The Faceless
No one knew where they came from. Slowly, but surely, they appeared — on the streets, in corners of the bathroom, within the aisles of libraries and grocery stores. Slender figures stood in grey suits, and they were all over the news, seemingly within days, at first reported as hoaxes not unlike the classic Bigfoot stuff we saw on TV, or even the iconic Slender Man phenomenon. It then quickly morphed into a psychological dilemma, plaguing the minds of many within minutes. While everyone got crazy over “Slender Man,” all those years ago, communities left and right were now making quick exits out of town when the faceless came around (the press gave them that name).
It wasn’t just any cult persona of terror. Truly, we all thought it was some sort of invasion. An onslaught that couldn’t be stopped…. Had to have been aliens, or some government conspiracy to control the population. Who knew. But what I did know was that I wasn’t going outside without a blindfold.
Not even to bring the trash can back into the driveway….
You could only imagine the pandemonium — looters, riots, raging demonstrations of all kinds across streets, corners and gatherings to rally against whatever it was. Some thought it was the next coming of Christ, others thought it was E.T. phoning home and transporting all of us to the next ‘earth’, consuming every natural resource — as if we were the invaders without even knowing it.
I personally thought they were all interesting conspiracy theories, but thoughts quickly dispersed at watching the news and the latest developments and research of what this virus — or whatever you wanted to call it — did to you.
It became known that if you ever came across the faceless, you had only an average of days. Days when you could remember who you were. They had already documented the metamorphosis in detail, tying the pieces together from incubation, to inception, to completion: once you placed your gaze upon any one of them, in any situation, the infection began, sealing orifices in your body shut like glue, suddenly.
The only way I could describe it was as if your body hemorrhaged, bloating and reacting to a histamine that would elevate and close up channels in your system, much like how the flu would clog up cavities and sinuses and leave you a complete mess in bed. Somehow, though, the kind of inflammation one would experience managed to maintain every necessity necessary for basic living: breathing, beating heart, even sight. At least until the eyes would…. Completely shut. And disappear.
Disclaimers across the newscast for all…. “What you’re about to see may be graphic….” And all would watch, constricting a need for the mob mentality, but without intention. It’s not like the media wanted to cause a panic; but what else would you think would happen? —
People. Will. Simply. Just. Freak. Out.
Within seconds, the inflammation would completely close eyes shut, sealed tight, cemented down and somehow smoothed out with no semblance of what used to be eyelids. Just an empty space in the face, followed by the hollowing out of all the crevices where the nose, mouth and even ears were.
To imagine what that felt like…. The idea that I couldn’t even put it into words…. Was horror enough for anyone.
No one could pinpoint the incubation period — it varied from person to person. Some saw a timeline of weeks whereas others were more like minutes. Researchers extensively conducted prognoses, sampling blood for any signs of viral infection, but to no avail. The mystery only contributed to the conspiracy theories floating around as flying saucers do, vaporizing white houses and pentagons like it was nothing; and then people would really start to panic, thinking this was a true war of the worlds.
These aliens — or whatever they were — were trying to erase us. Not eradicate us, experiment on us, or enslave us. They just wanted us gone; at least that’s what I thought.
I couldn’t help but wonder, though…. Were the faceless the alien invaders? Or something else?
Not much else was done as far as research up to a certain point, according to what the news would tell us. I personally thought it was to avoid panic, leaving out certain salient details. It seemed that the infection would apparently reach a peak of volatility and severity that patients would no longer be allowed in the public eye, and all of us who were not infected would never hear another word of it. It was almost like they would all disappear.
An exponential eradication, starting from utility workers and contractors — those working out in the public — they were the first to go. Stadiums, schools, restaurants, anything that thrived at the height of gatherings of large groups — those were on the front line in a raging outbreak of terrifying magnitude, and then others from more contained environments in malls and industrial buildings were next.
What about those more solitary? Writers, artists, even dancers? They were generally next, but much more sporadic, and it didn’t make much sense except for the fact that those — including myself — had less opportunity to run into the faceless and face the contamination. The scary thing was the opportunity came at random times, like I had mentioned: you never knew when you’d run into one of them.
They never spoke. They never chased you. In their oddly clean grey suits, like harmless mannequins, they’d simply stare at you with their nothing eyes, empty gazes locking tractor beams into your soul —
Then slowly raising a finger to point directly at you. That’s when it would happen: the transformation would begin.
You knew your life would be over. It didn’t even matter how far away you were. If you saw one…. And somehow one saw you (you knew you were seen if it raised a finger to you), you were free to believe that it was time for you to “disappear.”
Some would commit suicide only minutes after they ran into one of them. If there ever was a mass suicide weapon, the faceless truly were it.
As long as I lasted, it certainly wasn’t easy, although my career thrived through telecommute. Remotely, I wrote captions for TV shows, an odd and disconnected “connection” to communities, the media, and society. I watched all the Rachael Rays, home improvement shows, and more trendy stuff long before they would air, because I was in charge of the captions and where they were placed.
Boring? Sometimes. It was a job. But in this day and age, it was a godsend given the coming apocalypse. This was mass genocide at its best — and totally, completely non-violent in nature.
What did I do for groceries, toiletries and household items? Simple. Amazon. You’d be surprised at how much paper towels you could order and have flown in by drone at your doorstep. Convenience was key. I only had to keep my eyes closed, open the door, drag the boxes in, then close and bolt the locks.
WiFi connection saved me from madness many times, maintaining that connection to the world of the living even as I saw the hysteria of a race of human monsters flooding to stores in a fury for the latest roll of toilet paper or dish soap, thinking the world was going to end. People with signs wandering down sidewalks in empty ghost towns was about as forlorn as you could imagine, but somehow the worst of it was that it made the media seem that much more sensational and divisive.
You began to question what you were watching….
Those were the days when you often took what anchormen said with a grain of salt, and now this: I often flooded my metaphorical sandwiches with sodium chloride after listening to these bastards talk about the riots that were going on in our nation.
Madness crept in, though. Being stuck inside when I was so used to being ‘stuck’ inside by habit was like quicksand being swallowed by quicksand, compounded by that feeling that I couldn’t choose to, maybe, go for a walk, perhaps?
Freedom was a commodity. Yep, I really did like the sedentary and secluded lifestyle, but there was something liberating about the ability to just go to the grocery store and ogle at the ladies if I wanted. I didn’t have that anymore.
It affected my sleep. In fact I woke up one day, going to the bathroom and felt something watching me. Wait, not ‘watching’ — it was more like ‘voyeuring’ (that’s not even a word…. But now it is). Eerie, disturbing and rather perverted, it felt.
I turned on the light in the bathroom and freaked out to see one of the faceless staring at me through the mirror. Not me. One of them.
I turned the light off, bile rising in my throat as cold sweat instantly drained me from the shock. The inexplicability of seeing a blank face, the grey suit, in the mirror…. And I instantly knew I was going crazy. Hallucinations. Fabrications. Strange visions….
I wiped my brow, slowly turning the light back on, and there I was: my raggedy face, five o’clock shadow, matted hair, pockmarks and inflated pores.
I had…. A face. Thank God.
Knowing that I was seeing things, while thankful of the reality, spurred on this age of mental rebellion as I ate bowls and bowls of Lucky Charms while bingeing Tom and Jerry or Jerry Springer for hours upon hours to remind me that the psychotic insomnia I suffered was more than just being in that in-between space of sleep and waking.
Masturbation helped only so much. I tried playing card games with myself, too. Solitaire, anyone? Sure, let’s play. I began to imagine that I was, in fact, two people — split in halves, and one was an evil little gremlin (the other was…. Something else).
Nevertheless, I refused to break the cycle and go out, like some ended up doing — only to be engulfed by the faceless.
Sometimes it was hard refusing to watch the news, but you sort of had to, just to maintain any semblance of humanity. Connection. Communication. There were times I thought the news was actually having a real conversation with me, too, and I, of course, spoke back —
“This just in — more outbreaks of the ‘faceless’ reported in the cities of Chicago, Los Angeles, and by golly Jack did you put on deodorant today?”
I shoved another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth. “Uh. Yeah? Duh.”
“Well, you certainly don’t smell like it as the ‘faceless’ continue to be spotted in rural areas of the Midwest.”
I thought it was fun, though — as that anchorwoman was hot anyway. I couldn’t remember the last time a hot chick even said one word to me.
As the days went by, though, even with the residual income always streaming in and the lack of festivities not ever coming up dry for me, the monotony still swallowed me up like quicksand, and before long I was breaking my mirrors —
I didn’t want to look into them anymore. Especially when they were cracked. The images were fractured and even freakier than usual….
My home wasn’t a home. It was a prison.
I started to wonder if this was what the faceless wanted out of all of us. To imprison ourselves, and perhaps this whole thing was a ruse. Maybe they tapped into satellites, manipulating the airwaves and making it seem like we absolutely had no choice but to lock ourselves away. Was that the case? I said “nay”!
After all, every once in a while, I did see vehicles drive by. Some were military. Others were commercial. Some were sedans. It had to be okay.
What was I so afraid of? Sure, I’d have no face, and I’d be forced to wear lambswool for the rest of my damned life and point fingers at anyone I could find, but I knew I at least would always know who I was, even if no one else would or would care to know. My last bastion! — My one solace of being! Damn it. I deserved to have at least one thing that could never be taken away.
For sure, it had to at least be better than being locked up in my own home. I at the very least would get exercise, if the faceless did benefit from it. (Did they? Was there any research on that on the news?).
It was time to take a chance….
Gambles didn’t always work, except this wasn’t what I expected. Walking down side streets and sidewalks to notice that there were more people out and about than I thought at first was reassuring until they all starting running away from me, screaming bloody murder.
I’d point at them, calling out for them to not be scared. But they never listened. They just kept running.
As I meandered the empty streets, riddled with broken leaves of Autumn under smoky skies, I realized that while I didn’t see a single figure of the faceless, I was still all alone. And no better for it.
The air felt sweet, though. Serene, even. This was an empty, sad paradise. I wondered if this was how Adam felt before his rib had been taken out.
And then, tanks showed up. Obviously to help me out. The military arrived. Thanks for the tanks. Martial law. Enter: true pandemonium. Floods of images caressed my brain of past historical landmarks, of hoses spraying on colored people, hail Hitlers and other dreadful calamities to make it seem that while we’re all one and the same, even we could be considered cannibals in the darkest of times.
There were five tanks total. No infantry. That was probably smart given the risk of any soldier locking gazes with the faceless and becoming infected. The tanks stopped short about twenty feet of where I stood in the middle of the empty street.
Nothing happened after that.
This was the point where you had to imagine the military spoke on intercom or something with some reassurance that I was going to be okay.
Angels on our shoulders, let freedom reign, I say can you see, I say can you see!
I couldn’t explain everyone running away, but maybe they had answers. Yet the tanks did nothing but stare through the barrels of their big guns.
“Hi!” I said. With a smile. Was I smiling? I wasn’t sure. They need to see my smile….
“My name is….” Wait…. What’s my name?
I went blank. I even felt my face go blank.
As I looked around — at all the empty stores, abandoned cars, carcasses on the sidewalk, and puddles of water, warning sounds rang in my head. At first, I thought they were those alarms you’d hear when a tornado would hit. But why? Maybe it was all in my head….
Then my eyes caught something odd, in one of those puddles of water by me.
I looked in one of them, seeing the faint reflection of the smoky sky, and as I peered directly over it, I saw me. I saw what was supposed to be me.
I was faceless.
Originally published at https://medium.com on March 27, 2020.
