I’m beginning to think my neighbourhood isn’t quite right, as I watch a dogwalker’s head fall off. His dog sits politely while the walker picks up his head, reconnects it, and moves on.

 

“Nice day,” he grins, going on his way, and I nod back.

 

The day is deceptively bright. I walk through the park to my flat, my hands on my head as if it might fall off as well.

 

* * *

 

I sit on my sticky sofa in my flat in the English town of Normaltorne, worrying after much weirdness that began a week ago. I scratch my greasy hair, then adjust my grotty clothes on my skinny frame. I hold my head in my hands as a ghostly light glares at me from my TV.

 

I look up as the TV fizzes black and white. A sentence flashes across it: Malfunction. Malfunction report 1025.

 

The screen returns to a comedy show, and canned laughter haunts the room.

 

I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Night fell, and I barely noticed.

 

Bang. Bang. Banging coming from outside.

 

I open my door and see my neighbour kicking at his door, on the left side of the building’s inner corridor. He sways, bleary-eyed.

 

"Lost your keys again, Martin?" I ask.

 

He nods.

 

I sigh and open the door for him. "You never lock it.”

 

He shrugs and we go in.

 

“I swear, there’s something not right about this neighbourhood,” I say as we sit on his sofa.

 

Martin lights a cigarette. “Oh?”

 

I tell him about all the strange behaviour of the townsfolk. I tell him about hearing passing secrets from strangers, “I swear I heard one even say, he’s onto us!”

 

My neighbour laughs and shakes his head.

 

“And then there was that time that bloke’s head fell off.”

 

Martin chokes on his smoke. “You what, Tom?”

 

“Not something you’d expect to see on your morning walk, I can tell you that! Listen, I know I sound paranoid, but something’s going on!”

 

“Listen, mate,” Matin says, raising his bottle. "This has happened since you banged your head the other week. Tom, you’ve come back all funny since."

 

“No, I’m not the one who’s funny; this whole town is funny! But I tell you what, I’m not laughing!” I stand up and accidentally knock Martin’s bottle out of his hand, causing it to spill all over him.

 

I pace to the window, and put my hand through my dark hair, "I’m sorry, Martin, I just haven’t been the same since… Martin?”

 

“Malfunction. Malfunction.” Martin drones.

 

“What, Martin?”

 

Steam rises from Martin’s head, and sparks. I get closer. I gasp. His face has opened up – no, more like it had swung open. I see parts of his silver skull and lidless staring eyes, his jaw mashing the word: “Malfunction.”

 

His TV fizzes black and white. The words flash: Please stand by for repair.

 

Bang Bang. The door. How long do I have before whatever is outside finds out the door isn’t locked?

 

I open the window and jump out, praying silently that whatever evil is unravelling will not catch me. I also add a prayer of thanks that Martin’s flat is on the bottom floor.

 

I leg it past the flats into the night, up the road past all the other buildings, the flickering street lights, and all the noise — the noise in my head. I think it’s screaming. No. It’s a siren — a siren’s wail. I jump back from the road as the ambulance drives past me. I hold my thudding chest. The ambulance stops. It then begins to turn around. I shoot off again.

 

I run past strangers, all with those headphones in, and I can hear the words buzz in their ears: malfunctioning.

 

I run past a lighted sign displaying the words: Malfunctioning Unit 1025.

 

I climb over a brick wall and run into the park, suddenly remembering my phone in my pocket. With slippery hands, I grab my phone and dial the number I had failed to ring for so long.

 

“Mum. I’m sorry to call you. I know it’s late. But I’m scared.”

 

“Oh, darling what’s wrong? I’ve been worried about you.”

 

"I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. "I’m sorry I haven’t called in ages. It’s just I’m sick. I think. Or the entire town is.”

 

“Love, calm down. We knew it would take a while to settle in. Now, just deep breaths and sit down on the park bench.”

 

“I will, I… wait. How do you know I’m near a park bench? Mum?”

 

“It’s ok. You’re just,” and her voice grows cold, metallic, “Malfunctioning.”

 

I shriek and throw the phone into the bushes. I weep. It’s dark inside and out, and I’m alone.

 

“You ok, love?”

 

Standing up while shaking, I prepare for more terror. I see it’s an old bespectacled woman.

 

“Are you one of them?”

 

She laughs. “No, I’m one of me. Oh, you look so scared. Let’s get you home.” She says and she tries to grab my arm.

 

“No!” I yell as I resist and fall, banging my head. Getting up, I feel funny.

 

“Come now,” she says gently.

 

I don’t argue. The fight in me has gone. I’m broken.

 

The woman brings me out of the park to the road, to the ambulance.

 

“Another one,” the paramedic says, putting me in the back of the vehicle.

 

I sit with a few others. All of them have silver skulls. As I look in the rearview mirror, my pale skin flapping off my face, I see: so do I.