Chapter Text
Statement #0150309. Recorded on office computer.
Gregorian date estimate: April 23, 2019
O.C Date: June 5, 1
[ELECTRONIC BEEP]
The Lector: Is it working?
(A sigh, and a chair creaking)
Right, so uh… I think I just read? Mm…
(Under breath) ‘course this had to be
my
job…
(Clearing of throat)
Statement of, uh, Elle Finngal, regarding her belief that her skin is changing.
Original Statement given November 3rd, 2015
Recorded b-
(Technological interference, loud, but seemingly unnoticed to the speaker)
-nd new researcher of the Serpent Foundation.
Recording taken 6 months, 5 days post… post apocalypse.
Statement Begins
I can feel your staff staring at me. Normally I would be inclined to march right up to them and give them a piece of my mind, about how rude it is to stare or something but… Well, I know how I look. Even covered in layers, I can’t hide…
Let me start at the beginning, how you asked me to.
It all started in July; I think. I was on holiday to Dartmouth, and my girlfriends convinced me that we should head down to this beach called Blackpool Sands. It was nice, we all had a good time, but it was way too hot out. The sun was
blazing
down on us, and I got so caught up in swimming that I forgot to reapply my sun cream and well… I got an awful burn, practically all over.
One of my friends had to drive me back to the hotel we were in, and the trip was so painful! Every surface felt like it was stabbing and poking me, and even where I wasn’t touching something, my skin felt like it radiated heat! Liza, that's who drove me back, tried to lay down some towels on the front seat so that I wouldn't have to touch my burnt skin to a hot car seat, but somehow it was worse, like each little fiber was needling into my skin, a seeking sort of feeling.
Liza, bless her, stopped at a corner shop and picked me up some aloe vera and painkillers, before dropping me back off at the hotel. She said her and the girls would be back later, as they still wanted to enjoy themselves. Looking back, it was pretty reasonable, as she should get to enjoy what was her vacation as well, but… I’m not sure, I think the pain was getting to me, so I snapped at her, something about abandoning me and, hell, I think I blamed her for not packing strong enough sunscreen. We got into a bit of a row before she drove off in a huff. I stormed into my room and drew myself a nice cold bath.
What happened next was… a bit of a blur. I remember applying the aloe, but it just made my skin feel… weak? Like it was loose on my body or something, and the bath was just even worse, felt like I had a loose shirt on over my muscles more than skin. I looked, and everything was fine, my skin was still fire engine red and
not
hanging off of my body.
But when I got out of the bath, I looked in the mirror and… well, some of the skin on my face was irritated, and I could see some of the dead skin just waiting to be peeled off, so I did. But that piece revealed another, and another and another. Tiny little pieces of skin, smaller than a fingernail, started to litter the sink as I pulled them off, staring at my own face. It was quite cathartic, peeling off my dead skin and seeing fresh pink skin underneath. It distracted from the pain. Maybe the dead skin was what was causing the pain.
I completed my face and moved on to my neck and shoulders. Everywhere I pulled the skin away from was left smoother than before, even seeming to take away my acne. I had always been self-conscious about my acne, it's oddly embarrassing to have acne at twenty-two, makes me feel like I’m back in secondary.
I think Liza or one of the others knocked on my door, saying something about being back, or leaving, or being worried about me. I couldn’t really hear over the intoxicating rush of adrenaline that was pumping through me. I had gotten to my waist and arms when my phone buzzed. They were trying to contact me, distract me from getting better, getting all of that disgusting old dead skin off of me. I was going to be so beautiful and-
(The Lector clears their throat)
Uh, some of the rest of this paper is… illegible, do to… w-what appears to be stains of varying…
fleshy
hues. The writing picks up on the next piece. Statement continues.
Sorry for causing a mess on your table. I don’t like thinking about that part. Gets too real.
Let’s skip to when I had finished. I looked amazing. My skin was fresh and soft and didn’t hurt anymore. I was positively glowing. I finally checked my phone and… it had been two days.I’m honestly shocked that some housekeeper hadn’t come in at any point, or a manager to kick me out when my stay was over. I had so many missed messages and phone calls from my friends. I messaged them all, told them I was fine, and had just decided to extend my holiday instead of traveling back to uni with them. I threw all the skin in the trash, and after considering, took the trash with me. It looked like someone was flayed alive, sans blood, and I didn’t not need to explain to the police that I meticulously peeled off all of my dead skin over the course of two days.
The strangeness of what I’d done didn’t hit me till I had dumped the bag of skin in a skip bin in an alley and boarded my train back home. What was wrong with me? I spent two whole days without eating or sleeping, to my recollection, and felt fine! Better than fine, I felt brand new! But I knew that this was all wrong, I shouldn’t feel so good after doing something so… so disturbing.
That train ride was one of the longest of my life.
I moved on, and I almost forgot about my sunburn. Almost. Towards the end of August, just before classes were set to pick up again, I woke up with the prickling, stabbing feeling again, all over my body. I rushed to the bathroom and turned on the light, bracing myself to see a red sunburn all over my body.
Instead, I looked fine. Till I saw the dead skin flaking around my eyes when they crinkled with my relieved smile. More dead skin. Part of me was revolted, seeing my skin start to shed
again
. This time it reminded me of a lizard, and I got a horrible image of having to pick off skin every month. Now I think I would prefer that.
The other part of me was ecstatic to see that my skin was ready to peel. I knew that underneath would be fresh and soft and smooth, and I would look so nice for my classes. So, I started peeling.
Just like the first time, it's a bit of a blur. This time only took me a day. The bits of skin came off in bigger pieces, and they were less dry this time. It wasn’t blood or anything, if it was blood that time, I would have gone to the hospital. I should have gone to the hospital anyway. But I just peeled away, dropping bits of skin to the floor in a slightly damp pile, coming to my senses and bagging it all up. I got a good amount of compliments as I took out the trash that day.
But something was wrong. My skin started to lose its smooth newness faster than before, and a week later parts of my skin were… discolored. My elbows, knees, toes, even the tips of my fingers were desaturated, turning a grey-ish hue. My skin was dying. It made me look ugly. So, I peeled again. The skin came off in pieces the size of my hands, wet with some sort of clear bodily fluid I couldn’t name. And I was pretty again.
And this cycle continued: my newly perfect and smooth skin quickly deteriorating into dead hanging flesh, sloughing it off in gross wet chunks and throwing my skin away. By the end of September, it had become a daily chore, now having to clean blood and pus off of my bathroom tile as well the skin. In October I called in sick with pneumonia to all my classes. I couldn’t go out like this, grey skin hanging off me, itching to be pulled off. Most days, I would just pull it all off as quickly as I could and just… sit in my shower and cry, not daring to open my eyes as I could feel the newly revealed skin start to die on my body.
This week, before coming to your institute, I tried to suppress the urge to peel. I was able to, but, well, you’ve seen me, and I think this state might be worse.
I think this is the last peel. Something about it is different, the itch to pull is like a roar in my brain. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do it here, God knows what a mess that would be, and no one will even know I talked to you.
I think I’ll put on one of my nice dresses, light some candles for the stench, maybe a bit of perfume. Then I finally slip out of this skin and into something more comfortable.
…St-statement ends…
(A beat of silence, and the sound of a page)
Oh. There appears to be a f-follow up.
(Clears throat)
The remains of Ms. Finngal were found in her dormitory on November 6th, 2015, at 2:34 pm. Her room was entered by staff after several complaints of smell and Elle had not responded to any messages since November 3rd, 2015, at 8:47. Her last correspondence was a text to one Liza Jenson, and is as follows:
Finngal: Can I borrow that perfume that you have, the one that smells like rose and lavender? Just leave it at my door.
Jenson: Ooooh, hot date for Ms “I’m too sick to come to class”?
Finngal: More like some self care. A nice meal, candles, some skin care. I’ll look like a whole new woman.
End follow up.
(The Lector lets out a shaky breath and continues, voice noticeably weaker)
S-so, Using Smirke’s Fourteen, I think it is correct to conclude this to be a… an occurrence of The Flesh.
I-I think I need to take a shower. And buy some sunscreen.
Recording ends.
[ELECTRONIC BEEP]