The Serma

The Serma are a very interesting species. I've decided to present you with a story instead of giving you information on them, for these creatures cannot be avoided. Lets the story begin.

Two men in their twenties with relatively generic names, Bill and Jake are driving down the hardly visible path in the middle of nowhere, on the way to their friends' new house. The friends are quite into pranks, most of them are fine, but every once in awhile they get out of hand. Bill has the wheel, awake only because due to the coffee in his hand. Jake can barely keep his eyes open, so he asks for a sip of Bill's coffee, he gladly hands it over. The instant Jake's lips touch the cup, the car jerks to a stop, spilling the caffeine-filled drink. "Fuck. Clean that up while I see what happened," Bill remarks. Jake readily takes his coat off and wipes it up. Bill gets out of the car to find none other than a leak in the front-left tire. "Jake, the tires blown, I'm gonna call Melissa and see if she can bring us a spare." Jake finishes up the cleaning and hops out of the car. He waits for Bill to get off the phone. "Any luck?" "Nope, she doesn't have one on her." They sit around the next few minutes, kicking the side of the car and checking the hole again and again, anything to pass the time. "Hey, what's that?" Jake questions, pointing out the two lights off in the distance. "They look like headlights to a truck, maybe this guy can give us a lift." The truck eases closer and closer until it finally slows to a stop next to their car. "You guys need any help? No offense, but you look kind of lost." The trucker ponders. "Actually, yeah, we are a little. That would be really awesome, the help, I mean. Our tire here," Bill displays the tire, "it's, uh, a little... flat." "Huh. Well, I got a few spares in the back, but they're all for my big wheels here, I don't think they'd really fit yours." He chuckles at his own remark. "I could tow your car, give you a ride. There's a town just five miles from here." "That would be great, I'm pretty sure that's where we're going, like I said earlier, we are a little lost." Without another word, the trucker let them into what would soon be tugging four and a half tons of their stuff. He went back and got the car attached, ready for towing. Put the key in the ignition and make a crank clockwise. "That was a rental," Jake mutters as dirt and gas sprays onto the windshield. They head off to where they hope their friends live. "Salmon Oaks." "What?" Bill asks. "That's the name of the town. Lovely place. Well, minus the snakes, but I'm sure two men of your build aren't afraid of a few wrigglers, are you?" At first, Bill thinks this to be sarcasm, irony, maybe, but after a few seconds of thought he guesses this man is just being kind. "Say, what's your name?" "Mike. You?" "Bill, he's Ja-" "I can speak for myself," Jake interrupts, clearly annoyed at how the night is going. "My name's Jake." “Jake, Jake is a great name, I like Jake.” Mike continues to go on muttering about the name Jake, then off he goes, listing his children and wife’s names. Him being a trucker and all, he probably doesn’t get to talk to that many people, but this man seemed a little... too open. Eventually, they all make it to the Salmon Oaks. Jake and Bill are relieved to see that this is the place their friends are staying at. To be quite honest, they find it very dumb of themselves to have not checked for the exact name of the place. All they knew was that they’d be greeted to a big, purple sign. Sure enough, a big, purple sign was greeting them. They all get out of the truck. “Hey, if you guys need any more help, give this number a call.” Mike writes down his number on the back of a dusty picture and hands it to Bill. Mike gets back in the truck and drives off. Bill takes a look at the front side of the picture, wipes some dust off. “Odd man,” Jake comments. “This... This is a picture of his kids... They fit the description perfectly... Why would he give me this?” “Maybe he didn’t realize what it was, I don’t care. Lets just get inside and get on with the night.” “Oh, okay. Uh, which one do you think it is?”“Probably the one with the lights off,” Jake groans. “They’ll probably try to scare us and they’ll probably beat the crap out of us. Probably.” “You’re really not in the best moo-” “Jake, Bill, come on in, the door’s unlocked,” Carl, one of their friends, calls from inside the house with the lights off. Bill walks over toward the door and gives it a good push, it opens without a sound. “Well come on then.” Jake drags himself to the door, into the unlit house. “We’re in the kitchen,” Jeff, their other friend, calls. The kitchen looks, somehow, even darker than the rest of the place. “Why’re the lights off? The power can’t be-” Jake calls out, something’s going on here, and he’s not going to stick around for their idiocy. “Please excuse the lights, the power’s out,” Carl and Jeff say in unison. “But all the other lights in the city are on.” No response this time. “Carl? Jeff? You better not be fucking with us.” Still no response, a slight clicking noise, though. “Jeff, Carl, stop whatever the fuck you’re doing and show yourselves, now.” “Jake, shut up.” “Don’t tell me to shut up!” “Jake! Shut up and help me find where the damned clicking noise is coming from!!” Jake agrees and starts to listen. The clicking is subtle, just there, not getting any louder or fluctuating. It doesn’t sound subhuman, unnatural, paranormal. It’s just a clicking noise. Honestly, it’s the least extraordinary thing that’s happened all day. They approach the noise carefully, as they move closer to the noise, it naturally increases in volume, at least to their perspective. They enter the room it’s located in, the kitchen. “It... It’s...” Bill murmurs. “It’s an old tape recorder,” Jake sighs, ashamed in their fear. “Carl and Jeff are probably watching this entire thing via camera.” “Jeez, the things that they get off on,” Bill jokes, Jake is in no mood to laugh though, he’s had enough. “Okay, dude, I’m out of here, this is just too much to handle.” With that, he reached for the one at the front door. He grasps on, turns his hand clockwise and rushes to the car. He drives off, leaving Bill there to deal with this hellhole. He’ll come back tomorrow. His drive home is anti-climactic, when he returns to his place, he puts some popcorn in the microwave and watches Dawn of the Dead. Or, at least he would, were the doorknob to be turning. Not only is it locked, it feels a few degrees colder than normal. He dismisses it, seeing it really is only a couple degrees and it’s somewhere between two and three in the morning. “Here, let me try,” Bill offers, jiggling the knob and pounding his shoulder against the door. But to no avail, nothing happens other than Bill getting a sore arm. Even though they’re still resorting to the prank idea, this is getting creepy. To be locked inside an unfamiliar house with all the lights out? Lets see you try it. “Okay, all that’s gonna do is break your arm, not the door. If only you had a bigger build.” In that moment, they turn to each other and have one of those cliche ‘thought shares’. Jake flips out his phone as Bill pulls out the picture. Jakes fingers move faster than light as Bill reads off each number, barely audible. Ring... Ring... Ring... Connection! “Hello, is this Bill?” Mike asks. “Jake, actually. Uh, could you come back to Salmon Oaks?” “Your friends not home?” “You could say that...” “Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in five,” with that, Mike hangs up. Several minutes go by, four to be exact, and they get another call. “Hey, where are you guys?” It’s Mike. “We’re in that house with the lights off, the one our car is next to.” “Uh, oh! Okay, I see it, sorry, I pass through here so often I forget where everything is.” “But, yeah, we’re in that house and the doors a little-” “What’s that rag?” “Rag? Wh-what rag?” At this point, Jake just wants to get out of here, get home and get some sleep, but that can’t happen if this idiot doesn’t break down the door. Bill, on the other hand, is listening intently to Jake’s side of the conversation. “There’s a crimson red rag in your car, I would’ve noticed it before, it’s really... I don’t know how to describe it, it just calls for your attention.” “Hey, Mike, can you forget about the rag and come break down the door? They locked us-” The phone hangs up. “In.” The next thing they hear is a muffled voice, Mikes, sounds like he’s reading something, maybe whatever was on that rag. Sounds like he’s saying ‘I’m coying your ray,” but that makes no sense, at all.” After that, this horribly sweet sound fills the air, it sounds like more than an instrument, no way it’s a human voice. It seems to be flowing with life itself, it’s so soft and nice and caring. Just as it is about to lull them into a state of contempt, it changes. The sound transitions into one of hate, death, fear. It pierces their ears. In the background they can hear a scream, assumingly Mikes. They cover their ears, but it’s too loud, too powerful, it does next to nothing. The sound subsides after minutes of torture. But not just that sound, every simple electric noise, all the animals too, it all seems as if it’s been muted. Except for one thing, a slight tap above them. They turn to find a door, slightly open, leading to a staircase. “It may just be my imagination, but I don’t remember that being there before,” Jake observes. Bill ignores it and walks to the door, signaling for Jake to follow him up the stairs. They creep up, slowly and carefully as possible, the stairs look brand new, whereas the rest of the house appeared to be at least a decade old. Then it happens, that noise comes back, it shatters into their eardrums. They duck and hold their ears, again, this doesn’t change a thing. The noise goes just as suddenly as it came. “You okay?” Bill asks Jake. No response. He turns around to see that Jake has gone missing. Bill, scared for his life, runs up the stairs backwards, still staring at the place Jake disappeared, since he knows the door is locked, looking for a place to just sit and relax until daytime. He turns around to get a good look of the room, when he notices red letter, crimson red letters, blood-like, almost. As he reads it he knows exactly what Mike had been muttering earlier. Carl and Jeff drop down from the ceiling, their eyes pure white but everything else looking consumed by a shadow. They make one remark, just five words, the same as those on the rag and wall behind them.

"Are you enjoying your stay?"