Timothy’s heart raced faster than his pattering footsteps on this decrepit maze of an alley. He has no destination in mind, but only a goal to escape his pursuers. He shouldn’t have stolen their dinner, he said to himself. He shouldn’t have grabbed or think of grabbing their cup noodles. But what can he do, he hasn’t eaten anything except for a stale old bread he stole in the market. His stomach cried whalish tones all day and he’d be lying if it wasn’t annoying or hurting him.
Anyway, when he grabbed the noodles, he missed a step and caused him to tumble over and spilled the hot soup everywhere. There was silence between parties. Timothy was silent because he could not believe how he fucked up a simple task. And as for the Diesel Boys, they were silent because they took a second to look for their gun. And they began shooting.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Timothy said as he grabbed his remaining courage and fled towards the alley. He knew the underslums like the back of his hand. Unlucky for him, so does the Diesel Boys. Whatever turn or cranny he jumped in, the gang followed him relentlessly, They shot their .22 calibers whenever they caught sight of Timothy’s shadow. It’s better if the bullet stayed in their place but sometimes they’d ricochet and pass over Timothy’s head.
Timothy paced towards a left alley which opened to a wide-open road directing towards the city’s flood drain system. Just as he was about to turn, he caught a glimpse of an old wooden caravan with a lit-up door. He raced for the door and jumped inside, ringing the caravan door behind him. He dashed behind the counter and hid for his dear life.
“Who are you?” A voice asked in front of Timothy.
It was a child, no older than ten. He has puffy brown hair and he’s wearing a cute little pajama. Timothy would comment on his cuteness if he weren’t chased right now. He placed a finger on his lips and told him to shush.
The caravan door rang once more followed by the heavy footsteps of the Diesel. The kid climbed on the stool beside the counter and greeted the gruff incomers.
“We’re closed right now but how can I help you?” The boy asked
“Have you seen someone coming inside here?” Manuelito, the head of their small group asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m looking at them right now.” The kid laughed cheekily.
“I’m in no mood for a joke kid. Did you see someone or not? A boy twice your age, lanky and with black hair. Also, a punchable face. Definitely a punchable face.”
“Then no, my good sirs. However, I’ve heard a ruckus in the back. The one you’re pursuing must have jumped at the fence behind the caravan.”
The diesel boys left no formalities as they fled outside the caravan in a swift. The kid on the other hand, jumped down his stool and reached out his hand for Timothy.
“Uhhh… Thank you very much, kid. I can’t express how much gratitude I have to you for saving my life.” Timothy slowly walked out of the door until the kid rushed behind him and locked the door.
“You dirtied my counter, you and your boys left dust all over the place and you woke me up from my sleep. Not to mention, yes, I saved your life. I’m a man of business and this demands proper compensation.”
Timothy adored the big words this kid was saying. At the same time, he’s weirded out.
“But I don’t have any money. Well, I don’t have anything at all.”
“I don’t need the money and I don’t definitely need your clothes. Please wear your clothes back.” Timothy wore his clothes back. “What I’m asking is, clean your mess and the mess this place will make for the next three days. How’s that sound?”
Timothy could spend the next three days outside with the Diesel Boys on his back or he could stay here, sheltered, and warm. He could talk to this kid’s parents and maybe bargain about extending his stays. Speaking of, where are this kid’s parents?
“They’re dead.”
Pft. Unbelievable. Timothy scoffed the response in his mind.
“I could direct you to their graves if that’s what you want?”
“No, I believe you kid.” Timothy believed him half-way through.
“Stop calling me a kid, I’m not a kid anymore. My friends, if they are still alive, call me Pickle. You can call me Pick, which saves a bit of your time.”
“Well, okay Pick. My name is Timothy.”
“I’ll call you Tim. Tim, you can start your duties right now.”
Tim heard a small poof behind him and a vacuum cleaner mysteriously appeared. He swore that there’s no vacuum cleaner back there but here it is - magically.
“After cleaning, you can heat a can of soup while I’ll go back to sleep. Close the doors after. I don’t want another freeloader coming into my place.”
Pick stretched his hands and yawned. He disappeared to the back of the caravan, while Timothy turned on the vacuum and started cleaning. Timothy thought he could do his job half-heartedly but after the mention of a free dinner, he cleaned the lobby from top to bottom. After that, he went out back and was surprised to see the size of the room. He swore that the caravan looked smaller on the outside which is the size of an RV. But the inside is the size of a house. There’s even a stair leading upstairs, which he assumed where Pick is sleeping. Anyways, he made his dinner and slept by the counter.
---
Timothy woke up with a searing pain stamped on his cheeks. It was a steaming mug of coffee sticking to his face. On the handle in the hand of a lanky man with a face that looks like it’s melting. He has flabby jowls on both cheeks and deep dark bags on his eyes.
“Who are you!?” Timothy asked.
“Stopped screaming Tim, it’s the middle of the morning. And to answer your question, I’m Pickle but you can call me Pick to save time. Didn’t I introduce myself yesterday?”
Timothy is sure that man isn’t Pickle. Pick is a cute kid who acts like the man of big stature, not this sorry sod of a man. Timothy snatched the vacuum nozzle and aimed it at the man. He knows and is not afraid to use the nozzle as a weapon.
The man sipped his coffee nonchalantly and set the nozzle aside.
“Why are you still aiming that thing in my face? I’m Pickle, as simple as that. Wait - “ He stopped in his tracks and gulped a swig of his coffee. “I’m dumb, sorry. I forgot that you’re not used to this.” He spread his hands and motioned all over his body. “Come with me, you’ll need to know this before you work with me.”
Timothy and this man calling himself Pickle went upstairs where little light pilfers through the seams of the walls. The man led him to a room bigger than the kitchen and flicked off the light. What Timothy saw surprised him. If anything, this would be the biggest surprise of his life. The room is bigger than a warehouse - which is impossible since it breaks the laws of physics. Timothy doesn’t know what the laws of physics are but he knows for a certainty that this is impossible. However, it’s not the size of the room that surprised him but the contents. Rows upon rows are the standing bodies of naked people. Men and Women, Old and Young, and people from all ethnicities are organized in rows and columns of warehouse racks. There’s even a forklift with an African man in his 40s standing naked on the prongs. The weirdest of all is their dead open eyes that are staring at the void.
“What the hell is this?” Timothy asked. Thousands of thoughts raced in his mind. A human trafficking ring, a mannequin club, or a cannibal warehouse with him as the latest victim. Oh dead, oh god merciful.
“Stop quivering like a wet dog, follow me, Tim.”
They dove across lines of bodies until they reached somewhere in the back where bodies of children stand. The children didn’t acknowledge their presence, nor give even the slight signs that they are alive. They don’t move. They are frozen in space, and in time. Amongst the children, there was the Pickle whom he saw yesterday. Like the rest, he’s naked with his little member dangling in the air.
“What did you do to him?” Timothy asked.
“You’ll see.” The man laid his hand on Pickle’s head. There was a brief pause until it ended with both of their bodies spasming, like the feeling you get after a long satisfying piss. The man’s eyes lit up and died like the rest of the bodies. Pickle’s eyes did the opposite. It flared with life where his pupil adjusted to the light.
“And just like that, I’m back.” Pickle said.
Timothy did not understand what just happened. He poked the man on his clothes and he isn’t responding like the rest of the bodies. He waved his hands in front of his face. No response.
“Stop doing that. That husk has no soul. It’s not going to respond to your antics.”
“What do you mean no soul?” He was torturing him with his hot coffee mug before.
“No soul as in no soul. De nada. I, Pick, was controlling that body this morning. I was controlling this kid’s body yesterday. So, to answer your question, I am Pick. Satisfied?”
Timothy understood the process. As for the machinations, no. Soul, Husks, Control, these terms appeared only in those Sci-Fi hullabaloos on television - not in real life. But here it is, bare and full, standing in front of his very eyes. He can’t deny the truth anymore. Pickle, whoever he is, can jump between the bodies in this room. He’s a Wizard! That must explain the wacky physics of his caravan. For a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. He’s not in a fucked up cannibal warehouse anymore.
“Now can you help me up? I can’t reach Baynard’s head. I call that body Baynard because he looks like a Baynard.” Pickle was jumping and reaching for the man’s head but Timothy helped him up until he touched ‘Baynard’s’ head. Both bodies spasmed like before. Life went to the other and the man was awake once more. Timothy set the child on the ground and adjusted his position to match the standing others.
“Are you ready for your first task of the day?” Pick asked.
“Oh, of course. What is it going to be?”
“Do what I just did? Transfer your soul to another body. You’re going to need to know it if you’re going to stay in this caravan. The first thing you can do is pick.”