short form horror…grab a drink and dim the lights.

Osmophobia

Prologue

I’m afraid to tell people that I like weird smells...Cuz that’s weird, right? When people ask you what you're into, you can’t really say “ Oh…well, I like stop motion movies, whiskey, and smelling my socks after a long workday .” I mean, you could say that, if you wanted to lose all your friends.

If at all, being into something as off-base as really odd smells is something you drop on a person after a lengthy friendship. You gotta have spent a lot of time with someone before bringing up a topic like that. Only in trusting a person fully and without hesitation, can deeply rooted and often uncontrollable needs or urges be divulged to another in safety. What would it take for you to trust someone with the most based and depraved secrets that you hide away?

To that effect, how is trust truly measured in a situation where one person thinks the other is completely insane? Trust becomes mutated from a set lens to a mobile tool. It can and will be moved around to adjust itself to the present necessity, allowing light to shine in only by method of control. If a trusted loved one, with every facet of their humanity and spiritual confidence, believes they are on a path to discovering a universal truth which to others seems…unstable ; What will trust say in this instance? Does trust reach beyond the boundaries of “sane” language and thought? Or, will trust be a mold to take the shape of something more comfortably conceivable?

I hate feeling like there’s something wrong with me that I can't tell anyone about.

Part 1

“Ewww!! What the fuck is he doing?!” Some thin-faced blonde girl shouts from behind two boys with flat bills and fake diamond earrings.

“Take his phone! Take his phone!! Keep him down! I bet there’s something gross in his photos, his Instagram is so weird dude. He has no followers, either. He’s gotta have some shit on his phone. Lemme check real quick. ”

I haven’t even done anything. I never do anything. They’ve never seen me do anything. The others at school all give me side-eye and say I smell bad. I don’t tell them their acne is gross. I don’t tell them they dress like trendy robots. I don’t get mad at them when they’re voices crack and sound like fuckin’ stupid chipmunks! I don’t point out anyone’s armpit stains then push them in the hallways afterwards. Oh well, they’ll all grow up to be pieces of shit anyway. Just a few more years.

“Dude, I don’t think this kid has showered in a fuckin week! My hands smell like shit now. I swear to God they’re all, like, oily too. Fuck! You’re fuckin gross, dude!”

They just keep doing this. If they don’t like it, why not just leave me alone? I stay away from them anyways, but they come way over here at lunch just to tell me they can’t stand me. I thought there weren’t supposed to be bullies in 2022. Aren’t they afraid I might get a trenchcoat and go crazy at school or something? I mean, people who get bullied do crazy shit. Do none of these idiots think about things like that? Those documentaries are all over Netflix.

“Bro, if your mom can’t buy you any shampoo, gimme your Paypal cuz I hate sitting next to you in Trig. Like seriously, I’m not trying to be messed up. I can buy you deodorant, I mean fuck, I’ll buy you a whole new bathtub!!”

They sound like banshees when they laugh. They look like cackling pigs. I can smell how fake and generic, how reproduced they all are down to their cells. If I saw model numbers on the side of their necks, I would be no more shocked than if I discovered still-beating hearts in their chests. I hate thinking this type of stuff, but I can't tell anyone what I think or feel. They’ll all just get mad at me, or become afraid. It’s hard to be genuine when you’re scared of what that means.

“Just stop, please! I didn’t do anything to you guys!” If I’m quiet and timid, maybe one of the girls will be nice and make them stop. I look like a fuckin’ pussy.

Nope. No luck from the girls. There’s no one in my corner.

“Wait, wait let me get a dog face filter of him on the ground then we’ll go. Mrs. Burnham is gonna come out here soon anyway.”

They finished taking videos and pictures of me and left. I didn’t want to pull my head out from my arms in case one of them stayed silent and wanted to dump a water bottle on my face or something. That’s happened before, but it wasn’t water. A part of me didn’t mind.

They always mock me, they sarcastically say they just want to help me. It’s ironic that most people are actually like that. Not with all the violence and ridicule, but with their same base concern. “ I don’t like how this boy carries himself, so I will make that known. I want to help him become what I would like him to become.” They want to help, but not understand. Helping makes them feel good, like they’re making me better while making themselves better. I think it’s just a lie. They don’t like me or what I like, so they pretend to help me with their standards. I told that to my mom and she said that I’m babbling. Mom told me it wouldn’t hurt to bathe more, and that they might have a point.

While they were beating me up today, I had my face buried in my armpit. I didn’t want to move my head. It smelled so good, it made my nose tingle and my eyes watered a little. It was the happiest I had been all day… I started to cry from the relief I found there.

Part 2

A few years later.

I took a shower today because I met a cute girl on TikTok. She goes to a school near mine. I know she probably doesn’t like weird smelling stuff like I do and I haven’t told her yet that it’s like…my thing. I don’t want to be too personal with her, right off the bat. We’re gonna meet up in person after school. I just gotta be chill, act like I’ve done this before.

I’m a senior now so I’ve seen a lot of weird fetish trends and stuff on, like, Youtube and stuff. I don’t think this is that. I don’t, like, get a boner or anything when I smell weird stuff. It’s hard to explain. And that’s ok, right? As long as I’m not hurting anyone? Still, I don’t want to make a bad first impression IRL, so I’ll just wash up. I think my dad has some shampoo or something that I can use. Mmmmmm, my mom is making kimchi downstairs. I can smell the vinegar. I closed my eyes and drifted.

People have been looking at me weird all day today, I thought they wanted me to shower? All these eyes make me feel like I’m doing something even worse now, like I’m faking being clean or normal or whatever. I hate people. Well, not Haley. She seems cool, I can't wait to meet her after school.

August didn’t even make a scrunched up, grossed out face to me today when I sat next to him in AP Lit. He just looked me up and down like he wasn’t sure if I was really me. Honestly, I didn't feel like myself either. It almost made me appreciate him. I just stared at my notebook, I have more important things to think about.

I can’t believe a girl actually wants to talk to me. I didn’t think I was anything that special! This girl has a ton of followers too, and I know she’s real cuz she knows my cousin’s mom. She was her old volleyball coach in middle school, and my aunt verified it. My aunt said she was a nice girl and was friends with everyone no matter who they were.

OH GOD. Does that mean she’s just trying to hang out with me to be nice or something? Or like, what if my aunt was being coy and trying to say she’s a slut or something? Whoa. That’s messed up to think, people can do whatever they want. Someone enjoying sex doesn’t make them a bad person. I gotta stop spiraling. I’m good, just keep breathing, it’s cool. I’m gonna get to see Haley soon.

I hate how I smell.

Part 3

We are matching perfectly. We both wanted to go to the same place to get food, O’Hourey’s Pub. I got a Reuben with extra sauerkraut and blue cheese with pickles. Haley got a hot Italian with extra banana peppers and onions. I guess she doesn’t mind the smell, haha! I love O’Hourey’s. God, her breath smells so good. She looks so pretty. She keeps eating with her mouth open, I hope I’m not staring too much. I love this girl.

She wears a little bit too much perfume, but I can get past that. Her smile is infectious. I want to know what makes her tick, what her deepest passions are…I wonder if she wants to know mine, too.

She wouldn’t judge me, I bet.

Part 4

Who the fuck is that.

Who the fuck is this guy she’s kissing?? She never told me she had a boyfriend! We went out on a fucking date. Why would she do this to me… how could she do this to me?! We were perfect…perfect.. For each other.. We were perfect. She gave me her personal number and everything, she hugged me. Do hugs mean nothing?! She fucking HUGGED Meeeee!! Me! ME! Me Me Me! MEEEEAAaaaaaaaHHHGHGH!

The glass from the mirror cut my hand up and got under my fingernail. It felt good though. I’m so fuckin pissed. I shoved it in deeper.

Who the fuck is this guy. Let’s see, of course she tagged him.

Part 5

“Hey man, are you Luke?” I hate it when people say “man” or “dude”, just fucking say hello. I play the part.

“Yeah, you must be the dude who hit me up on IG. You wanted to talk to me about Haley or something?” He looked apprehensive, like he didn’t know if we were gonna fight or if I was going to tell him some bad news.

“Yeah, see I just—-”

Part 6

Whoa. I didn’t expect the hammer to have, like, no recoil. It just kind of sank into his head like popping the plastic on a microwave dinner. Didn’t feel as intense as I thought it would. All these documentaries about people and their rushes from killing, I guess I just don’t get that. It was sort of exciting, but—Wait, what’s that smell?

I’ve never smelled anything like that before.

I found myself moving towards this guy’s head, his brain. His brain was bleeding all over the ground. It looked so gross, the puddle had so many little chunks of fat. But the smell, it made me light headed. I couldn’t turn away, it was so intoxicating. It smelled like raw humanity, like iron and keratin. Oxygenated blood cells clotting and breaking, the spittle coming from his mouth mixing with bile and blood. I was overwhelmed. He must be dead, he must have relieved himself. My olfactory organs are in a pirouette as my mind grows fuzzy and warm. My head is light. I think I might be having an out of body experience. I’m not moving, but I feel like the universe is finally within my grasp. I cannot leave this moment. It might be nirvana.

This moment, this reality, is mine.

Part 7

In the grand sense, people are honestly quite incapable. With the amount of resources available to 90% of the global population, it’s a wonder people are still arrested for murder. Look around you! We live in the age of opportunity! I don’t go to school anymore, I don’t need my parents or my social circle. Why would I need the unguided teachings of an antique system? They’re entire social and academic rolodex can be presented to me in a tolerable and well edited youtube video. Through the use of the internet, I’ve found my position in the great equation. I’ve found my community, my people. I’ve found what I need to do to provide my spirit with fuel and fulfillment in the days to come.

You wouldn’t think so, but family owned businesses involved with hazardous chemical waste actually have access to some pretty hazardous chemicals. And, what do all families have? Fuck ups (huh, wonder how mom is doin). Find the fuck up, trade them whatever it is that fucks them up, acquire hydroflouric acid.

I’ve always been unsure of why I love odd smells. I’ve never been a person who particularly enjoyed smelling like shit. Like anyone, I want to carry myself presentably. But, I do love the scent of the rancid and the rotting. The sweet and sour decay of a breathing thing, it just has a feeling of life to it that I can't deny. The only way I could achieve even a fraction of the true thing, was to let myself get the closest to living decomp as possible. I was a fog blinded child in those days, really. Not sure of where I was, but sure that I was somewhere. Only my immediate self gave me clarity, and I would soon find myself tortured and ridiculed for my clarity. What to do?

Well, here I am. Now on the cusp of something big, something true. I’ve found my place in the grand equation, and its design has accepted me. I ride, both literally and figuratively, on a road to a new place of ideas and forms. I open the cork on the vial held by my necklace, I inhale. I transcend. I swerve a little bit outside the lines.

The sign tells me I’ll be in Las Vegas within a hundred miles or so. I’ve got a trunk full of these little vials, same as the one hanging around my neck. Well, not exactly like this one. This vial is special; I loved her, for a time.

Part 8

I’ll admit, childhood jaded me towards a certain lifestyle and demeanor. As children, even teenagers, none of us knew who we really were yet. The drugs, the deaths, the lives, and the revelations hadn’t come for us. These days, I would’ve handled some of my more humiliating experiences with a bit more…conviction. But, I don’t blame “them” for picking on me. At the moment? Sure. I wanted to kill them all. Rub their entrails on my face and cherish the one real aspect of them. BUT!! That’s not me today. I have a lot of people depending on me. What I do matters to a lot of people. What this community means to the world is serious. If it’s not smellin like fresh lavender 24/7, I will, no shit, eat that fuckin’ house maids ear in front of her face and report her to the DHS HAHAHAHAHAHA! *sniff* AGHH. Anyway, I foun–I fuckin–I found my PLACE, man! It’s all thanks to this little vile. I sit in bed at night, clutching this thing against my chest as if it WERE LIFE ITSELF.

I used to, like, read a lot, and shit. Used to be real into the internet and researching whatever I thought was interesting. I was looking to fill a shape in my body. Not a fuckin hole in my heart like somke bullshit cornball. A SHAPE. I was missing a piece of my puzzle. My whole fuckin being, my whole fuckin body. I killed that first kid, and it all fell in line. That piece floated up to me, it clung to me through my nostrils and I felt true peace and love. See, I’m gettin all poetic and shit? Fuck, man. That first time was really somethin else. I became me, for real.

Unless you’re completely useless, you can make a business out of anything. I was sick of taking my time up with things that didn’t concern me. I dropped school, cut ties with my family, and started fulfilling my destiny. I bought an old sedan, traded (usually meth) with people to had access to hydrofluoric acid, dunked like hobos and shit into barrels of acid, and started putting the “contents” into little jars for like minded people to keep as necklaces for use whenever they needed, so ya know. I found my place. Cheers kids! Your destiny is out there, just gotta find it. Haha!