Teraphobia

"Jess... Jess," a middle-aged man, dressed in a tie and brimmed hat, shouted as he rushed into the kitchen. "I need a drink to celebrate," "Erik..." Jess, his wife, attempted to interject, but Erik is far too excited to even acknowledge the look of concern on his wife's face.

Half a bottle Harold's Dark Whiskey sat in the passenger seat. Having not expected to survive the night, Erik stirred. His eyelids felt too heavy to lift. A heavy thump shook him from his liquor-laden coma. Opening his eyes slightly, his vision blurred. He was barely able to make out the dust covered dashboard of the abandoned car he found himself in.

Erik stood near a pale blue minivan. Its windows blacked out with dirt. He tried the driver’s side sliding door, but it was locked.

Erik and Rebecca stood at the bridge. The water moved below, carrying debris and struggling thrall. “Of course the thrall fall in there,” Erik says as he steps forward. “They are thrall, right,” he asked.

“So what’s your plan?” Erik asked Rebecca, as they sat waiting for the mob of thrall to surround them. “First step is to not die.” Rebecca said. “Honestly… and I always try to be honest,” Erik promised. “I’m good with dying. I’ve lived long enough. You wanna stab me and run, do it.” “Liar!” Rebecca shouted. It was a whisper but emotional, triggered by memories.

Erik wiped sweat from his brow as the summer heat loomed over him. His hands trembled as he set the duffel down, though he didn’t need anything it. He released the pry-bar and let it fall the short distance to the ground. He shook off the anxiety, wishing he had a shot to medicate it away. His knees throbbed and he knelt.

Erik screamed out toward the thrall. He listened as the towering stems and pig weed broke under the incoming horde. The tentacled Groundling reached out, brushed his ankle. Erik turned, snapped a thick stalk from the ground.

Billy’s face was gray, his eyes pale, his body cold beneath Michael’s hands. He was dead. After several moments, Billy blinked and turned his head. Michael stepped back, his breath catching as the body sat up. A dead body doesn’t do this, he thought—yet Billy rose to his knees, then his feet, staring through him with eyes that no longer belonged to anyone he knew. Related Record: Town Called West Thomas — Field Documents https://broken-archive.com/records/field-documents/town-called-

A second large piece of plywood crashed to the floor, the sound echoed through the small building like a gunshot. Cracks spidered out across the laminated glass. Some sections bowed inward, ready to collapse.

Log 05-10: Elmyra, Territory of the Reds Elmira, where the boundaries between human and Kimerian blur, survival isn’t just about adapting — it’s about integrating. That’s the inspiration behind the Working the Line collection. Each shirt, mug, and print captures a snapshot of life along the Unknown Highway, where the ordinary and the uncanny converge.

Subject: Erik Ashford. Location: Abandoned retail sector. A Harrow designated “Gary” has breached basic restraint protocols. A child’s voice reported on site. Source unknown.

Case file BA-CR-0012. Dr. Gabriel Loren Cross. Charges: attempted augmentation of a living organism. Proceedings suspended — incident recorded.