Black spot

(Thanks in part to Joeywatts414 for the idea for this spooky tale)

I won't go back to work tomorrow.

I don't care what Jack says or how much he threatens to tell my probation officer. I will not hear the way my coworkers laugh at me. They tell me it's nothing, but they didn't see it.

They haven't seen the spot like I did today.

Yeah, I did time. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not gonna bullshit anybody and tell them a lie. I got a little too drunk one night and assaulted someone in a bar. It was my first offense, and I did my two years without much hassle. Hell, they even let me do my last year at work release so I could keep paying my parent's mortgage for them.

I work construction, so it was a good fit. They set me up in an outfit, they had me doing drywall and laying flooring, and I worked with a crew that I got along with. It was a sweet gig, and it was a gig that I was told I could keep after I got released. When the day of my release came, I told them I would see them in a few days and rejoined the real world.

That had been the night my dad had suffered a stroke. It was a bad one, mom woke me up screaming, and we took him to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. Suddenly there were doctors to talk to, changes to make to the house I'd grown up in, and a man who'd once taken care of me to take care of. He'd lost function in nearly half of his body, and with mom feeling very overwhelmed, it became my job to take care of dad.

It wasn't until my probation officer informed me that I was in danger of violating that I realized it had been almost a month since I was released.

"I understand that you've got some things going on, but you have to maintain employment as part of your probation. Your job with the construction firm says they'll let you come back if you're still interested, but you have to have some income coming in by the end of next week or risk violating your probation."

I went to the foreman the next day to see if I could get my old job back, but it appeared I was in for a surprise.

"Yeah, sorry. We filled your spot on that crew. We didn't know when you'd be back, and we needed a full crew on that job."

I resisted the urge to rage at him; I had been told I could have my old job back.

"Then why did you tell my probation officer I could come back?"

"Because I have other crews I can stick you on if you're still interested."

I told him I was, and he gave me a number to call, "That's Jack, he's been begging me for another able body. Give him a call and see if you can meet up with him today."

I thanked in, inwardly fuming that he had filled my position on my crew, and called the number. Jack answered on the third ring and told me that his crew left at five am. If I wanted a spot on it, I'd better be at the yard at five, ready to work. I told him I would, and he hung up on me mid-sentence. I already didn't have a good feeling about this guy. He was terse and didn't sound like the kind of guy you wanted to have a beer with after work. Regardless, I needed the work, so I set my alarm the night before and dragged up before dawn to meet this asshole at the yard at five am.

Oh boy, and had I been right in my hunch about this guy.

Jack was one of those average-sized dudes who thinks he's a giant, the kind of guys who get their ass beat in prison. He wore jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt with a gold chain that hung down into his thick chest hair. His hair was held into place with enough grease to change the oil in my car, and I saw him single me out the second he showed up. He had a small crew, maybe five guys, but the way he zeroed in on me let me know that he'd been looking for me.

"Well, well, you actually showed up. Rick may speak highly of you, but I'm not just gonna drop somebody down so some ex-con can have his job. You'll be cleaning the job site until I'm convinced you're not going to show up high or just dip out in the middle of the day. If that's not okay with you, then go tell your probation officer to send you back where you came from."

He turned and walked away, the crew pilling into his truck as I just stood there in stunned silence.

I had to remind myself how much I needed this job before I piled in the back and we left for the site.

I had to remind myself that mom and dad needed me home and not in prison a lot over the next few hours.

We pulled up outside this dumpy-looking house in the suburbs just as the sun started to come up over the horizon. It was an old two-story with a peeling exterior and a yard that looked like it had last seen a lawnmower when Bush was in office. They had made a pathway up the walk so they could bring their tools in, and a big metal dumpster created an island in the grass where they had set it. Jack collected us on the porch so he could give us our assignments. The old house was being renovated so the company could flip it, and he set several of us to ripping up carpet. After assignments were given, Jack and three others went upstairs to access the damage.

I was set to pulling carpet in the downstairs living room. It was a dingy little room with a pair of small windows that reminded me of eyes. The carpet was disgusting, covered in hair and crumbs and tacky with something like old soda. I was sliding on my gloves when someone threw a crowbar onto the floor and walked off.

"Hey, aren't you going to help me?" I asked, but the guy who'd toss the crowbar just shook his head.

"We each get a room. This one yours, so get to it."

Then they left me to pull carpet in this big dirty room by myself. The living room wasn't huge, but it was still a lot to ask of one person. I pressed the crowbar in and pulled the carpet away from the wall, not bothering to be gentle. The drywall was going to be ripped out next, and I suddenly wondered why they were pulling the carpet out first? I shrugged, I wasn't the boss here, so I guess I'd just have to do as I was told.

That was the first time I noticed the spot.

It was in the corner of the living room, a big water stain that seemed to take up two walls and went through the crack in it. It was about the size of a basketball, the water spot looking like it would be wet if I touched it, but it kind of freaked me out for some reason. As I worked, I could almost swear it was moving, just a little, and I got that feeling like eyes on the back of my neck. You know the feeling, the one that makes your hair prickle up? The one that makes you think you're being watched?

I tried not to let it bug me, but it was like I could feel that spot as I worked.

The carpet work didn't take long, and an hour later, I had it rolled up and ready to haul out. I looked around for help, but the others were still hard at it or at least pretending to be. I could see three more sitting around smoking or chatting for every one guy working. When I asked them to help me get my carpet out to the dumpster, they just scoffed and waved me away. I couldn't move it by myself, and so I just left it in the living room and went to look for more carpet to pull. It seemed that my fellow workers weren't as diligent as I was because there was still carpet in three rooms that needed pulling. I sighed; this was clearly going to be my life for a while, and I set to work pulling the carpet and getting it ready to haul out.

As I worked in a bedroom, the walls still off blue with stormy-looking clouds painted on it, I got that feeling like someone was watching me. I turned to the door, thinking maybe one of my coworkers had come to see who was making so much noise back here, but there was no one. I looked to the window, but it was so caked with dust that no one could have seen anything through it. I glanced over to the closet, thinking maybe someone was lurking, and that was when I saw the source of my discomfort.

A basketball-sized spot on the wall over the closet door.

I tried to convince myself that it was nothing. It was just a water spot, after all. The house was probably full of them, and I just happened to have found two that looked like. I kept working, pulling up tack strips in places, but I still felt that funny feeling that something was watching me. As the carpet rolled up, I began to push it towards the door, sending up puffs of smoke as it thumped over. As I pushed, I couldn't help but glance at the spot. It was still there, hanging over the closet door, seeming to watch me as I worked.

I turned to look at it squarely and gasped as I noticed a large white hole in the middle of the spot.

Like an eye floating in a puddle.

I ran out of the room then, bumping into another worker as I beat a hasty retreat.

"There you are," he said tersely, "we've been looking for you. Come help us move this carpet."

I was more than happy to oblige and had almost forgotten the spot until after lunch. We spent the rest of the morning hefting the carpet, pulling the rest of the carpet, and accessing the work for tomorrow. I didn't think about the spot much. People being around me made me feel a little crazy about being afraid of it, but as we worked, I could swear I saw it again and again. The walls were covered with stains, the pipes were likely bad, but this one was definitely the same spot. The white circle was gone, but I still found myself looking for it when I went into a room. The guys on the crew must have noticed because they started making jokes about how prison had made me jumpy.

"He's gotta check all the corners when he comes in to make sure no booty bandits are lurking." a big slovenly one in overalls would say, and they'd all laugh like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

If I didn't need this job so bad, I'd have made something of it.

We moved upstairs eventually, finding two bedrooms and a bathroom up there, and by five o'clock, we had all the carpet out of the house and in the dumpster out front. Jack came back in the truck, handing out paychecks and thanking the guys for their hard work. When he came to me, he handed me the check grudgingly, scowling the whole time and holding it when I tried to take it from him.

"Tomorrow, I expect to see some real work out of you, not just half-assing it like you did today."

I took the check and walked off.

I'd find my own way back.

The next day was a little better. Jack said that drywall would be next, and then he and his cronies disappeared out to the truck while the rest of us worked. We all started tearing out drywall, dust, and nails flying, and I meant to swing my hammer into that spot extra hard when I saw it. To my disappointment, though, the spot never showed up. I had seen it everywhere yesterday, seen it in every room at least once, but today it was absent. We spent the day tearing out drywall and cleaning up after ourselves, and when five o'clock came, we packed up and went out to be laid.

Today had been better. Nothing builds camaraderie like hard work, and I found myself joining in on the jokes and conversations that happened in the group. We were covered in drywall dust as we walked out that day, laughing about how Tony had been scared by that rat when he busted into the drywall in the laundry room. Jack looked at them coldly, affronted that they had accepted me so easily.

He handed me my check-in silence, and I piled into the back of the truck with the others.

The next day was the last day I'd work with them.

We spent that next day hanging drywall downstairs. Between the ten of us, we worked diligently and quickly. The drywall went up a sheet at a time, something I was pretty good at, and I was glad to see it cover the hollow studs and the newly blown in insolation. We marked a few spots where the beams were rotten, but the pipes actually looked pretty good, as did the electrical. I began to wonder what had made the spots I kept seeing, they looked so wet, but I pushed it out of my mind as I worked beside my newfound companions.

By five o'clock, we had done most of the downstairs, and we'd have the rest finished tomorrow so we could move upstairs.

When I walked out onto the porch, though, I realized I'd forgotten something. I'd laid my dad's watch on the counter, not wanting it damaged while we were working, and I had forgotten about it. I grabbed my cheek and turned to go back into the house, Jack scowling at me as I walked off.

"We're leaving." He called out to my back, but I waved him off.

"If you're gone when I get back, I'll just find my own way."

I wasn't about to leave my watch here overnight.

I went to the kitchen and checked the counter but found nothing. It was powdery with dust from today's work, and I thought I could see an indent where the watch had been, but I could find no watch. I began to look around, hoping it hadn't found its way into someone's pocket, when I looked into the living room and saw it sitting dead center of the debris-riddled floor. I took a step, but something brought me up short. A little tickle in the back of my head told me that this was a little too convenient.

It was like a trap baited and waiting for an unlucky animal to blunder into it.

I shook it off. I wanted my watch, damn it, and I wasn't just going to abandon it because I had a hinky feeling. I bent down to get it, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal, when I saw something out the corner of my eye. It was a pulsating, sludgy something, and it looked to be soaking into the new drywall. I looked up, exasperated, figuring that someone had put a nail through a pipe at some point today, but what I saw drew me up short.

I was left half bent, filled with fear, as I saw the oozy, black spot seething on the new drywall.

It was bigger than a basketball now, its inky depths seeming to beat like a heart, and as I watched, I could see two white circles materializing out of the soup. They rolled around like lost eggs and finally came to rest in the middle of the sludge. I wanted to run, I didn't want to be seen by whatever this thing was, but I was trapped like a deer in its headlights. I felt my breath hitching in my chest and could only wait for my legs to regain their strength.

The white orbs rolled around in the soup and became eyes. They blinked at me, their centers trained on me as I bent there, and all at once, a Cheshire cat smile floated under them as it beamed at me. I was stuck looking into this inky hole, the edges dribbling down the fresh drywall as it oozed and ran. Suddenly, I was sure that part of that darkness was ahead, ahead with eyes that were looking out at me from whatever inky void it inhabited. Maybe with hands that wanted to pull me into that dark hole it inhabited.

As if it had read my mind, I saw dark hands grip the edge of the spot, trying to pull itself out and enter my world.

It never lost eye contact as it pulled itself into our world, and I could see the vague outline of its head as it came free of the spot with a placental pop.

That was all I needed to see. Suddenly my legs were moving in overtime, my heart was racing like a steam engine, and I was out the door and slamming it behind me before I could quite remember how I had gotten onto the porch. Even though the blood pounding my ears and the rubber of my sneaker pounding on the wooden floor had dominated my hearing, there was one sound that I will never forget. I may not be able to remember how I came to be on the porch, heaving and gasping for air, but I do remember the sound I heard just before I threw the door open and was free.

It was a plop and a splatter, similar to a bucket of paint being emptied on the ground.

I ran home, calling Jack as I took off up the sidewalk.

He picked up on the second ring.

"I'm not coming back to get you. I told you that I was…"

"Jack! You've got to get someone back to the site! There's... there's someone there."

"Who?" Jack asked, and I could hear his skepticism, "If this is some kind of a goof, I don't get it."

I told him how I had gone back for my watch, and I had seen someone skulking about the site. I didn't tell him about the oozing hole in the wall; he'd see that. However, I did tell him that I thought the guy might be on drugs, so he should be careful. "He was banging his fists on the drywall, so I booked it." I finished, trying to keep it believable. The crew was just starting to warm up to me, and I didn't want them to think I was a nut job.

"Jesus Christ, I thought you ex-cons were tough? I'll go have a look, just stay home, and I'll let you know what I find."

That was an hour ago. Since I got home, I've been in my room, waiting on him to call, and I decided to write this while I waited. When I opened my laptop, though, my desire to write the story became all the more prevalent. As I slid it open, I caught a glimpse behind me and realized that I'll be fortunate if I have time to finish this tale.

I saw a basketball-sized hole reflected in the screen as the title screen came up.

I got up, locked the door, and moved my writing to the living room.

I don't know if the locked door will stop whatever may come out of that dribbling hole, but I know that it may give me enough time to finish this before it breaks the surface.

Keep your eyes peeled for water spots.

You never know what might come slipping out.