Page 13 of The Nightmare's Kiss

Just when I think I can’t possibly take it throwing itself at the barrier again, it collapses to the floor. It melts into a shape similar to a chalk outline of a human, and its surface becomes oddly matte and more solid than before. It stops moving.

Oh God. OhGodohGod. What have I done? Did I kill it? Even if it’s supposedly not intelligent or emotive, even if I was just following orders, the idea makes my chest tighten. At first, I was worried about getting in trouble, but now I’m more concerned that I’ve accidentally done something terrible.

I stand up to get a better look at the subject. It’s still not moving, not even floating. It’s lying motionless on the floor like a normal, everyday shadow. “Shit,” I mutter, and then run my eyes and hands over the various controls on the panel. IknowDr. Wright pointed out an emergency alert button, but I can’t remember which one it was. Instead, I find a switch that readsIntercom Output. When I hit it, noise begins to pour through the speakers. I flinch at the high-pitched screech, resisting the urge to slam my hands over my ears.

Then, having a lightbulb moment, I fumble and toggle off theSound 4stimuli I had activated at the start of this. The high-pitched sound cuts off as soon as I do.

Guilt racks me all over again. No wonder the subject was so distressed by that noise. I run a shaking hand through my hair, sucking in a breath, and then impulsively swat at theIntercom Inputswitch.

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, leaning over the mic on the desk. I feel silly doing this.Obviouslythis thing isn’t intelligent enough to understand speech, but I can’t fight a desperate desire to absolve myself, and a hope that maybe it will at least understand my tone well enough to know that I’m apologetic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay? I’m sorry. Please be okay.”

For a moment, there’s no response from within the cell. No motion, no noise. But then a clawed, five-fingered hand emerges from the puddle of shadow and grips the floor beside it.

Slowly—as if it is pulling itself out of a hole—the shadow morphs and rises into a humanoid form. It’s fuzzy around the edges, its shape indistinct, as if drawn by a shaky hand. Still, like yesterday, it is clearly recognizable as an attempt at a human body, albeit a nearly seven-foot-tall and stretched one. Its torso is too thin, its arms and neck too long, its head tilted at an angle that would be distinctly painful on a person and its “face” smooth and blank and eyeless.

Yet it is impossible to fight the sensation that it is trying to peer through the window at me. Again.

I’m still standing at my desk, frozen. It is somehow both creepy and fascinating, watching it imitate a human like this. Does it…understand that there’s a person on the other side of the glass? Is that why it’s doing this? A weird thought, but not impossible.

Of course, the idea that it’s doing this because it understood meisimpossible. Right? But I feel a weird thrum of uncertainty in my chest, staring at the Nightmare now. Surely it’s just the evolved human sense of empathy at work here, but I can’t help but view the subject differently when it appears more humanoid.

Before I can do anything more, the bell rings for my lunch break. I stay frozen in place for a few moments, tempted to work through it—but that will only gain me more attention, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be doing what I just did. So I quickly turn off the intercom toggle, tear myself away from my desk, and head to the break room.

This lunch is much the same as yesterday: Ethan ignores me, and I sit with Ezra. I probably should be cultivating friendships, but it’s hard to think of anything except for my subject right now. Our interactions play in my mind while I try to determine if it really was significant, or if I’m just seeing what I want to see. I barely speak a few sentences as I tear through my lunch, eager to get back to work. Ezra lifts an eyebrow at me but doesn’t probe; I’m guessing you learn quickly not to ask too many questions in a place like this.

When I return to the observation room, my curiosity feels worse instead of better. X-13 is still standing right on the other side of the glass, the skinny fingers of one humanoid hand resting against the window. I can’t suppress the growing temptation to try to communicate with it further, if only to reassure myself that it really didn’tactuallyunderstand me. If anything, it must just be familiar with the sound of human speech and reacting to that. Surely it’s worked with other humans before.

But surely it can’t hurt to experiment a little more.

Even though I feel foolish, I toggle the intercom again. “Do you…understand me?” I ask, nearly a whisper, embarrassed that I’m even asking.

The shadow’s head gradually tilts until it sits upright on its skinny neck. Then, slowly and distinctly, it nods.

I recoil from the control panel, pressing a hand to my chest as if trying to restrain my pounding heart. Oh God. Ohshit. There’s nothing ambiguous about that response.

Or is there? I shut my eyes to close off its eerily humanoid form and try to let my rational brain take over. I run through what I know about experimenter bias and investigator effects. It’s a known problem that scientists can accidentally affect their subjects and alter the results of an experiment. My perception is certainly colored by the fact itseemsmore human to me now.

I know very little about what I’m dealing with. This could be a type of creature designed to imitate other species and elicit empathy as some kind of defense mechanism. Cats evoke crying babies with the sounds they make in order to appeal to human nurturing instincts, but that doesn’t mean they’re superintelligent, manipulative geniuses. They’ve just evolved alongside humans. Same with horses and such that can do math, but they’re really just responding to subtle cues from their handlers. This could be a similar case.

I let out a long, slow breath, calming myself. I can’t rule anything out yet. Dr. Wright told me this subjectwasn’tintelligent…but it’s possible that she and the others in the Facility don’t fully understand it. Or that they’re hiding something from me. I can’t make any assumptions right now, but I feel obligated to perform some of my own research to find out more. I’d be a fool not to; I’m the one who’s going to be working with this thing every day.

I open my eyes, focusing again on that odd, uncanny human shadow waiting on the other side of the glass.

My heart bangs out a nervous beat, and I’m hyperaware of the camera watching the back of my head right now. I know I’ve only been here for a few days, and I really shouldn’t be diverting from the instructions I’ve been given…but they didn’t explicitly tell menotto otherwise interact with the subject, did they? They only told me to make sure I check off everything on the list by the end of the day, and I’ve done that.

Plus, I didn’t try to hide my actions earlier from the camera, and so far, no one has showed up to reprimand me. So there are two possibilities: either they’re observing me and they don’t care that I spoke to the subject, or they’re not watching me closely at all. That would explain why nobody confronted me about my minor breach in protocol yesterday. I picture a bored security officer, whosurelyhas more interesting things to watch than a nervous new employee and possibly-sentient shadow in this place, and relax a bit. They’re paranoid about leaving evidence here, too—it’s very possible these are cameras that only broadcast live and don’t actually store recordings.

And if my suspicion about the subject behind the glass happens to be right…it’d be worth a small risk, because it could change everything. There’s no way I could continue to work here in good conscience, if they’re experimenting on intelligent beings in this place, rather than mindless monsters like they say they are. How can I live with myself if I don’t at least try to make sure?

I scan the control panel until I find the one I’m looking for.Privacy screen toggle. That has to be what keeps me hidden from the subject. My finger hovers over it for a moment, my breath catching in my throat, before I hit it with a decisive jab.

There’s no change on the window from this side. But judging from the way the subject twitches, its blank “face” turning in my direction, I suspect the button did exactly what I thought it would. It let the subject see me, standing here, on the other side of the glass.

I get out of my chair and force my trembling legs to move me closer. As close to the glass as I can get. The Nightmare moves on the other side and bends its giant form down until its face is near mine, separated only by the clear pane of the window.

I swallow hard, raise a shaking hand, and press it against the glass. With the other, I press down on the button to transmit my voice inside. “Hi,” I breathe. “I’m… I’m Samara.” The cloud ripples and then forms a vague impression of a face.Myface, I realize with a jolt. I smile, and the imitation of my face mirrors the expression.

“That’s right. That’s me. I, um… I wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. It seemed like I upset you.”

---