Okay, so... I no longer use drugs.

I mean, I never really became addicted to drugs or anything. I have never used heroin or meth. One time I tried crack cocaine. Yes, that was. But it had only been eight months since then that I had been clean until Freedie, an old friend, tried something called K3. I took him up on his offer even though I knew it wasn't a good idea.

"Heard of K2?""I told him." He was high already.

"Spice, sure. Made-up weed.

He said, "Well listen, man."

I opened my eyes. I looked at Kent, a friend of both of us, and then back at Ed. "Listen to what?""

"What?"

"After saying 'well listen, man,' you went blank."

"Oh. What did we talk about?"

"K3."

"Oh, okay. Have you heard of K2?"

"Yes. "I said that just now."

He got close. "Listen up, man. This crap is a lot like K2. That's why it's called K4.

"I believed you said it was K3."

Kent stepped up. "Okay. Throw him off. He is no longer there. This isn't made of anything fake, Kev. "This is something new."

"Why did he call it K4 then?"

"K3."

"Why did he call it K3 then?""

"He calls it that because the high makes him think of Spice or something." But this stuff is like, on a whole other level. It has nothing to do with cannabinoids.

I moved around in my seat. "Okay. There's something you should remember from last year, right?"

"Yes, yes, no. I get it. But listen up: I've already done this four times. Not a single bad trip yet. I was really high on my first trip. It didn't make sense. I felt like an astronaut on my second trip, bro. What did I see that wasn't in the universe?"

"Okay. What's out there besides the universe?"

"I said I saw it, but I don't remember it." But it was crazy."

I was becoming more open to the idea. "How long does it last?""

"Hope the hit goes well. His hand went up to a small bag of pills. "Man, you know who I am. I only take the best.

His dog, Blackie, barked from across the room.

It's a Blackie!" Hey! "Go away, girl."

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine, dude," he told her.

"She's fine, dude," Freedie said again. He then began to laugh.

"Is he on this now?""

"Took it just before you got here. Someone who was sober enough to tell you about it "

"Thank you?""

Freedie said, "Thank yourself, you blathering snarch." He then started laughing again.

"Thank you, Ed."

Kent took his pill. The same thing I did. After a while, he asked, "How are you?"

"Me? Fine. How long does it take to work?

He laughed. "Dude, you should feel it in a moment."

Once more, Blackie began to growl. Kent gave one clap. It's a Blackie!" Girl, quiet down. "All right, now."

I saw her. She stood in her box and bared her teeth. Her back hair stood on end.

"Man, I don't think she's okay."

"She's okay. Ed, how are you?"

I looked around. Ed was lying on his back on the couch pillows. He was no longer laughing. He was shaking.

"Are we going to get cold or something?"

"I don't do that often," Kent said. "Every hits is unique, and each person is unique." "All I know is that it's fuckin' fun."

Ed didn't look like he was having much fun when he said "Okay." I told him, "He doesn't look like he's having a good time."

"Okay, fine. "You know how your friends can be, honey," my mum told me.

"Yes, Mom."

"What?"

"I told Mom, 'I know.'"

He told her, "I'm not your mother."

"Oh," I replied. Say "sorry."

From where Kent had been, he leaned in. He looked scared. Feeling let down. He was on his knees with his hands cupped between them. "Hey Kevin. It is not right for you to do this.

Say, "I know."

"Even more so after what happened last year." What were your thoughts?"

"I guess I thought I could handle it."

I looked down at the ground. It was always beautiful to see how the colours on the rugs moved in and out of each other.

"You should know that the trip is going to be bad."

I raised my head. Pastor Lewis was smiling that mean smile he always has. Did he? I creased my brow.

"What?"

"It's going to be a bad trip," he said again, this time with more rage. "Kent said every trip was fun. It's not impossible to have a bad one, though.

"Oh. That's not how Pastor Lewis sounds.

"Dude, who the hell is Pastor Lewis?"He spoke in Kent's voice as Pastor Lewis.

I opened my eyes. Kent just sat there and looked at me like I was crazy.

I tried to clear my throat, but I couldn't. I said, "My old youth pastor from way back when."

Blackie let out a bark from her crate. It sounded like an alien bark and was very loud. Very grave. Dark. I stared at her. I saw her look at me. She barked again, but this time she didn't stick her nose out.

I said, "Whoa."

"What?"Kent said. As he crawled on the ceiling and looked down at me, he should have broken his neck.

"That's cool that your dog can bark without moving her mouth." Could you take a seat? You're making me feel weird.

He said, "Yeah, sorry," and then he sat down and changed his name to Kent. Then Kent laughed so hard he cried, "I am sitting, man."

He was, in fact, sitting. When I looked up, there was no one on the roof and no sign that someone had been there. He laughed so hard he fell over. Howling laughs that hurt. That's what he did.

"Is it really that funny?""

Kent said, "That ain't it." "Strange things are singing in your ears."

I laughed. "Oh, right?" What do they sing?"

Kent laughed so hard that he couldn't say anything. He didn't have to, though. I also heard it.

"Dude," I told him. "It's the song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs!""

Kent had a bigger laugh. "Dude, what. What! "Dude, you spelt it wrong."

"What?"

"Go away. The word "dwarves" is spelt wrong. It's 'dwarves,' not 'dwavres.' What the hell is a duck?"

I went up. It was there. "Dwavres." What? That's not right. "Huh. "That's not right."

Kent was still having fun. A lot harder and longer than what was necessary.

"How can I see what I said?""I inquired. The 'R' in 'Dwavres' hit me as I tried to reorder the word, but Blackie barked again. Bark and hit. That's it. One bark. That sounded like Satan. I went back to sitting.

I told him, "Take it easy, Dwavres." "Damn it, I'll spell it right next time."

"Make sure you do," Blackie told her. The letters that make up the word "dwavres" left the kitchen window one by one.

"Dude!"I told her. "Kent, the letters are getting away! Put down the letters! DO NOT WRITE ANYMORE!"

"Dude, I can't hear you!"That was Kent speaking in the voice of Pastor Lewis, or that was Pastor Lewis speaking in Kent's voice." Who were those people? Fuck. Someone told them, "Come downstairs!""

"I'm down below!""I said, stepping on his dresser and cutting my toe." I moved back. I was in his upstairs room. It was a mess. "Wait, that's... How did I do that?"

"Come downstairs," Blackie said in a scary voice. I knew she was at the bottom of the stairs, on her two legs, with her head turned upside down, even though I couldn't see her. When you know for sure that dog will look like that? It was just one of those times.

I told them, "That's fine." "I like being up here!"He pulled out one of his bedroom drawers and dumped out all of his pants and condoms. I then put the drawer on my head to protect myself. "You jerk, there's no way you're getting me now!""

I laid down on his bed, but it was across the room. "Ow," I said as I sat down on his floor. "Make my behind hurt."

She must have been inside my head because she said, "Go downstairs," from right behind me.

"Get away from me!""I told her. "The power of the dresser drawer makes you do it!""

As he crawled on the ceiling and looked down at me, he should have broken his neck.

"Hey!"

As he crawled on the ceiling and looked down at me, he should have broken his neck.

"Quit it."

As he crawled on the ceiling and looked down at me, he should have broken his neck.

"Stop saying that over and over."

Kent asked, "What sentence?" He was in his room, or I think he was.

"Man, I don't know."

I blinked again, but he wasn't there. I could hear him laughing so hard downstairs.

I could hear myself saying, "Holy shit." I sounded far away, like I was underwater. "Right now I'm not in charge."

As I crawled towards the hallway, he was stuck on the roof and staring down at me in a way that should have made his n-- break.

The words in the sentence flew off the page and melted when they hit the wall. I kept crawling, but my hands were getting stuck in the mud.

"Shit," I said. "Let's go."

If the cabinet drawer on my head was too wide, I had to turn it the other way, which was the only thing that would work. Then I went for the stairs.

Freedie was up and moving around again downstairs. He was walking awkwardly, hunched over, and with his mouth open. He looked like he was crazy. Blackie was screaming and barking uncontrollably, but also quietly.

I said, "That's weird."

Priest Lewis said, "It's going to be a bad trip."

"Pastor Lewis, you already said that. I want to know why I can't hear Blackie bark."

Getting even lower on the roof, he said, "It's going to be a bad trip." He looked down at me in a way that should have broken his neck.

What's with everything being the same?" I asked out loud.

As he crawled on the ceiling and looked down at me, he should have broken his neck.

What's with everything being the same?" I asked out loud.

"Drink water, bro," Kent Kent said. He gave me a glass and told me to drink it. I did, but I did it backwards and forwards.

The water fell into his floor, which was a jumbled pile of things.

"Man, I lost the water," I said.

Mom asked me, "Where did you have it last, Sweetie?" I looked at the empty glass.

"Man, I don't remember. Hey, Roy Rogers. What did I do with my water? Did I drink it?"

Roy Rogers didn't answer because he was too busy floating on a chair that was connected to the ceiling and turned around. His chair said, "SNARCH," and Roy Rogers, who was also my Uncle Moe, tipped his hat.

I told her, "Let me know if you find it. I thought I had it h-"

BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK.

"Ahhh!"

"You should know that the trip is going to be bad."

"Why did I not hear Blackie bark until now? It was about an hour ago!"

When I looked over, Freedie had picked up her kennel with her still inside it and was holding it above his head. She was screaming in fear, and he was trying to eat the whole thing. To make room, he unhinged his jaw, showing exactly 14,543 very sharp teeth the size of railway spikes.

BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK.

"Ed," stop! I said, "I heard MYSELF say."

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. "Ed, Stop!" I heard myself say.

I asked him, "Why?" His face was blank, like when you watch TV on a channel you don't own.

"Get that static off your face, Ed. He was crawling on the ceiling and staring down at me in a way that should have killed him."

Freedie dropped the box and yelled, "What?!" Blackie screamed.

"Man, I don't know. Your face is all staticky, like when you change the TV channel to one you don't own."

"My face is static?" Freedie asked through the static as he scratched at it. "And who's crawling on the ceiling and staring down at you in a way that should have broken his neck? That sentence didn't make sense."

I could hear Freedie say them, but I couldn't see him say them. Freedie wasn't even standing there; he was getting a knife back in the kitchen.

Shit.

"You should know that the trip is going to be bad."

"Shut up, Pastor Lewis. I already knew that."

Freedie swung the knife in front of his face and yelled, "Get off me, static!"

I put down the knife and told Ed to stand up.

No, wait.

"I stood up," Freedie said as he put the said down.

Oh, no.

"Ed, put down the knife," I told him.

There you have it.

"You should know that the trip is going to be bad."

When I turned around, I thought Pastor Lewis was at the top of the stairs, but it wasn't him. It was a completely black figure.

"Pastor Lewis, you look better in black."

"Come upstairs," the figure said. The voice no longer sounded like Pastor Lewis, but like static. It was almost like the static had turned into words.

"I can't. I need to protect my friend from the steel blade."

"Come upstairs," the figure said, "come upstairs. come upstairs. come upstairs. comeupstairs. comestairsupcome. Stairs. Stairs. Ceilings. Ceilings. He was crawling on the ceiling and staring down at me in a way that should have broken his neck. Neck. NECK. NARK. BARK. BARK. BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKGET OFF ME, STATIC. STATIIIIIIC. STAT. IC. STAT. IC. Yo, who the fuck is Pastor Lewis? He was crawling on the ceiling and staring down at me

I realised I was falling, falling, falling. It was also hot. Wherever this long tube was, it was dark and hot. Sometimes those two things don't go together well. I haven't been in many dark and hot places, but now that I have, I'd rather be somewhere bright and cool.

"Help me!" I yelled as I hit the road. "HELP ME! I'M FALLING!" I could see lights on the side of the pit.

"Come upstairs," said a voice from behind me that was simultaneously Kent, Pastor Lewis, Freedie, and my mother. "This isn't a bad trip, Kevin. It's real. And you know that. What you thought was real was the trip. Time and space are illusions. This is what exists behind the veil. This is the nothingness that exists outside the universe. This is the nothingness that awaits you at the end."

"NO!"

Getting ready to fall. Help him get up and take that thing off his head. Join the static. STATIC. STATIC. BARK. "Are you okay?"

I opened my eyes.

The cop asked, "Hey, kid. Are you okay?"

There were worried people in the street where I was lying, and police cars were all over the place. Most of them were in front of Freedie's house. Blackie was whining in her box next to me.

"W-what? Something happened?"

"Well, you're out here screaming 'I'M FALLING, I'M FALLING, NO!' while wearing no shoes and a dog kennel on your head. I was hoping you'd tell me."

I said, "I think I was making Blackie safe."

"Who is Blackie? Is it the dog?"

"Yeah."

"What are you saving her from?"

"I think my friend was going to kill her. Then he tried to cut off his face because it was all static. Holy shit." I thought about the words I had heard while I was drunk. "Holy shit. That... that stuff was crazy."

"Yeah, I agree with that, daft person. You're lucky you didn't jump off the roof. Can you stand?"

I stumbled towards the officer's car after he helped me get up.

"Wait," I asked, "what happened to Kent and Freedie? Are they okay?"

"No, kid. They're not okay. This is why you shouldn't mess with this stuff. Now we have to clean up what's left. Sit there," he said.

He left to talk to the doctors and other police officers.

What the heck? Two gurneys. An ambulance. I... I...

—-

After 36 hours, I woke up in my own bed.

Freedie did get the static off of his face and the rest of his face, I found out later. The last time I heard from Kent, he was in a straight jacket. Blackie was given to a rescue and then to another family, which is at least some good news.

People told me that the effects might never go away. At first, I didn't believe them; who would? How do you even deal with that kind of news?

I don't know what's going on. The black figure is still standing at the end of my hallway, calling out for me to join them. I can still hear it.