Page 9 of The Nightmare's Kiss

“Is that…?” I ask, a little breathlessly. I don’t realize how far I’m leaning forward until my nose is almost against the glass, one hand hovering above it. I pull back with an embarrassed flush. I try to pay attention to Dr. Wright instead, but my eyes keep getting drawn back to that strange shadow.

“Yes,” Dr. Wright says. “That is subject X-13.”

“Is italive?” I have no idea what to make of that thing, the strange, moving shadow. I’ve never seen anything like it, never even heard of such a thing except in horror stories. It looks…impossible. The way it moves and changes defies the world as I know it.

“To some extent, yes,” Dr. Wright says. Her eyes track the slow movements of the subject and her expression is calm, like this is far from the weirdest thing she’s seen today. Even though she’s been working here for years, I can’t imagine myself ever getting to a point where I could see something like this without any reaction whatsoever. “It shows responses to various stimuli such as sight, smell, sound, and touch. It has also made repeated attempts to escape its containment, which show a certain level of intelligence.” My first thought is that I don’t blame the thing; that cell looks utterly boring. But I brush that away and focus on Dr. Wright as she continues. “However, it has not shown any attempts at communication, or behavior that would indicate it has a higher degree of cognition than an average mammal.”

I havesomany questions I want to ask. Not only about this…creature I’m looking at, but about the other subjects they’re researching here. As wild as some of the conspiracy theories were, they didn’t suggest anything quite like this.

But after considering and tossing aside several various questions, concerns, and comments, I settle on the one that seems most pressing and relevant to my own line of work: “Whatisit, though?”

She looks as unsurprised by the question as she is by everything else. “If you work in this facility for very long, Ms. Vance, you will find that such a question is rarely easy to answer. Our work here focuses on subjects that we donotunderstand. Subjects that often stretch the bounds of what we consider to be logical and true about our very sense of reality.”

“So you’re saying… They’re…” I feel foolish, but the word slips out anyway. “Monsters. You’re studying monsters.”

“That is a word for them, yes,” she says, and the matter-of-fact tone makes the reality of the situation truly sink in. I grab the edge of the desk and squeeze hard enough that the pain helps convince me this is real. “We believe many of the subjects we hold here are the inspiration for various urban legends and myths around the world. But there is nothing mystical about them—we just do not understand them yet.”

“O…kay.” I raise a hand and press my fingers to my temple, trying to process this. “But where did it come from? And how does it…exist? And whatelseexists?”

Stern as she usually comes off, the way Dr. Wright looks at me is surprisingly sympathetic. “If I may give you one piece of advice, it would be to discard such questions. Focus on the concrete: what you can see and hear and record in data. Anything else is a distraction.”

I nod. The words are kind—ish—but there is a darker underlying message:don’t ask too many questions. It is not your place to understand.

However, after a moment, her features soften ever so slightly. She places a folder in front of me and flips it open to the first page. “However, for ease of communication, we have assigned this particular creature a moniker, as with all of the rest,” she says. “You may refer to it as such.” She taps a bold line typed at the very top of the first page. It reads “Subject X-13:The Nightmare.”

I mouth the words, my eyes locked on the file, but Dr. Wright shuts it before I can read more. When I look up at her, she lifts a brow at my obvious curiosity.

“Of course, anything more is classified,” she says. “Unless you accept the job. And even if you do not, I must remind you that you can never speak a word about what you’ve seen here to the rest of the world, under penalty of law.”

I blink at her, confused for a moment. But that’s right. I told her I wouldn’t officially accept until I understood more about the nature of the job. For a moment, I was so swept up in all of this that I almost forgot I didn’t actually work here yet.

I press a hand to my lips and look through the window at the moving shadow again.The Nightmare. Maybe I should be intimidated by the name—scared at the idea of working with something so far beyond my understanding of the world. And I am, a little bit. I’m not a complete fool; it’s obvious there’s a lot more that Dr. Wright isn’t telling me, and the name hints that the subject is not exactly easy to work with. Maybe not evensafeto work with.

Yet at the same time… The thought of saying no, walking out that door, and living with this tantalizing bit of knowledge without speaking of it for the rest of my life is agonizing. I hoped that a visit to the building might sate my curiosity, and that the work here would turn out to be far less exciting than the rumors, making it easy to say no. And yet being here, seeing this thing, thismonster,has raised more questions than it’s answered. And I want to know more. I want tounderstand. I may die of curiosity if I deny myself that opportunity.

And I mean… I’ve always craved an adventure, haven’t I? I’ve always lost myself in books and TV shows and dreamed of a world more exciting than the one I live in. Risky or not, how can I deny myself an opportunity like this when it drops into my lap?

With a decisive nod, I rip my eyes off the test subject, turn to Dr. Wright, and extend a hand.

“Dr. Wright,” I say, “I would be delighted to accept your offer to work here. When can I start?”

Dr. Wright takes my hand. And, for the first time since I’ve met her, she gives me a genuine smile. “How does tomorrow sound?”

6

Chapter Six

The following day, I find myself in the observation room again, this time as an official employee of the Facility, or the Melsbach Research Facility, which I’ve learned is the official name of this place. Even within the building, nobody seems to use it—most people say MRF for short, and occasionally the more on-the-noseMonster Research Facility.

My excitement hasn’t faded since my first visit. It takes all of my willpower to sit still in my observation chair. I can’t take my eyes off the subject through the glass. TheNightmare, as they call it. I can’t deny that the name is fitting—it looks like something out of one of my late-night terrors. Yet, at the same time, there is something mesmerizing about it. I could easily watch it all day, even if I weren’t getting paid for it.

It’s fascinating to observe its constant shifting movements, the way it seems to solidify into certain shapes before dispersing into a pool of shadow again. Even more intriguing, the screens showing different camera angles all seem to capture slightly different versions of it; its outline is even blurrier and undefined on a screen, and whenever it changes, the image goes pixelated and staticky, like a video game glitching.

I was all too eager to get my hands on the folder that Dr. Wright showed me a tantalizing glimpse of yesterday, but to my disappointment, it wasn’t on the desk when I arrived. I found only a notebook for me to record observations in, with examples of how to structure my notes. I’m annoyed at the bait-and-switch, but there isn’t anyone here to complain to, and even if there were, I probably wouldn’t have the guts to do it.

I’m sure they’ll be willing to give me more information once I prove that I’m reliable. So I dedicate myself to the task.

And it’s not hard to focus on observation, anyway. I’m enthralled by the subject—theNightmare, I keep thinking, with a tinge of something dangerously like awe—and I’m not sure I could stop watching it even if I tried. I have to keep reminding myself to stop and take notes, marking every time it changes its shape or drifts to a new location or does anything else that seems worth noting.

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