flared, she glared daggers at me from across the room. βEverything I do now, youβre like βyou didnβt used to do thatβ or βyou used to do thisβ. Youβre suspicious of every move I make.β
She gave a long exasperated sigh and pulled her hair. Her hands trembled.
βThereβs nothing is there?β she said. βNothing Iβll ever do to convince you itβs me?β
My stomach knotted. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I cursed myself for being so stupid, so mean. What did I expect, that sheβd be just like before?
βYouβre not the same either you know,β Emily said. βYou havenβt been sleeping or eating properly, andβ¦and youβve barely touched me.β She sucked a breath, holding back crying.
Dullness filled my chest. What kind of life would I have if I didnβt accept Emily? What was the point of staying together if I didnβt trust her?
βYouβre right, weβre both screwed up,β I said. βBut Iβm the only one being an asshole.β I smiled at her lamely. βIβm sorry. I shouldnβt have said those things.β
She nodded.
Across the carpet we padded to each other and embraced.
* * * * * *
That night weβd become intimate for the first time since it happened. Afterward, encouraged by a powerful appetite, I padded to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. Munching and sipping from a can of beer, I felt giddy with happiness. Everythingβs going to be okay, I thought. Who cares if Emilyβs mouthborn? Sheβs my partner, and Iβll always love her, no matter what. Like everything else weβve faced, weβll get through this, together.
Polishing off the beer, eyelids heavy, I looked forward to finally getting a good nightβs sleep. I threw the empty can in the recycling, cleaned my plate, shut off the light, and went into the hall.
Walking down the hallway, my gut ignited with sharp pain.
Moaning, I barely took another step before doubled over by a wave of searing muscle spasms in my abdomen. Adrenaline shot through me.
No, this canβt be. It canβt be happening.
Inside my gut formed a solid mass that quickly animated, and, like a caged animal, it churned my insides, as if searching for an escape route, all the while growing larger and larger, bloating my stomach. My vision blurred. The hallway tilted beneath my feet, and I braced against the wall. Heart pounding, my mind overwhelmed with terror, I rushed, fast as I could, into the bathroom and flicked on the light.
I needed to confirm this wasnβt what I dreaded. No, Iβm just sick. Something I ate.
Hands clenched to the edge of the sink, I leaned towards the mirror and opened my mouth. An involuntary whimper escaped my lips.
I ceased breathing.
From the darkness of my throat crawled out five human fingers.
I tried to scream, but found no air to do it. The creatureβs hand gripped my tongue. I shut my mouth tight as possible. The thing inside yanked my tongue, trying to pull itself out of meβthe pain, unbelievable. I nearly collapsed, but fought through it.
I didnβt want to die, and I refused to let this thing win.
No time to think of what else to do, I ran into the kitchen, took a long paring knife from our knife block, and went back to the mirror. The hand fingered my teeth, trying to gain purchase, but I ground them together.
No air could pass the arm in my throat.
I was suffocating.
Paring knife jutted an inch from my mouth, I stared at my reflectionβa panicked man, sweaty and wide-eyed, mouth bulged.
This is itβdo it now!
Unclenching my jaw, I let my mouth snap open. The hand lungedβinto my paring knife. It retreated in pain. I stabbed at itβjabbing over and over, so frantic I sliced my cheeks and tongue. Strings of bloody saliva dripped from lips. The hand retreated down my throat as I stabbed deeper. It retracted far enough for me to squeeze some air into my lungs.
Globs of blood soaked flesh spilled into the sink as I lowered my head, exhausted. My whole mouth stung. Tears streamed from my eyes.
βSweetie,β a familiar voice said.
I turned and there was Emily, standing in the bathroom doorframe.
βItβs okay,β she said. βLet him out.β
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by S.R. Underschultz Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/Aπ More stories from author: S.R. Underschultz
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author S.R. Underschultz:
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
WTF ? Would have loved some clarity ….
Well Played anyway !