Chapter One
It takes me nearly a week to realise something is off. Being the Easter bank holidays and my team extending their annual leave, it's not until the following week during our regular stand-up meeting that it occurs to me I haven’t left the house in over ten days.
Between grocery deliveries and the walking pad my ex left behind when she moved out, everything I need is in my flat. I rarely go out with how crowded the pavements and shops are. And the noise? I can't stand it. I'm much happier being inside where I can control my environment.
It’s weird though that my manager, who demands we have cameras on, is suddenly a grey blob. In fact, I’m the only one with my camera on. And no one is talking about our weekly sprint plan or even what they did this past weekend.
“So…” I draw the word out, hoping someone else’s box will light up with chatter. But they don’t. “How was everyone’s weekend?”
“Good.” All six boxes light up in unison. A perfect harmony for a single syllable.
“Nice.”
I force a smile. I don’t know what else to do right now. This is so weird. I dig my hands into the front of my hoodie, hiding the fact that I’m picking at my cuticles. Am I supposed to lead today? I’ve worked here for almost three years; these meetings have never been this stunted.
“What about you, Georgia? Have you had a good week?” Dani asks.
“Yeah, it’s been chill; stayed home and put in some serious hours catching up on reading.”
“That is so… studious of you,” Matt says, his words missing their usual condemnation. He’s the kind of extrovert who hates people who like being at home. But today he sounds almost curious.
Something in my stomach quivers. I know it isn’t the leftover curry I ate for breakfast. That shit was chilled perfection with my iced coffee. I swallow. Whatever, it's fine. We just need to get this meeting started so I know what I need to have delivered by Friday.
“Should we run down our tickets—” My doorbell rings, cutting me off. “Give me a second, that’s my door.”
No one says anything as I rush down the stairs.
This little two-up, two-down was perfect when my ex and I started living together.
It’s been given the landlord special one too many times, but the windows were replaced a couple of years ago so the heating isn’t too expensive and it's quiet. I thought we’d get a cat or maybe even a small dog this year. Really cap off our little family.
Instead, our relationship capsized.
It takes half a second for me to unlock the door for the first time in ages and another two for me to register that I’m not staring at a normal person. Or a full person.
They’re some kind of flower.
“Georgia.”
I slam the door shut. Nope, no. I’m clearly experiencing some kind of gas leak induced hallucination. The flower monster knocks on my door again.
What do I do? Do I call 999? The only chance this is an emergency is if I’m having a mental breakdown, but up until a moment ago I felt perfectly sane. I pull my phone out of my trousers and dial anyway.
“Georgia,” they answer on the first ring, almost instantly. It’s the same tone, the same enunciation, the same everything as the freak on the other side of my door.
My lungs freeze, my chest rising higher and higher as I try and fail to draw in a deeper breath, but nothing comes. I fall backwards onto the stairs and a jolt of air rushes into me. The rattling of my door grille pierces my ears. They’re trying to break in.
“Georgia, open your door,” the operator says. “We aren’t going to hurt you. We’ve been looking for you.”
“Leave me alone,” I whisper.
My phone is still pressed to my ear. I can’t bend my elbow to pull it away. What the fuck did I just see? How does the emergency service just know my name? This must be a dream. I must have fallen asleep while listening to Hitchhiker’s Guide or, or, or…
“Take a deep breath, my darling.”
The voice changes; someone more Cockney and feminine hums down the line. It’s a familiar accent compared to the operator before. I do as I’m instructed, wincing as the pain radiating up my tailbone finally registers. My ass is gonna be bruised for a fucking week because of this nightmare.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” she continues. “We’re just as shocked to find you this way as you were to find us.”
“Not bloody likely,” I say with a heavy exhale. I take a few more deep breaths. “Only one of us is having a full-blown crash out right now.”
“Your brain is simply adjusting to its new reality, Georgia. This is a normal reaction for a mate when a Sorscelgra takes a new host.”
A tear slips down my cheek. This is anything but normal. This is completely, utterly, undoubtedly fucked up. Nothing makes any sense. I just want things to go back to regular life; even if it was a bit sad and a bit lonely, I still knew what to expect.
My SaaS developer job is shit, my cello is dusty, and my house is quiet. The four small rooms that contain my entire life are rapidly closing in around me, threatening to squash any sense of stability they used to give my meagre existence.
“Why don’t we have a cuppa tea and talk this through?” the operator asks. The rattling of my security door has stopped; all I can feel is the sweat on my cheek from holding my phone pressed so tightly to my face. “We won’t hurt ya, love, promise.”