HEY APATHY! Alternative Comics Fashion Show turned MONSTER!
Although I have been entirely unable to gather any proof of the anomaly, and whilst many systematic fingers have pointed at me, the fact remains that my youngest sister, like numerous others in the downtown of the Gear, has gone missing. Without a trace, nor notice and resistant of any clues, women of a certain age group seem to be being mysteriously swallowed up whole by the city. The first reports reached us when the epidemic disintegrations peaked at 13 in a single night, but one must wonder how many vanished before the phenomena was considered en vogue in the news.
I had taken little interest in the media's paranoid exploitations but was unabashedly thrown into the mystery upon my sister's involvement. The police searched every inch of our house and questioned me and my father to no end. I hadn't thought them particularly threatening or offensive as the tough facade was meant to over compensate for the fact they had nothing else to go on. They left the house in a mild state of disorder and promised our family that they would do their best.
I was asked to tidy my sisters belongings as my mother could not bare to enter her room. I knew the chamber well as had I had snuck in many times in my youth to steal change or play pranks. Sitting on the floor was pile of magazines and some overturned make-up cabinets obviously a resultant of the investigating officials. Pulling up my sisters chair, I leant forward to tidy the items.
The magazine seemed unusually crinkled and exhumed the rotting stench associated with road kill. In darting my nose away from the magazine, I came to notice the large billboard advertisement situated out side my sister’s window. How times had changed. When we moved here only 15 years ago there was a tree in that view. At least there was no advertisement. Today the giant billboard featured only a blaring white blank video screen not unlike the sunset it had so obtrusively denied us. I noticed the rotting smell again and realized it was emanating not from the periodical but from beneath my sister’s bed.
I shuttered at the odour, and lifted the mattress cautiously as careful not to poke my nose any nearer than necessary. There I uncovered a glob of composting apples, salads, half eaten candy bars, and entirely untouched whole meals, all grotesquely festering with flies.
Again the smells moved me to jump away when my eyes happened to notice a page missing an article hanging from one of the magazines. The page had been obviously tampered with as small section was cut away with scissors. The remainder of the page bore a solicitation for a new modelling agency missing only the portion revealing the locations and contact information. I thought to my self how humorously detective and coincidentally presumptuous of me to think any more of a random cutting from one of dozens of magazines. I instantly surmised that it must have been a habit of my beloved sibling but later found that every other publication remained fully intact.
I went downstairs for the supplies necessary to clean up my sisters horded food. When I returned to the room I found the mess was already removed. Momentarily unnerved, I thought to myself that someone else must have smelled it before me and rushed to clean the mess. I then sat down in the chair worrying about my sister as the moonlight reflected off the face of the billboard. What happened next was so fleeting, yet disturbing, that I was compelled to write it down in this journal, in case the visions is just a dream that might easily be forgotten.
The billboard lit up and featured a long line up of young women. They were being pushed through a studio and decorated in strange costumes. A line of sentient mirrors reached forth reshaping and stretching the decorated teens. Suddenly the models were at a party were tall Orge-ish aardvarks removed the tops of their craniums and drank their intestines like wine. The extended and fanged snouts sucked the victim’s blood dry until only a rubbery flesh and extravagant dress remained. The drained plastic figures were then quickly draped over metallic mannequins which stretched and shifted the women to the desires of an unseen photographer. Suddenly dozens of flash bulbs flickered until the billboard blew out. The entire experience lasted less than three seconds. I mean I knew this was all of the imagination, but the brief surreal animation appeared to be so real.
This however, is not the worst of my situation. As a full night has passed since examining the room there is still no word of my sister, and stranger still no one will take responsibility for cleaning up the food wastes under her bed. Finding this peculiar I went back to the scene but was utterly disappointed at the extent of it's cleanliness. No food, not even magazines and the cosmetics were no where to be seen. I sat, for the last time ever, in my sisters chair and watched the contractors paste up a new sign. I was now certain I’d been dreaming at that no such sinister modelling agency existed responsible for the kidnappings. As I resigned my heroic aspirations of solving these weird crimes, the workers unrolled the enormous advertisement up, along, and across the giant billboard smoothly revealing the face of the new cover model. Now, no one agrees with me, nor has mother ever even attempted a glance, but I'll swear on my life the image was hers! There on the billboard all stretched out and rubbery was my poor missing sister, who no one seems to remember anymore, sprawled out with a manufactured magnificence and smiling with glee!
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