Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.


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Building 8 "The Thing in the Rain"

“I see them in my dreams. Not their faces. There are no faces. Just the masks. A sign of the sickness. And I am very ill. I don't remember when it started. Maybe it never started. Maybe they were always there. Waiting just for me, to remind me that I am sick. That I must find a cure. But I haven't found one, even after years of looking. They are growing impatient with me. And I know the consequences. They work on me as they have so many others. The want to find a cure. The cure for the sickness. They have only ever found one, but they haven't given up. So it is either them or me. Either I cure them and myself or they will show me their cure. I've seen the bodies.”

It rained today. The worst rain I've seen in a long time. Last time I saw a rain like that was on the old farm. Hated that place. Made me see things. It rained today. In sheets. Was lucky. Could have been worse. Worse drivers. Worse roads. Had the wipers on full but still could barely see anything. There was something in the rain. Rain was too thick to make out. When I was younger I remember a story I heard. About a girl left at home during a storm. Story was called “Rain Thing.”

Was returning the doctor. Said he was seeing steady progress. I'm opening up. Doctor has no idea what he is talking about sometimes. We all hold back a little. Forget a little. It's for the best. Mind wants to protect us. I remember the farm. I remember the horses. Haven't thought of them in a long time. There was a old mutt on the farm. Smelled funny. Looked funny. Seemed to be happy about everything. Hated the thing. Wouldn't leave me alone. Should have left me alone.

Driver in front of me turned on his hazard lights. Slowed nearly to a stop. Deep puddle forming on the side of the road, rushing up the side of his car. Saw something in the rain. Thought about the farm again. The day it rained. It rained too much. Was back in the present. The thing in the rain walking along the side of the road, wind wiping something wet hanging off of it. Was dark. Like seaweed. Or ferns. Was seeing things. Seeing things wrong. All the therapy. Thought of the story again. Rain thing.

I thought of the dog...he was big and kind. Wanted nothing else but to be pet and rubbed. But I was a kid. And it smelled funny. It looked strange. So I didn't like it. It had one eye. Something had happened to the other one. And he always seemed to roll in something. My cousins didn't seem to mind it, but I hated it when I would leave the house and the thing would rub against me, asking to be pet. I acted nice. One time I yelled and it and my parents made me pay for it.

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