Jerry

"Jerry?"

Jerry looked up, wild eyed and disheveled. He looked to the thing in front of him. It was an XBox controller. Damn. Bill Gates was on the loose. But none of that now. That voice...

"Jerry? Are you home?"

No, Jerry isn’t home.

"Your door was unlocked. I’m coming in-"

Jerry ripped the controller from its socket, throwing it at the voice. It clanged off the wall, sending chunks of wall and controller spewing to the ground. There was a yelp from the woman.

"I’m not hurt, Jerry. Please, just let me help you."

He looked back to the television, to his reflection. It was so terrible...!

"Jerry? Where are you? Speak to me, Jerry."

"No," Jerry responded, his throat dry and aching. "Don’t come any closer!"

There was a crackling now; she was coming in to help him. He was so far beyond help, why couldn’t she understand that? A shadow grew over the entryway, over Jerry. It loomed above him, ready to pierce its razor-sharp fangs into Jerry’s flesh.

"STAY BACK!!" Jerry screamed in vain. He looked up, and there she was. She let out an unearthly screech and pointed.

"J-Jerry?! What’s wr-" She couldn’t finish her sentence as Jerry’s image was so gruesome. She bolted out the house, screaming and crying. "JERRY’S NOT RIGHT!! HE’S NOT RIGHT!!"

No, he wasn’t right. By the look and feel, he was totally wrong. One minute, enjoying a newly-bought game, the next, unconcious at the foot of the console. Jerry had tried desperately in those first moments to lift himself, managing in the end only to lift his head. Jerry’s look and feel were so very wrong. So wrong, that it looked him in the face. Jerry could feel, he never lost that part of his humanity. He did feel full of holes. A bit cheesy, too. Jerry, through some unholy mutation, was now a round of Swiss Cheese. A round of Swiss Cheese with two straggly arms made of string cheese, one malformed eye and a mouth that had contorted his speech into madness.

--John E. Lansing