Long Story #6: Spooky Tales for Twisted Tykes (II. Nobody Home)
🕑 Added 2025-11-01 01:01:09 +0000 UTC
II. Nobody Home
(Content Tags: Messing, diapers, psychological horror, audience interpretation for ending, self-destruction)
The pounding in his head was killing him, and in the groggy prison that his mind had yet to escape, it was the one thing his thoughts could become refined enough to recognize. Everything else was an inky, murky blackness, because his skull felt too compressed to bear opening his eyes to the light.
But he couldn't keep his eyes closed forever, not when he knew what monster lied in wait for him.
It was a burdensome beast called intelligence, and he had to do whatever he could to stave off its advances, lest it gobble him whole. Without a diligent hand to steer his mind toward mindlessness, he would crash his ship into the craggy rocks that lurked beneath the waves.
Wit was a curse, and every IQ point he kept, was an albatross around his neck.
The mind of man was a flame that flickered bright, its cherry ember supposedly a beacon of hope in the darkness of a cruel universe. That was what he had been led to believe, but it was wrong; no, that cherry ember was the tip of the lit cigarette that the sniper spotted from miles away, while comfortably prone on his perch.
Intelligence was ultimately pointless as a tool, whenever matched against something for which it had no chance of victory; a scholar stood no better chance in a pit with a tiger, than a bumbling fool did.
The tiger had come, but unlike the metaphor, it was actually the fool who would be the most safe; the scholar in this equation may as well have been soaked thoroughly in meat juice and strapped with bells. In this new paradigm, in this specific context, it was brainpower that drew attention from the...Things.
And what were those things? It was hard to say. Maybe they were alien, or inter-dimensional? At this point, he might even look to religious mythology or folklore for an answer. What he knew for certain, was that they weren't friendly, and that they were very hungry.
Hungry for brains.
Just not any brains though, only ones that were sufficiently powerful enough; their standards had started very high, but as the feast had gone on, those dining standards had steadily dropped. When the genius supply had run dry, then it was time to aim lower to satisfy their ravenous appetite.
They wore the skin of humans, so it was almost impossible to immediately tell what they were; it was only by closely evaluating their behavior, that it became obvious that something was horribly wrong with them. Once they selected a target to feast on, they would disguise themselves in his or her flesh too.
How many had already been consumed? How many of these creatures now walked among humanity? There was no way to know for sure, but he suspected it may already be in the millions.
For Randal Reeves, this was most problematic.
Randal's intelligence had always been kept close to his chest; he had never tried very hard in school, so his genius had never been truly recorded, and being smart enough to know college was a scam, he hadn't proven any cognitive superiority in that regard either. He didn't read much or partake in any particularly strenuous mental activity, because he saw such things as lacking purpose.
He already knew that he knew better than everyone else, so why bother trying to prove it? What could he learn from reading or researching, whenever he could deduce whatever answers he needed on his own?
It was the same reason he hadn't made any attempt to seek higher forms of employment than retail; working where he did was merely a stopgap, a temporary measure to secure financial security, while he worked on his own projects that would eventually net him billions.
Not that any of that mattered now, with the invasion of earth in full-swing.
It was because of this danger, that he'd holed himself into his apartment and started to take more extreme measures to assure his own safety. He knew full-well that he would be a high value target for them, and it would only be a matter of time before their skulking led them to the ultimate meal.
His safety up until this point could obviously be thanked by the cloak of mediocrity that he'd long veiled himself in, which made him invisible to these IQ-hunting beasts; no paper trail would lead them his way, but he also knew they had more sophisticated ways of tracking down their prey.
Once their hunger hit its apex, they would be able to sniff out his brain by pure hunting instinct alone, and as much as he wished it weren't true, he had no way to fight them off forever.
Which is why it had come to this.
Hunched over in the corner of the messy living room of the apartment, Randal squatted down on his haunches, with the tip of a sharpie in one nostril, while a jar of rubber glue hovered underneath the other. Clad in nothing but mismatched socks, a backwards shirt, and a diaper he'd sourced off the internet, he was doing the only sensible thing he could think of.
He was tainting the meat.
It was a grave sin against humanity, and it would surely set back the course of mankind's achievement for centuries to come, but it was all he could do to survive. There was no greater sacrifice to be made, except for his life, and that was all that was worth preserving.
That was the most cynical take, but a thread of optimism still lingered; the brain damage he was incurring would be great, but with how phenomenal his brain was as a specimen, there would surely be a way to regain what he lost. Not immediately, but eventually, and it was his hope that the creatures would have left by the time that came to be.
It was really only an extension of the same cloak that he'd put over himself already, but instead of mediocrity, he had to lower it to challenged. That was the identity he would have to craft moving forward, that he was nothing but a completely imbecilic retard; he needed a paper trail that said as much, and he couldn't fake the stupidity necessary to get that.
The removal of all his genius had to be real, because every smart thought was just putting more chum into the water.
From what he could gather, his plan had been working thus far. His thoughts had slowed tremendously over the last few days, as he did anything and everything to artificially lower his own IQ level; the diaper had been a part of making his appearance match the end result, but to his happy surprise, he'd actually soiled himself involuntarily the day prior!
As he took another big sniff of the brain-frying substances in his hands, he suddenly felt a juicy fart reverberating in the bottom of his soggy diaper. The sensation made him slowly giggle, a grin broadening across his face. Another toot slipped out, and then another, and he felt pride welling up for how uncontrollably he was peppering the diaper with gas.
Just like a real dumb-dumb!
His squat deepened, and he softly began to grunt, as a wetness warmed his chin. Something big was slipping out, something hot and heavy, and it was crackling sluggishly as it descended into his diaper like a rod from the heavens. Between the sharpie and the glue, he couldn't smell the feces, but he knew his diaper must be reeking.
Good, such a scent would camouflage him from the creatures; no genius would smell of poop!
As a second log made its exit, and the release made him piss on himself again, he did have one ultimate lamentation to ruminate on:
It was a shame that nobody else knew what he knew. It was a shame that nobody else had been smart enough to figure out what was going on. Randal, the genius that he was, had been the one person to see the creatures; he was the sole human who knew to defend himself.
What a pity, that people had rolled their eyes or called him a nut, whenever he had just been trying to warn them. It couldn't be helped though, and hopefully they would prove too dull to satisfy the hunger that lurked among them.
The second turd fully dropped into the diaper and Randal let out a moan, his train of thoughts becoming ever more stilted.
Every human hung a lantern on their door, some brighter than others, but when night fell, it was better to have yours be duller than the rest.
So that the deadly denizens of the dark forest didn't see you, so that they didn't come knocking.
Nobody would come knocking for him, because there would be nobody home.
