Brain Drain

The rain was pouring furiously onto the road, darkening the night, while the diner glowed faintly like a beacon for the stranded. Inside, several figures took shelter.

A doctor, taking a brief break from his night shift at the hospital, had stopped in for a coffee. At the counter, a young waitress—surprisingly attractive—was counting tips while listening to the radio. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her simple uniform (a green button-up shirt with her name tag on the side and a short black skirt) wasn’t particularly eye-catching, but her figure was hard to ignore.

In a secluded corner, a strange guy with glasses stayed hunched over, almost invisible. His timid demeanor made him stand out even less than the sound of the thunder rumbling outside.

Farther back, another young woman could be seen in the kitchen. And in a small booth, a tall woman with glasses was reading a book (on the cover of the paperback, you could faintly make out an inverted crucifix and what appeared to be a disturbing crying nun). Every now and then, the woman glanced at the others with a mix of curiosity and detachment. As if she were trying to avoid it but, at the same time, couldn’t quite manage to.

On the radio, a monotonous voice reported a series of strange disappearances in nearby towns. Missing animals, missing children, and the local authorities didn’t seem to give them the proper attention. While those kinds of news weren’t new in places like Castle Rock, Jerusalem’s Lot, or Derry, they felt unsettling in such a quiet little town.

On a stool near the counter, a young guy sat lost in his thoughts. He wore a red hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. As he ate a cheeseburger, his eyes alternated between watching the lightning through the window and glancing at the waitress.

After counting the money and putting it all in the register, the girl went into the bathroom. Since her shift was already over—or should have been, if not for the torrential rain keeping everyone trapped—she decided to freshen up as best she could in front of the mirror and change out of her work shirt into a top she had in her bag. When she came out, the guy noticed her again and seized the chance to strike up a conversation:

“Hey, since we’re not gonna be able to leave here for at least the next few hours, would you feel like chatting for a bit?” he said, capping it off with a clumsy attempt at his best smile.

“Sure, why not?” the girl replied kindly.

The guy wasn’t just attracted to her—he dreamed of being a writer and thought that talking with her might at least give him an idea for a character. The girl walked over and sat beside him.

“I saw your name on the side of your uniform. Liv. I’m Jake.”

“Nice to meet you, Jake. Do you live around here?” Liv asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do,” Jake said, scratching the side of his head as he thought about the words. He had lived there his whole life, yet when someone asked if he lived there, it took him a few seconds to realize that yeah, he really did live there. In that place where nothing ever happened and everything was unbearably calm. Plus, he didn’t want to screw this up while talking to Liv—she seemed nice and she was pretty. If he messed up now, especially since he was the one who started the conversation, he’d feel like a total idiot. “And you?”

“Yeah, I live here too.”

Jake tried to think of something interesting to say, but his mind was stuck in a loop: her laugh, the way she played with her bracelets, how easily she seemed to shine even in a dull place like this.

There was a pause for a few moments before he came up with a topic.

“…Do you like horror movies?”

“Yeah, totally. I love them. You?”

Right then, it felt to Jake like the heavens had opened. With that unexpected boost, he gained a bit of confidence and started talking to Liv without holding back, like he’d known her forever…

“Same. What’s your favorite horror movie?”

“Scream, hands down. There’s something about how meta and sarcastic it is that I love—like it lets you see the whole game from the inside.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Mine’s Hereditary.”

He paused before continuing.

“And… is there any horror movie that really… ‘stuck with you’ afterward?”

“That happens to me all the time! For example, The Witch… it’s true there’s nothing super explicit, but that atmosphere just clings to you. You finish the movie looking around everywhere, wondering if someone nearby is about to make a pact with the devil.”

She laughed.

Jake liked her laugh. It was nice.

“But like you said, I also enjoy the more ‘campy’ horror like Scream.”

“…‘campy’,” he repeated to himself, then stared for a moment at one of Liv’s bracelets. The one that read NORMAL PEOPLE SCARES ME. He knew exactly where that phrase came from—it was from a shirt worn by Tate Langdon in American Horror Story. Still, he asked. “Tell me, have you seen American Horror Story?”

She noticed he was looking at her bracelet and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. I love that show.”

Jake smiled at Liv’s answer. The enthusiasm in her voice felt genuine, like they were sharing a little secret.

“Do you have a favorite season?” he asked, scooting a bit closer to hear her better while trying to catch every expression she made.

Liv bit her lip, thoughtful, as if choosing just one season would be some kind of sacrilege.

“It’s hard… But I think Coven has something special,” she answered, her eyes sparkling. “The witches, the aesthetic… it’s campy and at the same time, I don’t know, it made me want to be part of their coven.”

Jake laughed softly and nodded, noticing how much she enjoyed talking about it.

The bell above the door rang again, and a man walked in soaked, leaving a puddle behind him. He wore a worn leather jacket covered in pins and ragged pants. His cowboy boots thudded against the floor as he headed to the counter.

“Can I get a coffee?” he said in a raspy voice.

Liv glanced at the wall clock and shook her head with a polite smile.

“I’m off my shift. You can help yourself. The coffee maker’s in the back.”

The man raised an eyebrow but complied. He poured himself a coffee, left a crumpled bill on the counter, and retreated to a table, casting a quick glance at the others before settling into his corner.

There was something about that man that felt particularly sinister—something that made your hair stand on end. Before taking a small sip of his coffee, he looked suspiciously at the two young people who had been talking until then. A thunderclap sounded. He paused to look out the window at the falling rain and smiled sinisterly.

…

“That guy’s really weird, don’t you think?” Liv asked Jake. “Doesn’t he seem kind of…” She raised an arm and started stabbing the air while mimicking the iconic Psycho soundtrack.

Jake let out a light laugh. “Now I’ll never be able to watch Psycho without thinking of your performance.”

Liv laughed too and gave him a playful tap on the shoulder, pretending to be offended. “I do it better than you think!”

“I’m sure you do,” he teased. “Isn’t it great when horror can laugh at itself? I don’t know, it feels more real, less solemn.”

“Totally. Sometimes I think scares don’t have to come just from monsters or possessions. I like it when fear comes from more real… mmm… more human things, like in Misery.”

Liv stared straight at Jake and kept talking.

“A good horror story can just be one person obsessed with another…”

She gave him a little nudge and smiled.

Jake laughed and pretended to be terrified.

“Are you implying something?”

Liv leaned closer to Jake. “No, but… if this were a horror movie, we’d already be doing the classic thing. You know, the two protagonists ending up alone in a dark corner…”

Jake lowered his voice. “And what dark corner do you have in mind?”

Liv smiled mischievously. “I don’t know, maybe the employee bathroom. It’s got that horror-movie vibe, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. And considering the storm’s gonna last a while…” Jake left the sentence hanging, looking into her eyes.

Liv stood up, taking his hand. “Come on, protagonist-with-a-name. Time to explore.”

They headed toward the bathroom as the sound of the rain pounded harder against the windows.

…

In the darkest corner of the kitchen, a strange dripping echoed. The dripping was irregular, almost like a countdown clock. The freezer seemed to breathe, and something viscous and dark slid between the melting ice. From that mysterious thing oozed a black, tar-like, sticky liquid; it pulsed like a heart and at first glance looked like a mass of rotting flesh, with shifting, twisting outlines as if it were alive, throbbing with an inexplicable energy.

Without anyone noticing, the mysterious organism slipped out of the freezer and began crawling across the floor.

The sound of that thing—viscous and heavy—was like a low whisper, barely audible. The freezer, normally so cold, now seemed to be absorbing heat.

…

The doctor adjusted his white coat while looking out the window. The rain beat against the glass, echoing like the thoughts in his head.

The same image kept repeating over and over. On his office desk sat two files: one for a child on the brink of death; the other for a celebrity whose donations kept the hospital running. He had chosen to save the child. But now, watching the storm, he wondered if he had made the right decision. He knew he would very likely lose his job and reputation because of it, and that was eating him alive inside.

On top of that, he felt his marriage slowly crumbling and didn’t know what to do. Every attempt he made to fix it only seemed to make things worse.

He felt trapped, unable to find a way out in either his work or his personal life.

…

Evelyn took a sip of her black coffee, savoring the taste that made up for the long walk from the hospital. From her isolated table, she observed the diner with the same critical eye she used on her patients. She had met one of the waitresses before… but she no longer knew what more she could do for her.

Maggie Thorne moved behind the counter, smiling and charming as always. Evelyn couldn’t help thinking back to their first sessions. “An expert manipulator,” they had warned her. “Don’t fall for her game.” But Maggie had been right about one thing: sometimes Evelyn got too involved.

Despite her colleagues’ warnings, Evelyn still intended to work with Maggie. However, Maggie Thorne had never been the type of person interested in opening up to others or letting them get to know her—much less a therapist.

The moment Dr. Evelyn Hart first saw Maggie Thorne, she understood how Maggie could manipulate people so easily. Especially men. With her blonde hair curling at the ends, her youthful beauty, and her innocent little-girl face, almost any man could fall for her. Dr. Hart knew that very well. And Maggie had noticed that “the good doctor,” as she jokingly called her, had picked up on it. Maggie realized that Dr. Hart was different from the other people she had encountered in her life. And that felt particularly strange and unsettling to her.

…

The room was decorated in a cozy way, with green plants contrasting the white walls. In one corner sat a comfortable sofa where Maggie lay back with her arms crossed and a carefree expression, staring at the ceiling. Across from her, Dr. Hart sat in a chair, reviewing her notepad. The classic scene you’d imagine in a therapist’s or psychiatrist’s office.

The soft ticking of the clock seemed to sync with both women’s measured breathing. Yet despite the apparent calm, a palpable tension hung in the air around everything that wasn’t being said.

Maggie looked at her hands, as if expecting to see something there—something that would connect her to a distant past. She remembered her mother, always too busy, always too distant. As a little girl, she had told herself that one day she would find her place in the world. But that had felt like a lie for a long time. The reality was different. Instead of finding her place, she felt more lost than ever.

Evelyn, sitting across from her, watched in silence, searching for the right words. But something in her gaze betrayed the insecurity she always tried to hide. She ran a hand through her hair—a nervous gesture that betrayed the confident facade she tried to maintain, as if she truly didn’t know what the hell she was doing. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Helping Maggie was what she had been trying to do for a while now—or at least attempting to. Evelyn Hart wasn’t the type to give up easily. But… what if Maggie didn’t want to be helped? What if she was just pushing her harder? A small doubt crept into her mind, but she said nothing.

The small room somehow felt even more isolating. Maggie shifted slightly in her seat; the cold now mirrored the distance she felt. Evelyn tried to move closer, but Maggie’s gaze avoided hers, as if afraid of breaking something fragile she no longer understood. The words stayed stuck in the air, unable to find their place in the invisible tension between them.

She let out a weary sigh and began to speak.

“Maggie, I know psychologists aren’t your favorite people, but… something brings you here every week. Have you ever thought about what it is?”

“Maybe I just come because I’m tired of hearing my mother’s same voice day after day.” She smiled mockingly. “This, at least, is…” She pretended to think for a couple of seconds. “…a different experience.”

Dr. Hart nodded slightly.

“So it’s a kind of escape. A place to run away, even if just for a little while.”

Maggie shrugged, rolling her eyes. “Call it whatever you want if that makes sense of it.”

“Maggie, last time you mentioned how frustrating it was the way your parents looked at you. Like… you said it was as if they didn’t want to understand you, remember?”

“They think they understand me. And you know what? I let them.” A flash of annoyance appeared in Maggie’s eyes, though she tried to hide it. “Parents always think they know everything. But deep down, they have no idea.” She laughed. “Maybe that’s what makes them fun.”

“Fun or disappointing?”

There was silence for a few seconds, as if Maggie were weighing the doctor’s words. Then she looked away, uncomfortable.

“I guess by now I should be cured, right? Isn’t that your job, Doctor? Fix the ‘broken girl’.”

“I don’t think you’re broken, Maggie. But maybe you’ve gotten so used to not being understood that you’ve stopped trying.”

Maggie tensed for a moment, her eyes hardening.

“‘Misunderstood’?” She feigned disinterest. “Wow, what a deep analysis, Doctor.” She laughed ironically. “Do you also think I’m some kind of Cheshire Cat or something?”

Dr. Hart smiled a little.

“Do you see yourself as the Cheshire Cat?”

“I like the idea of seeing the world as a game where everyone thinks they know who I am, but really… no one knows anything. It’s fun to watch them try, to watch them fail.”

The doctor watched closely that small spark in Maggie’s expression and decided to try a new approach.

“So what about that curious little girl you once were? The one who never stopped asking questions, exploring, observing life around her.”

That had been one of the few things she had managed to get out of Maggie during all their sessions. Although she seemed unwilling to receive help, it also felt like she was desperately trying to ask for it, even if she couldn’t find a way. She didn’t seem capable of opening up enough to let anyone help her.

Maggie fell silent again. Her eyes dimmed slightly as she remembered. Her hands, relaxed until now, tensed just a little. Her voice dropped, trembling almost imperceptibly, as if a distant memory momentarily stole her usual defiant tone.

“That little girl met the real world, and you know how that goes…” She regained her sarcastic tone. “She learned there aren’t answers for everything, and that people don’t always want to understand you.”

“Is that little girl still in there, Maggie? Do you still hear her sometimes?”

Maggie stared at her without answering at first, with an expression that for a second seemed vulnerable, but she immediately returned to her defensive attitude. She spoke coldly again.

“Maybe that little girl learned it’s better to stay quiet… and watch the adults make the same mistakes over and over.”

“And sometimes adults make big mistakes. But maybe that little girl also knows it’s okay to be understood once in a while, even if it’s just by someone willing to listen.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Doctor.” Maggie raised an eyebrow, flashing a defiant smile. “I can take care of myself. And honestly, sometimes I prefer people seeing me as the ‘broken girl’. At least being the broken girl gives others something to work with, right?”

Dr. Hart watched her in silence, aware that behind that defiant attitude, Maggie was sharing more than it seemed. The session ended with an exchange of looks: Dr. Hart with understanding, and Maggie returning the gaze, her cheeky smile fading for a second before she closed the door behind her.

…

Maggie had always been a very mischievous and curious child. She was constantly running around, observing anything that caught even the slightest bit of her attention and asking all kinds of questions. She drove her parents crazy.

Once, when she was only six years old, she saw a squirrel fall from a tree in her backyard.

The squirrel, injured, made faint noises and could barely move, caught between pain and fragility, completely vulnerable. That caught Maggie’s attention; with innocent curiosity, she approached the squirrel lying at the foot of the tree. Later she would learn the meaning of “agonize,” and when she did, she quickly connected it to what was happening to that little squirrel that day.

The squirrel was already too weak to do anything. Although Maggie didn’t yet know the concept of agony, she did know what pain was and, even if only vaguely, what death was.

And she knew the squirrel was suffering and dying. She wanted to help it stop suffering, so she picked up a nearby rock and, feeling horrible about herself as she did it, crushed the squirrel with it until it stopped moving completely.

The squirrel let out one last tender, squeaky sound before dying and practically stopped moving the moment the rock hit it hard. The impact was so strong that the squirrel burst, splattering blood onto the rock, her clothes, and her small hands.

The girl stood shocked for a few moments by what had just happened, and when she managed to pull herself together a little, she thought about digging a small hole in the garden soil and burying it there. Under the tree.

That’s what she planned to do.

That’s what she was going to do.

That’s what she would have done if her parents hadn’t come out of the house at that moment and seen what she had done, horrified. No matter how much young Maggie tried to explain what had happened, they wouldn’t listen.

“I was just trying to help,” little Maggie tried to explain, but her parents wouldn’t hear a single word.

They were completely terrified.

They had heard about those children who started by killing animals when they were young and, little by little as they grew, began to feel an urge they couldn’t satisfy—until they started killing people and ended up becoming the serial killers you saw on the news.

They didn’t want their little daughter to end up like one of them, so they were terrified. They began to see something disturbing in her, but they never let Maggie explain herself, so the girl couldn’t understand—until much later, when she was practically an adult—why her parents had reacted that way.

They started taking her to psychologists, completely convinced that something was “wrong” with their daughter. Maggie didn’t want to go and didn’t understand why they forced her to do those things. She didn’t understand their distrust, but little by little she began to internalize their doubts and fears as if they were her own. She felt they didn’t understand her, and from then on she started questioning her own worth and her own emotions. Throughout her teenage years, distrust and resentment grew bigger and bigger inside her, leading her to rebel more and more and to embrace the role her parents seemed to expect of her.

If it didn’t matter what she did, if her parents thought she was crazy, then she’d be crazy. There was no point wasting breath on something she knew would never end well. She had no choice but to surrender to the evidence.

Her parents didn’t understand her and never would. Even though they had had plenty of opportunities, they never took the time to really talk to her. To have a long, deep conversation. They just closed themselves off, believing what they thought was the absolute truth.

There was no point trying anymore. They weren’t good parents, and Maggie knew it. So she simply resigned herself, shut herself away, and began showing others a version of herself that wasn’t genuine.

Finally, in one of those therapy sessions she had been forced to attend her whole life, she met Dr. Hart.

…

Since he was young, he had always been someone who went unnoticed. His thin, awkward build, combined with his insecure, almost muted voice, turned him into an invisible man to almost everyone… except for those women he couldn’t help staring at from a distance: confident women who radiated beauty and self-assurance. They were unattainable to him—women who would never see him as anything more than a useful guy to carry their books, make photocopies, or light their cigarettes. For him, running those small errands was the closest he could get to them.

Over the years, this obsession grew stronger and stronger. Every time one of those women ignored him or replaced him with someone “better,” he felt a hole in his stomach, as if he were losing a part of himself. His first job, at a small-time office, gave him a tiny spark of power: he could access their computers, snoop through their messages, read their emails. That was when he realized he had something over them—something they didn’t know about. He became more meticulous, learning to go unnoticed while gathering every piece of information he could about the women he was attracted to, collecting every detail in secret notebooks and diaries hidden under the floorboards of his small, dark room.

The first woman he truly became obsessed with was named Elise. She was a sophisticated woman who worked in the same building and never gave him more than a couple of words. After her, there were many others; always following the same pattern: women who made him feel inferior, women who laughed carelessly without realizing his eyes were fixed on them. At first, he was content just to watch. But little by little, things began to darken.

Every night he created fictional worlds in which he was more than just an errand boy. He imagined what it would be like if one of them ever needed him, if they depended on him for something more. He told himself he could save them… or punish them, make them pay for every humiliation, every laugh shared behind his back. He was a monster in his imagination, but still an insignificant man in real life.

In his distorted, twisted mind, every woman he had ever desired merged into one: an impossible, unattainable, contemptuous woman who looked down on him and spat. Sometimes he would change jobs or cities when his obsession became too obvious, taking his notebooks with him like his only treasures.

And every time he did that, he felt like this was finally the place where he could settle and give free rein to his obsession without anyone suspecting.

Lately he had been obsessing over the kind waitress at the diner he frequented. He would walk through the door, sit in a corner away from everyone, order a black coffee, and stay there drinking from opening until closing. What had this new object of his obsession done to deserve being stalked by him? She had simply smiled at him once while taking his order. Nothing more, nothing less. That alone was enough for Lyle Greer.

…

Meanwhile, the strange guy in the hoodie finished his coffee in silence, stood up from his seat, and left the diner as if he didn’t give a damn about the storm raging outside.

…

The strange creature climbed up the leg of Dylan’s pants and continued until it settled on his back without anyone—not even him—realizing.

That was the beginning of the end.

The calm was over. The storm had begun.

…

Jake pressed his ear against the employee bathroom door, his breathing barely contained. What was that? Had something happened or was it just his imagination? Liv, from the sink, watched him in silence. Her eyes wavered between genuine concern and a spark of unease… or maybe something more?

“What do you hear?” she whispered, leaning slightly toward him.

“Noises… thumps… something fell,” Jake replied. “But it doesn’t sound normal.”

…

Meanwhile, in the main room, Dylan had stopped looking out the window. Something was pulling him toward Lyle, like an invisible thread tugging at his consciousness. The creature, nestled on his back, found fertile ground in his mind: built-up frustrations, a crumbling marriage, friendships worn away by time—all amplified to the extreme.

His pupils dilated and his rigid posture relaxed.

His deliberate, stiff movements carried him toward Lyle, who was muttering something incomprehensible.

“What are you muttering?” Dylan asked, his voice a tone deeper than usual.

Lyle looked up. His eyes reflected surprise mixed with the nervousness of a cornered animal.

He was about to say something, but he didn’t have time to respond.

Dylan lunged at Lyle with the fury of an unleashed storm, his hands closing around the man’s throat. Lyle struggled, his nails scratching uselessly at Dylan’s arms as his face turned purple.

A small choked cry barely escaped Lyle’s throat.

He brought his hands to his neck and began kicking, but it was completely useless—there was nothing he could do to stop it, and he had already started accepting this as his end. His eyes began to water, his breathing grew more difficult, less and less air reached his lungs, his gaze fixed on the ceiling light. Dylan kept squeezing until finally there was a SNAP! in Lyle’s neck.

Only then did Dylan release him, letting him fall back into his seat. Lifeless.

He couldn’t believe what he had done. He didn’t even remember standing up. Completely horrified by what he had done and unable to stop shaking, with his hands covered in blood and a few scratches Lyle had left before dying, he reached for a knife that was on the table.

He barely felt the pain as he plunged it into his own neck again and again, until the red pool beneath his body grew, claiming him, and his body finally collapsed to the floor.

Maggie came running out of the kitchen, eyes wide, her mind trying to process the scene in front of her. But then the creature found its new host. Like a spark in dry forest, the darkness inside her ignited.

A part of her psyche that should have remained unexplored forever. A part born from years of bottling up her problems without ever giving birth to anything, without ever asking anyone for help, feeling completely lost and distrusting everyone. Hating everyone but, above all, hating herself. All these emotions, intensified to the extreme, burst out at once.

Maggie, now dominated by insane frenzy, fell upon Dylan’s lifeless body. Her hands moved as if they weren’t hers, exploring with a mix of desperation and pent-up rage. Her eyes burned with a fire that wasn’t human. What was she doing? She didn’t know, nor did she want to know—she only felt the rage and despair consuming her, clouding any sense of sanity. With disconcerting violence, Maggie began to violate Dylan’s dead body.

…

By this point, Evelyn had already dropped her book at the horrific scene. Before she realized what she was doing, she stood up as if propelled by springs and slowly, cautiously approached the girl who had once been her patient.

“Maggie, stop!” she shouted.

But Maggie simply turned her head slightly to the side toward her, with an expression that reflected both mockery and threat.

…

“That was a scream!” Liv exclaimed, moving closer to Jake. “No doubt about it—something bad is happening here.” He nodded and adopted a protective stance toward Liv. “Let’s go. But carefully.”

As they cautiously left the employee bathroom and approached the main room, they found Evelyn and Maggie fighting fiercely. Struggling, more precisely. Maggie was completely out of her mind, as if possessed by something, and Evelyn was trying to calm her and help her. The fight distracted both of them, giving Jake and Liv a chance to escape.

Jake grabbed Liv’s hand and they ran toward the main exit, quickly and nimbly dodging the doctor and her former patient as they passed by. Evelyn barely caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye before they went past—she was too busy holding Maggie by the arms and trying to make her see reason, but Maggie only laughed maniacally when she realized the young couple had escaped.

“Oh my god, looks like the little lovebirds don’t want to stay and have fun with us! How booooring!” Maggie mocked, making an exaggerated pout.

“Maggie, stop! Stop it right now!”

She just smiled.

…

When Liv and Jake stepped out into the cold night air, not stopping for a single second to worry about the storm that was still raging (the storm was the least of their worries at that moment), they heard one last scream coming from inside the diner. Although Liv made a move to do so, in the end she chose to follow Jake’s example and not look back.